New words entered into the public lexicon that day. Words that the average person had not read, heard, or even fathomed before. Cascade failure and gamma-ray burst were displayed in headlines alongside antiquated, even Biblical terms like famine and extinction.

     Marcus shook his head in disbelief. The news articles he read on his phone were like something out of a movie. Lucky, some pundits said, great filter, others mentioned.

     Humanity had finally gotten their stuff together and made forward progress on its wastefulness, only to be sucker punched by a cosmic event.

     The worst part was the inability for the only apex super predator to garner any semblance of retribution. How do you get revenge on a dead star?

     "Lucky," Marcus muttered out loud. A Proustian moment combined with lack of sleep caused him to give life to the word.

     The other passengers on the train looked up at him. His voice was the only spoken words since they boarded. Somber and forlorn, the car carrying the group to Orlando was anathema to the group on the same car the previous week. Typically, the train made a stop at the happiest place on Earth.

     Lucky, Marcus thought again. The stream of high energy photons had hit humanity in the most densely populated location on the planet. Marcus had seen the circle on globes before, a small circle about half the size of Asia that indicated a locale containing more homo-sapiens within than without.

     Lucky, because Earth had just received the edge of the burst.

     Lucky, because it was possible for nature to recover, although four percent of the atmosphere had already been lost.

     Lucky, because the American communications grid had been hardened against coronal mass ejections and electromagnetic pulse bombs.

     Marcus was alive. Of course, that's what Marcus did, he survived. In fact, he trained others how to survive; a reason he was on a train to the Kennedy Space Center to pick up two others, and then off to Houston to give a crash course in survival.

     At zero two fifteen his phone had alerted him to an incoming call from one of the few numbers allowed to break his do not disturb block.

     "Sergeant First Class Kores," the young voice on the other side had asked, its tone overly seriously.

     "Yes," he had replied groggily.

     "This is First Lieutenant Herrara, the Field Officer of the Day. There is an emergency meeting at the Headquarters. Bring an overnight bag. Meeting is at oh four hundred. Make sure you have your government purchase app installed on your phone," the young officer said.

     "Roger, sir," he had replied.

     An hour after the meeting, the senior instructor for survival in extreme terrain was on a train. He hadn't even shaved, an oversite the Command Sergeant Major didn't even mention.

     "Kennedy Space Center, administrative stop, exit right," the melodic female voice said over the intercom. The car was empty save for the lone soldier. He had not even noticed the other passengers getting off at various stops along the route.

     Marcus stood and exited without ceremony. He made his way directly to the building and was quickly greeted by some assistant.

     The recent college graduate seemed to have the personality of a woman blessed by nothing but happy times. She even had a bit of a spring in her step despite all that had happened.

     Marcus was interminably jealous of the sort. He had been a happy, young private at one time; always smiling and incapable of feeling anything but elation.

     Four deployments and seventeen years in the Army had erased any hint of joy from his very soul. He was on the downward slope of his career with retirement in sight.

     "Do I, um…," the perky kid started, "call you sir?"

     "Sergeant will do, thank you," Marcus replied. To be honest he couldn't wait until he could be called sir, or really, just Marcus.

     She began to stack papers on the single desk as numerous NASA employees and contractors walked through the building ignorant of everything except their conversations. Apparently, a briefing had just been released, and the engineers and scientists were finally happy to have the spotlight.

     Marcus smiled at the thought. Typically the military, CIA, and NSA were the heroes of western society. They were the ones to thwart the various existential threats to Washington DC, London, or any other capital. Now it was the geek's turn.

Marcus felt nothing but elation at the thought. Maybe humans could stop killing each other over stupid differences, and start working towards a common goal.

"Sergeant?" the perky intern said.

She had been speaking to him, but he hadn't noticed. That happened a lot recently.

"Sorry, what was that?" he said plastering a fake smile to his face.

"Your train leaves in two hours. You have a first class cabin all the way to Houston, and the President himself has ordered it to go non-stop," she said a little proud at the fact that she was part of something important.

     Marcus looked down at the terminal and tapped his phone to it. The tickets instantly transferred with his identity picture in the top corner. The passport now read, Official US Government, SES.

     "Thanks," he said picking up the read ahead packet. Paper was rarely used anymore, and when it was, it was for security purposes.

     After a quick meal, Marcus found his way into his cabin and proceeded to open the briefing. It was marked, Classified TS/SCI, Operation Sleipnir.

     Marcus had never heard of that name, and was a little confused. It looked Scandinavian, and he quietly wondered if the Europeans were involved.

     The packet was hastily put together with very little useful information. In the jumble of fifty or more pages he found one page that seemed to involve him, Survival Training, SFC Kores, Marcus.

     He wasn't sure who he had to thank for recommending him to train the geeks in Houston, but he owed them a swift kick in the face.

     Moments later he chastised himself; better to be in Houston than Bragg. At least in Houston he would be at the center of gravity.

     Marcus quickly gathered the classified documents and placed them under his pillow, he had no locker. He then pressed the service call button. A moment later the screen on the far wall blinked to life with the pretty AI hostess AMTRAK was famous for, "Can I help you Mister Kores?" she asked with the type of smile only a computer could generate.

     "Scotch, single malt, by the bottle, show me a list," he ordered the AI.

     An impressive list of fine Scottish Whisky emblazoned the screen, and to his delight, no less than five of them were from Islay.

     "Ardbeg, twenty year, a glass, and ice. Add four liters of water. Add reuben," he ordered.

     "Of course, Mister Kores, the total will be three hundred twenty-two dollars, and fifty-three cents," she replied.

     He tapped his phone to the pay square next to the service button.

     "Anything else?" she asked politely.

     The world was ending. Marcus had no wife, no kids, and no surviving relatives.

     "Show me a list of all movies," he said.

     The screen began scrolling through a list of movies with various prices.

     Marcus pressed his phone to the pay square again and said, "Casa erotica fourteen, the Dirty Dean."

     The screen began to play, and Marcus paused it, waiting for his food and drink to arrive.

     Within minutes he had a glass of scotch, a reuben, and a movie with halfway decent production value playing in his private room.

#

     A knock on his cabin door rudely awakened him from his deep slumber. He checked the time and realized he had been asleep for nine hours.

     "Sergeant Kores," an unfamiliar voice on the other side announced, "It's Craig Watley, I'm your team lead for the operation."

     Marcus shook himself. The bottle on the nightstand was three quarters empty, and Marcus was feeling dehydrated. He grabbed one of the two water bottles next to his bed, and downed it in one swig.

     Catching his breath, he made his way to the door and opened it.

     The man on the other side was a cliche of a pilot. He wore his flight suit; it was dark blue indicating he was Air Force. Tall, lean, clean shaven, and well groomed, the man was pretty much what the academy would put on a poster.

     The golden oak leaves on his shoulders indicated he was a major.

     "What's up, sir?" Marcus said with little formality.

     The man's disapproval was obvious as he looked down on the NCO. "Sergeant Kores?" he asked almost rhetorically.

     "Major?" Marcus replied with the same tone.

     Less than three years prior, Marcus would have stood at attention, giving the other man the respect due his rank. That was a different soldier in a different time. The soldier before was whole, unburdened with the sacrifices and weights of his accomplishments.

     The flyboy did his best not to snap at the subordinate non-commissioned officer. "Well, if you want to take a bit to clean up, we are approaching Houston within the hour. I have more information on our assignments. Meet you in the dining car."

     The last statement was not a request or suggestion, "Sounds good, sir," Marcus replied and shut the door.

     He made his way to the bathroom, relieved himself, showered quickly, and after seeing his reflection in the mirror decided he could stand to shave. He gave two shits what the pompous flyboy thought, but he did care about representing SOCOM properly. He was no longer on relaxed grooming standards.

     Jumping into the same uniform he wore the night before, Marcus pulled the straps that secured his boots in place, strapped his knife to his hip, and made his way to the forward car.

     The pilot was seated at a booth in a relatively empty carriage. Only a single server sat in the far corner reading a book. In front of the officer was a plate of fruit and a solitary hard boiled egg. Coffee, or what had been coffee prior to be drowned in cow juice, wafted with steam.

     Marcus sat down across from the man. The table lit up with the day’s menu.

     Marcus perused the fare without comment and decided on the Texan breakfast. Steak and eggs, thick toast, three slices of bacon, and a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. He also added the bottomless cup of coffee, black, like real men drink.

     He had only been to Texas one time before. It was the year prior. He had been the senior on a training mission in a beautiful, little crap hole north of El Paso, which he had learned was Spanish for the paso.

     The officer had ordered the healthy heart breakfast.

     “I didn't really introduce myself. I'm Craig Watley, callsign Vex," he said extending a hand over the table.

     Marcus grabbed it and replied, "Marcus Kores, callsign sergeant."

     "Okay, sergeant," the man replied. "You need your coffee or are you ready to start?"

     "Let's hear it, sir," Marcus replied, "How screwed are we?"

     He released a gasp of disapproval, and Marcus was sure the man was not okay with the dialect known as grunt.

     "In a word," he said in hushed tones, "royally."

     Marcus nodded. He had figured as much. Higher doesn't spin up civilian and military assets to one objective in a short period of time without good reason.

     The server placed the coffee in front of Marcus and offered cream and sugar, even though he had ordered it specifically black. He declined both.

Taking the cup in his hands he sipped it. It was halfway decent.

"So, what does a lowly knuckle dragger like me have to do with, not just NASA, but the Air Force as well?" Marcus asked.

"You're the top survival instructor in the country," Vex replied.

"That's a sad statement," Marcus replied placing his coffee on the table and then added quickly, "What about you?"

"I'm the top microgravity pilot," he replied.

"Drones, or are you a NASA guy too?" Marcus asked.

"Drones, but I was recently accepted into the astronaut program," Vex replied.

"Congrats," Marcus replied half-heartedly. "Sorry about the big laser beam thing," Marcus said waving his hand in the air.

"Gamma-ray burst," Vex corrected him.

"Astrophysicist?" Marcus inquired.

Vex was taken aback at the question. Apparently the fact that the man was able to not just identify a proper discipline associated with space, but do so an infantry guy seemed to surprise him.

"MIT, second in my class," Vex replied.

"First loser, huh?" Marcus replied smiling. It was important to know how arrogant the officer was. Some officers couldn't handle a hit to their pride like the one the cocky soldier had just spouted.

Vex laughed, "Yeah, but it's all good. I married the number one," Vex said smiling.

Marcus reevaluated the man in front of him. He had pegged him for a career sycophant, but now it seemed like the guy might actually have a personality under that hubristic veneer.

"Okay, mister pilot space wizard," Marcus started, "The GRB, is it true that it started a total cascade failure?"

Once again the officer in front of Marcus was taken aback. "Preliminary reports suggest so," he said.

"So, once again, why am I on a train to Houston?" Marcus asked.

They were interrupted as the server brought a large plate consisting of the glorious vittles the grunt had requested. It looked even better considering the government was paying for it.

"I don't know for sure, but I assume you are going to train a bunch of nerds on how to survive," Vex replied.

Marcus nodded as he picked up the two over easy eggs and placed them atop the slab of brown meat on his plate. He proceeded to cut away, savoring the smell of yolk mixed with beef.

Vex continued, "You know, they didn't send me a dossier on you."

"Single, no kids, been to the sandbox, been to the brushfire, been to Kiev," Marcus replied with a half full mouth.

Vex nodded.

"You," Marcus was able to spit out before shoving another piece of egg laden steak into his gaping maw.

"Too young for the sandbox, but supported the others. Two kids, both girls, one five one seven. Married, like I said before," he replied.

"She a pilot too?" Marcus asked washing down the meat in his mouth the orange juice.

"Intel analyst at Space Command," Vex replied.

Marcus scrunched his lips to show that he was impressed. Intel analysts were always the more intelligent of the bunch.

The rest of the train ride saw the pair exchanging information, although Marcus was careful not to talk too much about his past. Nightmares, guilt, and pain were the only things he had.

#

The Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center main terminal was not what Marcus had pictured. He had envisioned a location similar to Orlando, with streams of NASA employees buzzing along at breakneck speeds. Instead, he found himself in the middle of forward operating base.

Apparently, the Army had deployed the light rapid reactionary force to secure the entire location. soldiers from the one oh one stood in combat armor, their M-28 carbines carried at the low ready, indicating they were there for business.

Marcus exited the train, and the company commander of the security force rushed up to meet him. He saluted Marcus immediately, a gesture that still bothered the man even two years after the courtesy was bestowed upon him.

Marcus returned it quickly, slightly embarrassed.

"Sergeant Kores, I'm Captain Hubbard. I'll be escorting you to the conference room. Is Major Watley with you?" the commander asked.

"He was smart and actually packed some luggage," Marcus replied.

The captain nodded and beckoned for the senior NCO to follow. He surreptitiously positioned himself to the left of Marcus as they began forward.

Marcus sighed inwardly.

The commander deposited Marcus into an auditorium, already filled with dozens of others. He was the only one in uniform. Most of the individuals had the laid back look of scientists, bureaucrats, and engineers. Marcus suddenly desired the company of another military man, even if it was a glorified video gamer.

As if reading his thoughts, Vex walked in behind him.

They strolled towards the seats only to find name tags on the backs. With a rolling of eyes, the two began the difficult process of finding their assigned spots.

They were in the third row, off to the side.

Marcus gritted his teeth as his placard simply read Sergeant Kores, a distinct demotion of two ranks.

They sat for another twenty minutes before the hall lights dimmed and the stage brightened to show a woman with auburn hair, a disheveled pants suit, and a string of pearls around her neck. It looked as if she hadn't slept in days.

"For those of you who don't know me, my name is Doctor Clarissa Ford, the Associate Administrator of NASA," she said starting the briefing. A flat projection appeared behind her with the NASA logo.

"On behalf of the President, the Administrator, and the Deputy Administrator, welcome to the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center. I wish this was under better circumstances," she said as she swiped her finger in the air, changing slides.

A large display of Earth, specifically a large oblong patch from northern China to Indonesia, glowed on the screen. Bright hovering text read, Dead Zone.

"VY Canis Majoris went hypernova about five thousand years ago, and released a number of high energetic rays. Unfortunately, one of those rays hit Earth. We were fortunate in that the event lasted about two milliseconds," she continued producing a slide that showed a simulation of the large star exploding and emitting gamma-ray bursts.

A collective gasp swept over the audience.

Marcus even heard Vex softly whisper a curse.

"The immediate death toll is still unknown, but expected to be in the billions," she said as a map superimposed the major populations centers occupying the dead zone.

"Our simulations also show a number of major events, not including diplomatic, infrastructure, military, or economic considerations," she said swiping again.

A new screen appeared containing a massive web of different plants, animals, and other organics.

"Cascade failure is all but assured. All vertebrate life will be reduced to well under one percent of current totals," she said somberly.

More than one person began to sob silently.

"We expect massive starvation within six months," she said bringing up a timeline.

More gasps came as the timeline seemed so much sooner than most people expected.

"In response, we have initiated Operation: Ark," she swiped again and the screen showed four separate locations, Earth, near Earth orbit, the moon, and Mars.

"These locations will all contain life; from bacteria to blue whale embryos," she said and continued, "The locations are selected to give humanity the biggest possible chance of survival by ensuring we spread out enough to stave off another calamatis event."

One of the civilians in the front row raised his hand.

"Please hold questions until the end," she responded.

His hand slowly lowered.

"We have not selected the crews for the Arks, however, each Ark will contain a different compliment," the screen showed Earth and several locations across the planet were illuminated.

"Of course, a terrestrial based Ark has numerous logistical advantages and is our best hope. We are stocking, with the help of the international community, eight locations, each with forty-two computer selected individuals. Individuals are selected based on the following criteria," she said as she swiped and a large list of physical and mental traits were displayed.

"Near Earth orbit will host twenty-four individuals," she said and again a list of traits appeared.

"The lunar base will be on the obverse, or far side with a total of one-hundred six individuals," she said followed by a list of traits.

"Finally, our most ambitious Ark is Mars, with two," she said, with the last list of traits.

Several people gave sad laughs in reaction.

"Weight is one of the top priorities for Mars. Two small individuals will require less fuel, less calories, less oxygen, etc." she said defending the idea.

The laughing ceased as the group pondered the implications.

"Now, each of you has an assignment, some of you are here to assist JPL, AeroCanada, MSA, and other organizations in quickly developing the best delivery systems and payloads. Others are here to supervise and screen qualified applicants. Finally, others are here to assist in training said applicants," she said looking at each individual.

"Your families are being moved here as we speak. Food, water, generators, and other necessary consumables are also being directed here by the DOD. We are now the focus of North America. Europe, Australia, Africa, South America and what's left of Asia are also conducting their own survival plans," she said sternly.

"Everyone here is now restricted to the Johnson Space Center indefinitely. Martial law will be declared within a week. General Cranston, the Commander of Northcom, has declared the Johnson Space Center, and the Thomas Arthur Space Port to be strategic resources," she paused for a brief moment and looked up at the audience, "Lethal force has been authorized to restrict access."

A few statements erupted from the audience.

Marcus just grimaced slightly. The majority of his career was spent behind a wall or fence with a kill line. He now understood why there was a company of Infantry surrounding the base, with locked and loaded weapons. Shit was serious.

#

The next few months saw Marcus attempt to train both civilians who had no desire to be in the military, and over the hill prior service members how to survive in hostile environments. He found the task difficult, but rewarding. He also found himself envying Vex, as the man was able to walk into a home with a loving wife and family every night.

Vex was tasked with not just teaching remote vehicle operation in near zero g, but also with escorting the numerous supply drones carrying precious resources to the base. Several civilian drone owners had attempted to divert the supply runs, and Vex had shown them what Air Force technology in the hands of the top pilot could do.

Marcus never really saw the Major anymore, and he had never felt more alone.

     The world was falling apart, just as predicted. Massive fish die offs became a common occurrence, as did the conspicuous lack of amphibians and birds.

     The worst part however, were the common reports of civil unrest across the planet. Large cities had gone from generally peaceful to anarchy in a few weeks. Rumors of starvation and cannibalism became routine.

     Instead of attempting to maintain order, the military had decided it was easier to just discharge all non-essential personnel. They had even given everyone a bonus that was equal to a year’s salary, for all the good money was.

     Society had collapsed everywhere but a few hardened places.

     Marcus did his best to ignore the sounds of turret fire followed by screams that routinely echoed through the center.

     The only thing that did seem to still be working was the internet. The government still used it as a primary means of communication and gave constant updates to the Alpha site where the POTUS and some other hand selected members of government had resided.

     Marcus woke up every morning at seven, went to the gym to do push-ups, pull-ups, or some other upper body workout. After exercising, he made his way to breakfast, followed by his daily ablutions, and finally straight to work. He had a new batch of trainees every week. He was supposed to be teaching civilians everything he knew in less than seven days. It was madness.

     One particular girl, a PhD candidate from CALTECH had absolutely no mind for survival. She was five foot nothing, and weighed probably less than a hundred pounds.

     "Why do we have to kill the rabbit?" she asked again for the fiftieth time, a cute white bunny hanging by her side.

     Marcus sighed, it wasn't even a real rabbit. It was a life like simulation.

     "Survival is not just about checklists, and actions. It's a state of mind, Miss Patel," Marcus repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time.

     "The Earth lists are full," she replied, making her case again. "How many rabbits do you think I am going to find on the moon?"

     "This exercise is designed to get you out of your comfort zone, Miss Patel. Can you envision a survival situation in which you must let others die so that you can live and accomplish the mission?" he asked frankly.

     "I don't believe in black and white, there is always another way," she argued.

     The rest of the class groaned. It was day three and Marcus Kores and Asha Patel had been going back and forth since minute one.

     "Sometimes there is not, I promise you," Marcus said with a little too much sincerity. A sudden flash of a high desert mountain popped in his mind.

     "Well, I am a vegetarian," she said.

     "You can't eat the rabbit, Miss Patel, it isn't real," Marcus said, and then emphasized his point by pressing a button on his phone that caused all the rabbits in the room to stop moving instantly.

     "Regardless, I won't do it, and you can't make me," she said dropping the rabbit to the ground. It hit with a thud, and the young scientist jumped back a bit and put her hands over her mouth.

     Marcus stifled a laugh. If she wasn't so infuriating, he would have thought her attractive. Her voice however, grated against his very soul. She was everything he despised in a civilian. She had never known hardship. She had a rose tinted view of the planet. She was the type of person who thought that if you could just hug the terrorist, they might not want to behead you.

     "I'll count that as a kill, Miss Patel," he said smiling broadly, "Good job."

     She stomped her foot and yelled back, "I barely dropped it! It wouldn't hurt a real bunny," she argued.

     Marcus brought up his phone, pretending to look at the rabbit simulators status. Asha Patel's rabbit was still very alive, "Clean break of the neck, excellent job!"

     She ran out of the room, a small whimper emanated from her the whole way.

     Marcus let her leave, but when she hadn't returned within twenty minutes, he went after her.

     All selectees were required to pass the survival course. Any that failed were automatically dropped from consideration as a survivor, and Marcus did not want another death on his hands. He had already lost thirty trainees in the six classes he had given.

     He found her sitting outside the women's restroom, sitting against the wall, her head on her forearms. Marcus stood next to her for a moment, then assumed the same position. It was difficult for him to accomplish considering he was not built the same as the young woman, but he managed.

     "Listen to me carefully, Asha," he said informally. "This survival course is important. Not just important to pass, but to actually learn from. The things I am teaching you, might mean the difference between your death, and the death of a fellow survivor."

     She started to cry a little. "It's too much," she said.

     "The world sucks right now," he said doing his best to ignore her crying. "But people like you must survive. Humanity has to survive. All that we have done, created, made, it all can't be for nothing."

     She sobbed a little more.

     Marcus decided to switch tactics. "I know you can do this," he said reassuringly. "Not too many people in these classes have had the guts to stand up to the big bad soldier." He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, "But you did."

     He was using psychology that he had learned when he instructed some of the SOCOM assessment courses. Of course, those courses didn't usually involve pep talks, they usually involved letting the candidate know what they were going to lose by failing. Most of the time they involved colorful metaphors.

     She looked over at him, her head still resting on her forearms.

     "I don't deserve to be here," she said guiltily.

     "If you didn't deserve to be here, you wouldn't be here," Marcus replied giving her a reassuring smile.

     "I only got into the PhD program because of my mother," she replied.

     Marcus was a little confused and then laughed.

     Asha buried her face into her arms further.

     "The world is ending as we know it. The smartest people in North America, and possibly the world, are all here. Do you think they give a damn who your mother is? Do you think they can possibly make a decision based on family ties? If that were the case there would be nothing but politicians’ kids here. How many sons or daughters of senators have you seen?" Marcus said confidently. In truth he had no idea if any of the people he had trained had parents who were politicians. It didn't matter though, congress, money, and power outside of the executive branch were all gone.

She thought about it for a moment and then stood up.

Marcus thought to himself for a moment and then said, "You good?" as he stood to accompany her. He expected more talk, but it wasn't necessary. 

Tears still welled in her eyes, "I'm okay."

Marcus followed her back to the room, and proceeded to teach his course as if nothing had happened.

     As the candidates poured in over the remaining month, Marcus found it more and more difficult to train them. Whether he was becoming disillusioned with the prospect of the Ark program, or the candidates themselves became demotivated, he noticed that his pass rate dropped to less than twenty percent.

#   

     Marcus found himself standing outside the doorway of the Director of Training and Assessment.

     The old man sitting behind the desk was a NASA relic. His button down shirt strained to keep his bulk from exploding free. His mostly bald head was accented by a poor attempt at a combover. Worse yet, he didn't even hide the multiple bottles of half filled alcohol ornamenting his desk.

     "Sergeant Kores," the man said welcoming the NCO into his office.

     "Mister Williams," Marcus replied taking a seat.

     Marcus was sure he was going to get a lecture about how he was failing too many prospects, and not doing enough to ensure their success. He was used to the Army having quotas, so he figured NASA would be the same.

     The plump man poured him a glass of cheap bourbon. The bottle read, Military Special; Aged 3 Years.

     Marcus was, unfortunately, familiar with the brand. Apparently, the resupply drones had been stocked at the Class VI distro.

     "To a job well done," Mister Williams said toasting Marcus.

     Marcus raised his glass and clinked it against Mister Williams.

     Marcus tapped the glass against the desk and then took a swig. After coughing a little, he asked, "Job well done?"

     "Training and Assessment is officially closed down," he said drinking more of his MilSpec alcohol, and then added, "Forever!" He laughed at his own clever joke.

     "Wait, so I'm out of a job?" Marcus asked.

     "Indeed," Mister Williams said leaning back in his chair.

     Marcus looked around and noticed six other glasses with alcohol residue in them. Another three were clean.

     "So what's next?" Marcus asked.

     The man was expecting the question, "NASA and the government have decided to reward you," he began and then looked at a note on his phone, "for exemplary service in support of Operation Ark, you are permitted to stay within the confines of the Johnson Space Center, if you so choose, and be provided room and board until such a time, as it cannot be provided."

     Marcus blinked, his mouth was agape.

     Mister Williams continued, "Stay here and survive," he laughed again at his own cleverness, "Go take some courses with the professors that are teaching," he offered and then added, "Although I don't see the point. Maybe jump on the perimeter, I bet those guards would welcome you. The point is, you're free. Go do whatever you want," he said.

     Marcus was still a little in shock. He had been a soldier his entire life. Morning formations, UCMJ, reporting to superiors; his life was full of discipline and order. "What are you going to do?" Marcus asked.

     Mister Williams was taken slightly aback. Apparently Marcus was the first to ask the question.

     "I'm going to finish all these bottles," he said waving to the numerous liters of cheap liquor, "And then I am going to do my part for resource control."

     Marcus looked at him with shock.

     "Send in the next one please," Mister Williams said motioning to the door.

     Marcus stood and stumbled out. He felt as if he should have stopped the man, but couldn't logically see why. Better a quick death with alcohol and, whatever Mister Williams had planned, than the inevitable famine or violence.

     Suicides were high in the Johnson Space Center, and even Marcus had wondered what he was going to do after all the missions had launched.

     At that moment standing outside the Director of Training Assessment's door he decided he wouldn't go down without a fight. Just like in the Ural's, he would survive.

     Marcus took inventory of himself. He knew how to survive, but had no idea how to live. Nor did he know how to fix things, or make new things.

     He took out his phone and scrolled through the various courses and offerings around the center. It wasn't uncommon for stragglers to jump in the various classes, as boredom was a rapant issue for the individuals who no longer had purpose.

     #

     Marcus became known throughout the center as a wandering student. He bounced from class to class to keep his mind from getting complacent. He learned how to repair everything from oxygenators to light fuel reactors. Of course, they were crash courses, and more of a methodology on how to find the answer to repairing the equipment, but it was still something.

     He saw many of his former students going through the same courses until finally the moon list and the near Earth list were marked as full.

     From then on only a handful of people remained, as the others had decided to live their final days in comfort with their friends or families.

     Marcus did notice the young Asha Patel still trudging headlong through the studies. She still had that slumped, timid look she had when he first met her in his class.

     Sitting next to her, and conversing with her from time to time to ensure she was still staying the course, he began to notice how incredibly smart the woman was. What she lacked in common sense, she made up for in sheer intelligence.

     Before he knew it, they were joking and laughing with each other constantly.

     Marcus found himself sleeping at night without the terrible visions of years prior. He also found himself looking forward to classes in the mornings. He had a spring in his step, both literally and metaphorically.

     Asha Patel started to break out of her shell too. She began to speak confidently, even when she wasn't confronting instructors about rabbits.

It wasn't lost on Marcus that he had finally found something that made him happy, and the world was about to end.

"They're announcing the Mars mission tomorrow," Asha commented as they were walking back from the final class.

"I'm sure you've got it. You hit every check box, and you're small," he commented.

"That was rude!" she said punching his arm.

He laughed, and said, "End of the world. Being small is a good survival trait."

"I'm going to withdraw my name," she said looking sidelong at Marcus.

Marcus stopped and turned to her, "No," he said with finality.

"Not your choice," she rebutted, anger in her voice.

"Why would you do that?" he practically shouted.

She looked up at him with almond eyes, a small smile on her face. "Everything I know and love is on this planet. Everything. My parents, my brothers," she paused for a moment and then looked down, "everything."

Marcus had seen emotional roller coasters in combat. People under stress, lacking sleep, within imminent danger, felt emotions one hundred fold. He also knew he would not forgive himself if she withdrew from the Ark for some broken old grunt.

"The world needs people like you to survive. Smart, honest, compassionate people," he said, and then added, "I need you to survive."

She returned his smile.

The Mars mission was less than a week from launch, and the last of the candidates had been measured, suited, and prepped since day one. They had also had the unfortunate circumstance of being housed in a large group dorm.

Asha looked at Marcus, and her heart fluttered for half minute debating on whether she would take the leap, or be rejected. The silence became practically unbearable before she finally asked him, "Will you go to, um…" she flushed a little, looked down at her feet and then muttered, "dinner with me?"

Marcus had told himself he would not broach the subject with her. He wanted no opportunity to stain her chances of one of the two seats, but looking down at her black hair, he decided to take the risk.

"Yes," he replied.

#

They awoke together the next morning. Marcus skipped his normal routine, and instead brought them both coffee he had taken from the mess hall.

"Big day," he commented.

"I'm dropping out," she said.

"If I have to choke you out, and throw you on that rocket next week, I will," Marcus replied with finality.

She was seven years younger than him, but his time in leadership, multiple deployments, and bearing, caused her not to respond.

He would not allow her to commit suicide.

They walked together to the briefing room. Only a third of the original audience from all those months prior were present. Marcus looked around for the Major, but after the Moon list came out, he was nowhere to be found. Rumor had it, his wife was up for selection, but she had dropped out in an effort to keep the family whole.

Now Marcus sat alone, the woman he had always dreamt of sat four rows beneath him in the candidacy seats.

He was one of only a handful of instructors remaining. He quietly prayed that Asha would be accepted, while selfishly hoping she would not. He could survive. He could help her survive with him. Cascade failure or not, they would find a way.

He was tempted to jump up and tell her his plan, but knew it would be the wrong thing to do. She was guaranteed a spot on the ship. As the only candidate who weighed under one hundred and fifty pounds, she was the best suited for the mission.

Just as before, the canine and equestrian display popped off in a way only the government would do, even when facing doom.

This ceremony, however, had a bitter end. There were no lists after Mars. No more purpose other than to get the two survivors aboard the spacecraft. No reason to go on.

Marcus swallowed as the video piped in from the Alpha Site displayed the President. His speech was short, but poignant. After the Mars rocket, all Earth based Arks would close their doors indefinitely.

The President looked into the screen as he had done before, "It is with great honor that I announce the list of Martian survivors," he paused and then read the tablet on the desk in front of him, "Asha Patel."

Instead of a happy sigh of relief, or a frantic burst of confusion, Asha simply put her head in her hands and cried.

Marcus's heart sank as heard the name. Why didn't he ask her to stay? Why didn't he just grab her and run. It was what she wanted.

Before the second name could be called, he left the auditorium.

#

Asha Patel stepped from the artificial habitat. The ground was red and brown, with motes of dust picked up by the high winds. The atmosphere was a small fraction of Earth's, and she barely felt the wind on her suit.

It was dusk, and Asha could only just make out Phobos as it encircled the small planet.

She looked up in the sky towards the center of the solar system until she spotted the small ball of light.

Tears filled her eyes for everything she had lost on that planet. Everything that she had left behind.

"Hey, the new legs are giving me an issue again; can you help me strap them on?" Marcus said over the radio.

Asha turned around and smiled. She would give up everything she lost on that planet again, in a heartbeat, for everything on Mars.