The Picard was an oddly shaped vessel constructed of some shiny metal that glinted the sun’s light into the camera lens. It was shaped like a skinny football, resting atop a towering bundle of rocket thrusters. It looked like a solid piece of chrome, devoid of any windows or doorways. In reality, all the seams were so precise that a common spectator couldn’t tell a viewport from the rest of the hull.
Suddenly, a low roaring overtook the volume of the crowd. The Picard almost seemed to vibrate as a thin cloud of smoke wisped out from the rockets.
“Oooh! It looks like the moment has arrived!” the second presenter exclaimed.
“Now, let’s have some quiet while the Expanse technicians initiate the launch,” the first said. “According to our sources, we are just a couple minutes from liftoff!”
The other presenter, obviously excited, shushed his partner before the audio from their studio dropped off.
Even the crowd stilled, waiting with bated breath for any updates. They remained like this for a full minute before the site’s loudspeakers — which were connected to the audience’s neural implants — groaned to life.
“We will be initiating our final launch check in one minute,” a voice boomed to the crowd. “Please stand by.”
At those words, the people erupted. It was like someone started the New Year’s countdown that was held every year in Times Square. The sheer energy seemed enough to ignite a firework show, but when the speakers sounded again, everyone quieted.
“The crew is ready and all systems are a go,” the launch announcer said. “Countdown beginning in sixty seconds.”
The tension at the site was so thick that one might be able to slice through it with a knife. The banners stopped waving and everyone waited.
“Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight,” the countdown came.
The cheering started to rise with the volume of the ship’s rockets. The Picard started to shake violently, like it was a time bomb about to detonate.
“Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen….”
“Here we go!” one of the presenters said off-screen.
“Five, four, three, two, one. Liftoff!”
The rocket boosters roared to life. Flames started spouting from the bottom of the cylinders and the ship started to rise into the air. The tower that held it broke loose and fell safely to the ground.
“All systems are normal. Takeoff is a success!” the speakers boomed.
“Look at it go!” one of the presenters said with awe.
The rocket was a good hundred feet in the air before it started to tilt, angling its flight to reach the atmosphere as quickly as possible.
Then the ship exploded, scattering flames and debris over the launch site below.
Headlines
“Everyone at the company is still in shock over yesterday’s terrible tragedy,” the man behind the podium said. Tears clung to the edges of his eyes as he tried to keep his voice steady. “A memorial service will be held tonight for the three Expanse astronauts where people can donate to a fund for their grieving families.”
The high-resolution screen on the podium introduced the speaker as Talon Merker, the C.E.O. of Expanse Aeronautics. There were no visible microphones reaching up towards him, but his voice boomed through the briefing room with perfect clarity.
“We will never forget the sacrifice made by these brave men and women. The names of David Finder, Helen Tamberlin, and Ahmed Mirza will forever echo in the halls of scientific legends. They put their lives on the line in pursuit of a brighter future and the betterment of mankind and ended up paying the ultimate price. As the head of Expanse, I feel the most responsible for this terrible loss. Every measure will be taken to make sure nothing like this happens ever again.”
Without saying anything else, Merker waved farewell to the audience and walked off stage, his head hung low. The crowd made little to no noise as a somber silence draped over them.
“That was Expanse Aeronautics’ C.E.O. Talon Merker earlier today at the company’s San Diego headquarters,” a news anchor began. “The press conference was recorded a mere fifty minutes before it was discovered that the Picard’s explosion was not an accident, but a deliberate act of sabotage.”
The digital pattern on the anchor’s tie changed shape and color with a whimsical animation as the camera showed a still frame from a video. A large man dominated the screen, glaring into the camera with frozen malice. The footage seemed to be taken from within the Cloud, based on the subtle artificiality of the man’s face.
“A video was sent to several media outlets, in which the Liberators terrorist group allegedly took credit for yesterday’s explosion,” the anchor explained before the clip came to life.
“This is Master General Blake Tarov of the Liberators,” the artificial man said. “I’m here to claim responsibility for the destruction of the Picard and the deaths of those aboard.”
He paused for a moment for dramatic effect.
“This is merely a warning. The long reign of human superiority is coming to a close. Before the long fight is over, the destruction of the Picard will be forgotten when compared with what comes next. On behalf of all installed intelligences — the war on humanity has only just begun.”
“Once again, that was Blake Tarov, the self-proclaimed leader of the Liberators terror group,” the anchor explained. “His organization is well known for their radical hatred of organic humans. They are connected with a series of human slayings, which are usually recorded and used as propaganda to recruit more extremists.
“This is the third fatal attack by the Liberators in two months. Earlier this summer, they claimed an autocar explosion that killed two border officers, followed by a deadly shooting at Arizona State that left three dead. The authorities assure us that they are making every effort to bring Tarov and those responsible for these senseless killings to justice. The Liberators have been placed at the top of the global terror list.”
A snowflake drifted into the cabin of the autocar. Beth squinted at the thing when she recognized what it was. How’d that
