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The dock/launching platform/mission control/everything else built on the orbit was by no means small but its lights barely illuminated a tiny part of the Avatar of Hope. The six hundred-metre long spine surrounded by a steel ring of a more than half-a-kilometre radius was undoubtedly the most impressive thing that had ever been designed and created by the human race.
If everything wouldn’t go just right it would forever remain so, as it would also be the last great work of humankind.
Watching the towering, sleeping spaceship through the windows of the mission control building, Asami could almost forget that far below her Earth was burning. That people were dying of gunshots, starvation, illness, fire and radiation as distinction between nations, superpowers and terrorist groups blurred and nuclear missiles were flying in all directions.
A short sound of static brought back her to reality. A short sound of static followed by words spoken in the oh-so-cocky voice she’d grown to love in the last months. A voice she’d learned so well that now she could feel a clear undertone of nerves behind the projected confidence.
“Main reactors to 70 percent,” said Captain Korra Imaq, her voice a low rasp in the comm. “Station Control, confirm coolant flow to fusion grid.”
“Confirmed,” Asami replied. Her console shimmered with warnings, half in amber, half in red. She ignored most. Yes, one mistake could cost them everything, but at some point there just wasn’t anything left they could do. “You’re running hotter than the model wants, but the model didn’t account for us being the last idiots left.”
“Always the optimist,” Korra’s voice softened. “How’s the view from up there?”
Asami turned to the viewport aimed towards the planet below.
Earth hung beneath, bruised and choked, streaked with lines of fire visible even from here. The night side glowed faintly red where cities once were.
Like a funeral pyre for eleven billion souls. And we’re the pallbearers.
Pallbearers were still better than rats fleeing a sinking ship.
Instead of saying it out loud, she turned to the window going out on the massive silhouette of the Avatar of Hope.
“Magnificent,” she said.
“Hell yeah, I’ve got to admit, I’m pretty hot,” Korra said with forced lightness.
Someone in the mission control laughed nervously. Someone – probably Chief Engineer Mako – groaned.
Around her, the control room was packed beyond protocol limits. Families had come — husbands, wives, even a couple of children clutching stuffed animals or photographs — faces pale in the sterile light. No one had stopped them. No one had the heart. Some of the crew worked through tears, fingers trembling as they calibrated guidance vectors or rechecked telemetry feeds.
Asami nodded to Colonel Lin Beifong. She would have been the highest-ranking person on the mission if the country in the military of which she had served had still existed.
“Dock Control to all decks,” Lin said, toggling the stationwide line. “Prepare for ignition sequence in T-minus twenty minutes. Repeat: twenty minutes. Any last checks, speak now or forever hold your goddamn peace.”
A few chuckles rippled through the room, brittle but real.
Asami could see how Lin looked up from the console, her eyes meeting with her half-sister’s. The resources of Future Industries alone – or any other megacorp for such matter – weren’t enough to bring the R.A.A.V. (Resettlement Adaptive Ark Vessel) project to conclusion. Without the funds and expertise of the Metal Clan LLC. they wouldn’t even have this tiny shot. Asami had no doubts that Suyin’s main motivation was to safeguard the future of Opal and Huan, her two surviving children, but she couldn’t begrudge her for it.
At least working on the project, utilizing the resources Lin stole (‘rerouted’) when she defected, brought the two half-sisters together again. So there were some upsides of the end of the world.
“Copy that,” said Korra. “We’re sealing cryo decks three through twelve. Colonists stable. Life support running green.”
“So you’re still up for that bet?” Asami asked to kill the silence.
“Sure,” Korra replied and Asami could almost see her lopsided grin in her mind. “If we at least get past Pluto – I still consider it a planet, you know – I’m getting you some nice whisky.”
“If there even is such a thing as ‘whisky’ anymore,” Asami said.
It was easier than saying what she was really thinking, easier than shouting how unfair it was that they have just found each other and they were never going to see each other again.
“Don’t worry about that,” Korra said. “We’ve taken the recipe. It’s classified as ‘absolute priority resource’ in the system, along with pics of kittens and puppies. We’d sooner deleted the flight plan, engineering schematics, the sum of our cultural heritage and our collected medical knowledge than those.”
Asami found herself smiling.
Moments later her smile disappeared as alarms flickered again. Not the usual background noise — something sharper.
“Fuck,” came Kuvira’s voice.
She pushed herself of the floor and floated towards the security console manned by Suyin’s adopted daughter/chief of security. That was another upside of the end of the world – Asami finally got to work in the orbit, where she didn’t need that goddamn wheelchair. Then again, if not for the nuclear war she wouldn’t be needing a wheelchair but she preferred not to dwell on that.
She almost crushed into Lin mid-float but managed to grab Kuvira’s desk and steady herself.
“What is it?” she asked at the same time as Lin did.
“Stop floating over my head you two,” Kuvira muttered. “We’ve got incoming traces from the surface.”
“Where from exactly?” Lin asked, as if it mattered anymore.
“From everywhere,” Kuvira murmured. “Trajectory says orbital insertion, high yield.”
Asami clenched her fists, feeling a sudden rush of anger.
It was a small miracle that no one launched anything at the R.A.A.V. station during the last years of the project. Probably too busy killing each other. But now, as they’ve no doubt noticed preparation for the launch they stopped killing each other long enough to decide that up there, in the orbit, there was something worth killing too.
So even now, as Earth was burning, those dying and killing on the surface decided that instead of trying to save as many people as possible, they’re going to spend the last days of their lives by making sure that if they died, the whole of humanity would follow. That no one would escape this dying planet.
“ETA?” Lin asked curtly.
“Fifteen minutes,” Kuvira replied.
Everyone looked at the big clock counting down towards ignition of the Avatar of Hope.
Eleven minutes, thirty-two seconds.
The spaceship would manage to take off before the missiles hit, but would it have time to escape the blast radius.
“We need to win them some time,” she said.
“Reroute all non-essential power to the jamming fields and point defense cannons,” Lin ordered. “All engineers who don’t have anything better to do, get there. Those cannons haven’t been used for years and we need them operational as long as we can.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chief Engineer Mako saluted and floated away.
No wonder he was so determined. His brother was on the ship.
“How many?” Asami whispered to Kuvira.
“Too many,” she said in flat voice. “They will definitely overwhelm our PDCs.”
“We can shoot down at least some,” Lin said. “Better go out swinging.”
Asami wanted to say something, but there was the static again and she heard Korra’s worried voice.
“What’s up, ‘Sami?”
Asami floated back to her console.
“No one say a word to them!” she said to the people gathered. “They don’t need any distractions.” Then she turned the microphone on. “Nothing major,” she said to Korra. “Just some debris-proximity alerts went off. Nothing that should worry you, your corridor is cleared.”
“You sure?” Korra asked.
“Yeah, don’t worry.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Deadalus.”
"Don't call me that!" Asami said, harsher than she intended.
"Why?" Korra asked, her voice suddenly becoming lower and more teasing, enough to make Asami feel warmth spread through her body." Is it because it would be weird for me to call you 'daddy'? It’s not one of your kinks?"
"Because I remember how Icarus ended," Asami said, her voice breaking a moment. "I don't want that for you."
"Hey, before he fell, he flew higher and further than anyone before," Korra said softly. "On the wings Daedalus made for him. That's so us."
Asami found tears welling up in her eyes.
“That’s so us,” she repeated.
“I… I wish you were here,” Korra said. “You should’ve been here.”
“I couldn’t,” Asami replied, almost choking on the words. “You know that.”
Of course she could’ve. She was running this project. Her word was law. She could even easily justify it to everyone – even to herself. Without false modesty she knew she was one of the finest engineering minds that were left in whole of humanity. Her expertise during the flight would’ve been invaluable, especially if something went wrong.
And also she would’ve been a strain on the untested medical facilities on board of the Avatar of Hope. Facilities that were supposed to last for a couple of hundred years but were just not equipped with treating the late-stage radiation sickness she was dying of. And worst of all… Korra would be there, watching her suffering, watching her body slowly fail.
Even though Asami knew that Korra, who touched her so gently, who looked at her with so much love despite the burns covering so much of Asami’s body, would be there for her… but selfishly Asami didn’t want the last memory that Korra had of her to be one of her screaming in pain and puking her guts out. Besides, Korra was the Captain of the Avatar of Hope. Asami didn’t want her distracted.
She looked up at the clock, cleared her throat but didn’t bother wiping her tears off.
“T-minus five minutes,” she said. “All hands, this is your final sequence. Let’s bring her to life.”
The Avatar of Hope’s hull shimmered as plasma vents cycled up, spilling faint halos of ionized gas. Inside, Asami knew that the crew members floated at their stations, buckled in with trembling focus. Cryo pods lined the decks like silver coffins, frost glinting off their curved lids. Perhaps, in one of them, a little girl’s hair drifted in the suspension gel, her small hand clutching a plush rabbit sealed in with her. She liked the image.
“Flight computer synced,” Korra’s voice came said. “Navigation solution locked.”
“PDCs opened fire,” Kuvira said from her console.
Asami hoped Korra didn’t hear that.
“Listen, Korr,” Asami said. “I suggest you skip step seven from the checklist, okay?”
Step seven took a whole minute and it basically just confirmed if the ship’s central computer was received telemetric data from mission control. It was a wasted minute since soon there would be no mission control that could be sending data.
“Huh, want to see me go so bad?” Korra asked, her voice strained.
“You know, your ass was always your best feature,” Asami replied, not caring that she’s speaking out loud.
“I thought it was my tits and great sense of humour. Fine, skipping to step eight,” Korra said. “Begin releasing clamps.”
“Clamp one, released,” Baatar Senior said, having taken the console left by Mako.
The first tremor hit as they reached the two-minute mark. The floor shuddered underfoot, the lights flickered.
“EMP shockwave detected,” Kuvira said. “They’re detonating in low orbit.”
Asami steadied herself on the console. “Keep systems isolated. We ride this out.”
“Deadalus, I can’t help but see your PDCs firing,” Korra’s voice came to Asami. “Something I should know about?”
“No, just firing in your honour,” Asami said. “You know, the 21-gun salute, old-school.”
“I did mention you’re a terrible liar, didn’t I?”
Asami laughed.
Then her eyes fell onto the big clock.
“It’s time,” she whispered.
Ten…
Suyin put one of her hands on Kuvira’s shoulder and took her husband’s hand in the other.
…nine…
Lin looked at her sister, gave her a half-smile, then looked out through the viewports at the silhouette of the Avatar of Hope.
…eight…
A young man named Huan was sitting strapped tight in the section of the ship’s ring where the colonists who would be awake through the journey were gathered, thinking of what a marvellous sculpture the ship made. Thinking hard about it because it meant not thinking about him never seeing his family again.
“Hey, it’s okay to cry,” that irritating teenager, Ikki, that had been following him since the boarding, said gently, taking his hand. “At least my sister said so, before she went into the cryochamber. And she’s smart, you know.”
Huan squeezed her hand back, ignoring another teenager – Ikki’s brother, probably – who was telling everyone how ‘Ikki was in luv’.
…seven…
“Come on, come on!” Mako muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he ran the diagnostics on the trio of point defense cannons hit by the EMP.
…six…
In two silvery cryopods next to each other, Bolin and Opal were asleep, dreaming of a better world, their last sensation before being frozen that of the taste of each other’s lips.
…five…
A tall man with an arrow tattoo on his forehead – Tenzin, Asami remembered his name – hugged his wife and they began praying together for the safe flight of their four children.
…four…
Some one hundred metres from Bolin and Opal a young woman with another arrow tattooed on her head was sleeping, together with a boy in his early teens. Not far from her, in another cryopod was a dark-skinned young man who kept teasing her before they entered the pods.
…three…
Korra swallowed and glanced at the damaged photo of her parents that she stuck to the cockpit. All the checks were done. There was nothing to do but wait.
…two…
“Hey, Korra,” Asami said, as the viewports dimmed to protect the eyes of those in mission control from being blinded by the engines starting.
…one…
“Yes, Daedalus?”
Asami put the headphones on so that these words would only be shared with Korra.
“I love you.” she thought, but didn’t find the courage to say it out loud. Instead, she said: “Godspeed, Icarus.”
She didn’t believe in God.
But she believed in Korra.
…Ignition!
The mission control shook when the engines came to life, but through the headphones Asami heard Korra’s ‘I love you too.’
And then… and then the Avatar of Hope was taking off flying up, up, up and away, away from the burning Earth, from the doomed space station… and from Asami.
Asami checked Kuvira’s console.
The missiles were coming, still too many… but maybe far enough that the departing spaceship would manage to put distance between itself and the blast.
Time to impact: one minute.
Fifty-nine seconds.
Fifty-eight seconds.
Fifty-seven seconds.
Around them, some of the families — like Tenzin and his wife — were praying, others were hugging or crying or just talking. Others just stared through the cracked viewport, searching for the streak of the departing ship. Asami found it — one faint blue thread against the vast night, already curving away from Earth’s gravity well.
Asami still had Korra on the line, but suddenly she didn’t know what to say.
Something obvious like ‘you’re our last hope’?
Something deep like ‘let’s hope we’ll treat the new world better than we did the old one’?
Something silly like ‘stay safe’ as if there weren’t a million things that could go wrong that Korra had no influence on?
Korra solved her dilemma by speaking first.
“So… what are you wearing?”
And then Asami was laughing and laughing and crying and laughing.
“Nothing but Chanel and lacy red lingerie,” she said, allowing herself for a moment to stop thinking about the burns covering her body.
“Ooooh, can’t wait to see it,” Korra replied.
“A bit presumptuous, aren’t we?” Asami said. “Do you think I’m the type of girl who strips on the first date?”
“Wait until you taste my signature seaweed noodles! Though I’m sure they wouldn’t taste even half as good as you would.”
“Oh, that was smooth,” Asami chuckled. “But you cooking a dinner for me? That could work. So what else do you have planned for our date? Apart from, you know, fucking each other’s brains out.”
“Well… I’d definitely take you on a walk to my favourite spot to watch the Southern Lights,” she said. “Then maybe for some bad karaoke? Except when I do Bon Jovi’s It’s My Life it’s not bad but fucking awesome!”
“Well, I was never a good singer, but I’m sure we’d make a good team. Did I tell you I used to play mean guitar?”
“Really? A hot chick with a guitar? I’m all yours!”
“So what would we do then?” Asami asked, forgetting about the whole world apart from Korra’s voice.
“Then maybe to a dog shelter?” that voice returned after only a briefest of pauses. “I was thinking about finally getting a dog. I hope you’re a dog person?”
“Never had one, but would love to try,” Asami said quickly, as if the conversation was a lifeline holding her and Korra together. Which was, in a way, true. “My house has a big yard so there wouldn’t be any pro-“
Asami’s voice suddenly got cut off. Only then did Korra look at the console, looking at the spot where the R.A.A.V. mission control was supposed to be and now the system only detected a high-yield nuclear explosion.
She allowed tears to flow down her cheeks, fists clenching so much that it hurt.
Earth’s last light faded behind the Avatar of Hope.
“Goodbye, Daedalus.”