Zero : Zero

Sophie frowned at the sky. The rocket’s vapor trail captured the colors of the setting sun—vibrant orange against a hazy, sand-colored atmosphere.

She sucked in a needy breath, the mask pressed around her nose and mouth hissing.

Cam looked over. She couldn’t see the tilt of her lips under the mask, but the dimness of her eyes told of their tight purse and the frown there.

The ground shook as another rocket began to lift off, stirring a cloud of dust that collided with the plastic of their facemasks. The sound it made may have resembled rain—but she’d have to match it against the recordings from the archives to be sure. She’d never heard it in person.

From their vantage point, behind the chainlink fence, the view of the rocket was spliced—until it wasn’t. A cold tube of metal rose into the airspace above their heads, making the air hotter.

Cam’s mask hissed twice, and Sophie turned to her, gaze flicking down to her hands as she began to sign.

It’s now or never. Cloaked in sage green, her gloved hands moved fluidly through the air. Take the back and we’ll meet in the middle.

Nodding, Sophie pulled the scarf over her thinning red hair. She wrapped her fingers around the flash drive on a chain strung around her neck and ran.

In the last few months, this was something her and Cam had done dozens of times—breaking into these facilities to download the tech onto their computers that stabilized trajectories, reduced emissions. It would make the unceasing launch of rockets safer.

If the humans were dead set on leaving, they at least weren’t going to kill the ones they left on the ground.

This was their ninth facility in twelve days.

Others in their group, the Sustainable Planetary Restoration & Utility Taskforce—SPROUT for short—had similar directives. And while they were a coalition for good, for healing, the government had still labeled them a resistance group. Terrorists.

What had become apparent, though, in the last twelve days, was that they may not have the network they did a week ago.

The comms had been quieter every day.

Sophie reached the door, vision blurry from the sift in the air.

Ducking behind a generator, she wiped at her eyes. Once clear, her gaze moved over the area. The base sat on a plateau. What once was a valley below was now a leeched brown color, interspersed with rolling curls of darker, browner grit and the bright white of old trees long bleached.

Something wiggled uncomfortably in the back of her mind; a thought. How strange that there was no patrol, no people at all. Just the distant rumble of rockets and contrails above.

From her pocket she pulled her forged keycard and tapped it on the pad. The eyescanner blinked orange, and she leaned in. The contact pressed over her eye with the fake pattern warmed momentarily—a side effect that felt like needles being driven into her molars—before her vision filled with green and the door’s lock disengaged.

Inside, the air was notably cooler. Clean. Her fingers curled tighter around the drive, first pressing into her sternum, as she forced her mind away from the almost feral need to rip the mask from her face to sip the air.

The room she’d entered was lit dimly with the light radiating from rows of computers. There were no chairs to indicate a human had ever worked before them. Their monitors drifted between screens and lines of code all on their own, the onsite AI fully in control of operations while the humans loaded themselves into rockets.

Her gaze fell to a wall of switches, a single wire from every computer snaking its way over the cement floor. Lifting the drive’s chain over her head, she went to it. It didn’t take her long to find what she needed—it slid into the port without a fight.

There was a trip in the station’s hum, like someone had realized something mid-thought and paused to grasp the threads. Then, the buzz kicked up again, almost excited, and there was a chorus of beeps as the download began.

While she waited, she drifted between the monitors.

They were inlaid into the table; square screens at hip height tilted upwards, casting soft yellow light onto the pocked ceiling. The screen displayed something in flow, an energy in flux that she didn’t recognize, but radiated a steady green. On the top, righthand side, some sort of mission stats were typed in blocky, white font.

Core: Stable

Variance: Operations fall within expected variance, 306.7 / 253-547

Time to Completion: 00:00

Mission Status: Active

Behind her, a door clicked.

Sophie’s heart jumped as she spun, hand going to her hip where she used to keep her firearm—old habits.

It was Cam's dark curls and dark pine-colored mask that popped through the gap, though. Her gaze fell to where Sophie’s hand was grasping air at her side. She rolled her eyes, stepping further into the room.

You have to come see this, she signed quickly. I found something.

She gestured wildly, holding the door open.

Sophie’s eyes flicked to the drive in the wall of switches, mid-download. The chain swung a little in the air pumping through the vents.

Cam’s mask hissed on a hard exhale. There’s no one here, she signed impatiently. Come on, come see.

With a sigh, her hands half-heartly signing bossy—a gesture Cam only just caught, head shaking as it registered—she followed her into the other room.

This room was larger than the one she’d entered into. It was an assembly line of printers, each making a new part for a circuit. She’d seen them before, they were in every facility. While she’d never been able to tell exactly what they were for, she’d also never seen them powered down.

Cam was bent over a monitor in the middle, one knee resting on the chair set in front of it, foot jumping excitedly. She glanced up as Sophie touched her gently on the shoulder.

Did you turn them off? Sophie signed, gesturing broadly at the printers.

Eyes following her gesture, Cam shook her head. A furrow settled between her brow, as if she’d only just noticed.

Don’t you think it’s strange they’re not in production?

Cam’s expression went distant as she thought about the question.

Sophie softened, her anxiety ebbing. She’d always loved that about Cam—the way she took her time to find an answer. Cam always gave each inquiry so much merit and the same weighted attention, as if the person who asked was the most important in her orbit, from the smallest child to the most senior scientist in their taskforce.

After long seconds, Cam shook her head slowly; deliberately. She straightened as her hands came up.

No, Cam signed, the surety of her gesture falling in time to the steadiness of her gaze and the even hiss of her mask. No, I don’t think it’s a problem. Do you remember that third research facility, the one with the domed roof? At Sophie’s nod, she continued, We found that campus map with the rolling schedule of operation. I took photos of the research attached, and it seemed to be a way for them to keep the stations in operation amid rising temperatures. The lack of security is a little strange, but they do have the high ground—maybe it’s not so odd.

Sophie tilted her head from side to side, conceding with a wave to the computer, urging Cam to show her what she’d so unceremoniously dragged her in here for.

At that, Cam’s eyes creased, sparking with something so akin to joy, Sophie’s own heart leaped. She leaned in, mirroring Cam’s one legged stand, the other pressing into the worn cushion of the chair.

Eyes moving swiftly over the screen, Sophie’s smile grew under the mask.

She tapped the glass, hands moving frantically. Is this what I think it is?

Cam nodded excitedly, pointing at her own drive plugged into the monitor. For the first time since they’d started this mission, they were pulling useful information instead of dumping it and running.

On the screen were detailed plans for atmospheric regeneration tech—schematics that SPROUT had been trying to figure out for years, but never had the resources to test. They’d gotten the big part of it, how to scrub the atmosphere of toxins. What they’d never been able to figure out was how to deploy it in a way that made it operable from the surface, while giving the device a long enough leash to deposit the waste safely outside the planet’s range.

This life-saving ability of this tech was exactly what they needed. An entire civilization bore the same calluses, the same scars—a perfect triangle caging nose and mouth. With this, they could make a tangible difference.

With this, there was hope.

Pulse wild, she wanted to scream with joy.

Sophie’s drive was the first ding—a pulsing green light to indicate a complete download. As hard as it was to sit still and wait for Cam’s download, her eyes were glued to the screen, gloved fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on the table.

She hadn’t asked Cam, hadn’t wanted the possibility of no, but the longer she poured over the schematics on the monitor as the download bar filled, the more she felt Cam’s body buzzing in time with her own.

There would be no next facility—they had to get back to SPROUT.

Download complete, they left.

Hands clasped and unwilling to part, they both slipped out the back door, ducking once more behind the generator to scan the area. Sophie frowned behind her mask, unable to find solace in the eerie quiet.

In the time they’d been inside, the sun had almost completely slipped beyond the horizon, painting the sky in shades of brown and murky blues. The lights of nearby facilities seemed to simmer in the heat.

Sophie tucked her scarf back, straining her ears to listen.

Above them, she could still see the flashing lights lining the two rockets that had taken off, a few more hovering in the near distance.

Odd, she thought. They should be long gone by now.

Sensing her unease, Cam squeezed her hand. Her brown eyes shimmered—the excitement of their find still fresh. Sophie leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

Her mask hissed as she sucked in a breath. She nodded.

Together, they ran.

A sudden explosion shook the planet.

One moment Sophie’s feet were under her, the next she was sliding painfully over rock and dirt, her mask colliding with the ground, rattling her teeth.

Blindly, she reached for Cam, having lost her hand.

It was her muffled scream that had Sophie sitting up, blinking away sift, head pounding.

The world was suddenly, blindingly white.

It was long heartbeats before she could see again. When her vision had cleared, she had to fight the urge to rub at her eyes, as if scrubbing them could erase what was so plainly in front of her.

The blast was far, a distance that would have been near impossible to see on any normal day. It was right where the sun had begun to set. But, she couldn’t see the sun anymore—couldn’t fathom how it had been replaced by fire.

The rising ball of flame was stark against the atmospheric haze, vibrant orange against a sky the color of mud. Around it, the ground rippled; a wave that moved rapidly over the earth. She could see the air shudder with it.

In disbelief, Sophie could only think of the archives—of this picture she once saw of autumn. Deep browns and rich oranges. She’d long imagined what those colors would look like in person.

Cam screamed again, mask hissing.

Her head was tilted up, eyes wide with fear.

Sophie looked.

The sky was a riot of tumble. What looked like comets falling to the planet with a tail of pale yellow against a darkening sky. Sophie looked them in the eye, limbs freezing, heartbeat stilling. Beside her, Cam sobbed once into her mask.

The tech was never meant for us, Sophie thought, helplessly. And then, chillingly, We helped this.

Cam faced her suddenly, ripping off her mask as she did, the brown of her eyes speckled with the orange from above—pale green scarf fighting to hold its pallor.

“I love you,” Cam said, voice a rasp in the toxic air. Her inhale was ragged.

Sophie pulled her mask off, too, the seal peeling from her skin sticky—like glue. “I love you,” she rasped, the inhale burning like overproof spirit on a dry throat. Then, vowed, “I love you.”

They crashed into each other, mouths pressed together desperately, lips shaking. Cam’s fingers found the tangled curl of her hair and held like it was a tether that would bind them forever.

A terrible roar filled the air.

The sound was backwards, leeching. Like it was stealing all sound, pulling it to the heavens. Too loud and somehow, impossibly quiet.

Sophie closed her eyes, arms locking around Cam, and leaned into the kiss.