Going Green Read online

  Going Green

  Christina McMullen

  The following is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and brands are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living, dead, or the living dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2014, Christina McMullen

  Cover design, layout, and photography by Christina McMullen

  All rights reserved. Unauthorized distribution or reproduction is strictly prohibited.

  Other books by Christina McMullen

  Kind of Like Life

  The Eyes of The Sun Series:

  The Eyes of The Sun

  Bluebeard’s Children

  Mother of Darkness

  Dissonant

  Act I Infection

  The Abandoned Frontier

  The Shock Jockey

  Houston, We Have a Problem

  The Stars at Night Were Big and Bright

  Patient Zero

  Sealing the Deal

  Act II Survival

  Apocalypse Later

  Bird Flu

  Even a Broken Clock...

  A Minor Correction

  The Farewell Tour

  The Best Laid Plans…

  Missed Connection

  Dead On The Outside

  Act III Extinction

  The Volunteer

  The Survivors

  Evolution

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Act I

  Infection

  The Abandoned Frontier

  By the middle of the twenty first century, outer space simply wasn’t fashionable anymore. The wide-eyed speculation about life beyond the stars, popular in the mid-twentieth century, was long forgotten by everyone except the most hardcore of nostalgic science fiction enthusiasts and the remaining members of the Sagan Society. Led by an aging astrophysicist who once gained a brief celebrity status by making science cool again, the Sagan Society was a fringe activist group who petitioned the world’s governments to once again fund exploratory missions beyond the Earth’s orbit. But after decades of fruitless campaigns and ignored requests for an audience with world leaders, even they began to give up hope.

  Of course, this did not mean that the space race was over, only that the landscape had changed. Instead of world powers vying for their claim on interplanetary real estate, top mega-corporations of the travel industry now fought for the average consumer’s dollar. What had started as a handful of concepts, dreamed up by eccentric billionaires and crowd-funded upstarts, soon became a trillion dollar a year industry. On one end of the spectrum, luxury-class transportation shuttles offered every comfort and amenity imaginable, docking only at four and five star off-world resort stations. On the other end, low cost carriers offered no-frills flights to the average citizen on a budget. Destination resort stations became so plentiful that younger generations only knew stories of a time when stars, not hotels, were visible in the night sky.

  With commercial spaceflight rapidly becoming an economically viable household word, it seemed clear that this would be the peak achievement of human space exploration. The moon was deemed an uninteresting rock and not worth the bother. Sure, certain entrepreneurs still saw the barren wasteland as the next Las Vegas. But the major consensus among casual space travelers was that as long as the plain old Nevada desert Vegas existed, there was no need for a new and vastly more expensive Vegas on the moon. Mars became the lament of cranky old timers, and interstellar travel had been unanimously voted 'just not worth it' by the Global Space Commerce Committee.

  No longer the powerhouse of scientific innovation, NASA had been systematically defunded until the organization functioned solely as the space faring arm of the Transportation Security Administration. Space tourism had become what the smart phone had been at the beginning of the century: an affordable luxury. Now that everyone with disposable income was leaving the planet whenever they could afford, a laundry list of rules and regulations had to be established. It was now NASA’s job to maintain and enforce the rules for those leaving from American spaceports. Much like the traditional TSA, which still monitored airplane passengers, NASA performed a thankless service that was considered unnecessary and invasive by nearly everyone who had to pass through their scanners and checkpoints. But unlike the traditional TSA, whose seemingly random and arbitrary restrictions were historically based on speculated threats against the US, NASA had a different, more substantial reason for the majority of their numerous restrictions: Humans were careless creatures.

  Certainly, not everyone who traveled into near space was completely oblivious to the dangers. Many of the flights that left the spaceports were meant to be educational. Schools frequently booked lower atmosphere flights as field trips and several geological studies still persisted on the moon. But while most people knew better than to light a fire in an oxygenated environment, NASA understood that sometimes, even the most diligent of parents could not keep an eye on their offspring at all times. As such, matches and lighters, along with thousands of other items, were banned from shuttle flights.

  But the largest headache for the NASA agents, by far, was the Firsties: people who went into space simply to be the first to do some ordinary, mundane thing in outer space. It began as something of a joke when a couple of college kids decided to be the first to 'spring break' in space. One viral video later, Guinness was assembling a new division to officially acknowledge these firsts. Some were simple things, such as being the first to tell a famous joke, others were more complex, including a full-scale production of Shakespeare's Hamlet. Some, like the consortium of famous internet felines in space, were done as publicity stunts by internet media corporations trying to stay relevant in the space age.

  But soon, as many had predicted, there were no longer any firsts to be had and no one was content to be known as the second person to do anything. As such, space tourists had taken to pulling stunts that were meant to shock and disturb. Whether they fell into the category of explicit or extreme, these antics led to many arrests and a slew of new NASA restrictions that had people longing for the good old days of body scanners and shoe removal. Yet despite the restrictions, there were always those who managed to make the news through their zero-g stunts.

  The Shock Jockey

  Toby Westcott, better known to his fans as Master Mayhem, was only a teenager when the first commercial shuttle carriers began applying for permits to take civilians into space, but already he was an internet celebrity. As Mayhem, Westcott had amassed a huge following on The Shock Market, an internet collective dedicated to disproving traditional media’s theory that nothing was truly shocking in the connected age. Members of The Shock Market uploaded content that pushed the boundaries of decency: images, videos, or concepts that were disturbing, violent, sexually deviant, and truly bizarre. As various tropes were deemed ‘mainstream,’ site members would up the ante by challenging their fellow members to competitions in an attempt to dig deeper into the cesspools of human imagination and excavate concepts more disgusting and disturbing than the last.

  Toby Westcott never backed down from a challenge. As a misanthropic outcast of a child, Toby began taking out his frustrations with the world through The Shock Market, safely hidden behind the screen name Master Mayhem and a veritable fortress of proxy servers. Still, his antics quickly caught the attention of Homeland Security. In short order, Master Mayhem was listed as a terrorist and a threat to national security. Every new watch list he was added to only served to elevate his hero-like status among his fellow shock jockeys.

  On his eighteenth birthday, Toby took his persona public and inadvertently started a revolution.

  In a video posted on the l
argest public message board at the time, Toby came clean, literally. In the video, he stands in front of a bathroom sink wearing the full face and body makeup of his Master Mayhem character. As he speaks of his miserable and misunderstood life, he begins to wash the theatrical makeup from his face. When his story ends, he looks up, his face, now free of makeup, is even more shocking in its youthful appearance. Toby then speaks directly to the camera. His eyes are clear, yet hard, and his voice is devoid of any emotion.

  “You want to know why I did it, don’t you? What kind of a psycho does the things I have done to myself? Why would anyone go to the extremes that I have? For fame? For money? To feed my overblown ego? That’s what you’d like to think, isn’t it?

  “No. I did it because high school sucked. Because people suck. I did it because your stupid public service campaign is a lie. It doesn’t get better. It never gets better. No one gives the freak a break. You never have and you never will. I did it for you. All of you mindless jackasses. You don’t deserve my mercy, yet you received it anyway because I’m not half the monster you think I am.

  “Does it offend you? The things I’ve done? Are you disgusted by me? Good. Because you don’t know what I could have done. I could have brought a gun to school. I could have put a lot of holes through a lot of heads. I could have killed myself and died as nothing more than a statistic and a headline on the news. I almost did, you know. I would have. I was so close. You see The Shock Market as the decline of civilization. I saw salvation. I saw an outlet for my pain and anger. Do you get it now? None of this is about you. I did what I did, and I’ll keep doing what I do, because this is how those like me survive in a world made for those like you.”

  Not even a full two minutes after the video was posted, talking heads on every cable news channel were arguing whether Toby was a villain or victim, hero or hooligan, paragon or pariah. The Shock Market’s website, along with several message boards and news sites, erupted into raging debates over the video and the media’s reactions. Soon after that, the Cult of Mayhem, a small fan group that had started on a small community forum website, grew to several million members strong and began petitioning the government for recognition as a religious organization.

  Though he shunned the idea of saddling himself with the label of spiritual leader, Toby embraced the fame, creating his own brand of self-help that he called Shock Therapy. He wrote several books, appeared on all of the major talk shows, and sold out of stadiums and arenas for his speaking engagements. Despite his busy schedule, Toby still managed to make time to perform impromptu and increasingly shocking stunts as Master Mayhem.

  But after nearly a decade of playing the role of the most polarizing celebrity on the planet, Toby grew tired of public life. It became harder and harder to pull off stunts without the media leaking the story ahead of time, ruining the spontaneity and shock value of his performance. He missed the anonymity he had in his teen years, when Master Mayhem was nothing more than a character he played on the internet. It was time to pass the torch and call it quits, but not quietly. In one last and incredible hurrah, Toby was going out in a blaze of glory.

  Master Mayhem was going into space.

  Houston, We Have a Problem

  “Son of a biscuit!”

  NASA Security Officer Jim Banks slammed his laptop shut and stormed into Mission Control. What had started off as a bad day had just gotten worse.

  “Which one of you idiots gave that low life shock jockey flight authorization?”

  “It wasn’t us, it was the GSCC,” replied Agent Kevin Jenkins with a long sigh. He had been expecting a visit from his superior officer as soon as he received the official reprimand from the international organization. “They also leveled us with a hefty fine for denying his last twelve applications,” he added, handing Banks the ten-page print out of the reprimand.

  “Toby Westcott is on no less than seventeen Homeland Security watch lists,” Banks hissed. Already he could feel his blood pressure rising. “What right do they have to override our national security?”

  “It’s not called the Global Space Commerce Committee for nothing,” Jenkins reminded him in a voice that strained at the boundaries of respect. Banks was only one of several old timers who could not grasp the concept that the United States was no longer the ruling authority on space travel. “According to the International Mandate of Orbital Passage, Article 71, Paragraph six, denial of flight authorization by any nation based on speculated risk applies only to persons with known intent to commit acts of terrorism, warfare, or crimes of espionage. Not, and I quote from our official dressing down, ‘known pranksters and hooligans.’ I don’t like it any more than you do, Jim, but I made sure Westcott was subjected to every search and scan we had and I made every excuse to send him through several checkpoints a second time. He’s flying clean.”

  “Clean?” Banks’ face reached a shade of purple normally reserved for those about to go into cardiac arrest. “Clean? That little piece of parasitic monkey scat just went live on Orbital Direct with a full spore sac of Brain Freeze! How in the mother-lovin’ name of the US of frickin’ A did your entire security team miss that?”

  “That’s impossible!” Jenkins sputtered. “Not only are our drug scanners specifically set to detect the spores, but we did three separate full body cavity searches on Westcott before we let him into the boarding area!”

  “Take a look for yourself,” Banks growled, shoving a tablet computer into Jenkins hands. The video showed Toby, dressed in his full costume and makeup as Master Mayhem, pulling down the lower lid of his right eye. With a twitch of his cheek, a pill-sized glass capsule seemed to magically wedge its way out from behind his eyeball. As the camera zoomed in for a close up, there was no mistaking the bright blue spore sac it contained.

  Noxium Digitus, better known by its street name of Brain Freeze, was a naturally occurring fungal growth that could be found on the feet of a rare Amazonian lizard. Initially written off as a harmless parasite because the lizards seemed to suffer no ill effects from its presence, Noxium Digitus was quickly discovered to have a psychotropic effect on humans who came into contact with the spores. The biologist who discovered the effect described the symptoms as extreme euphoria, complete detachment of reason, and most disturbing, powerful cannibalistic urges.

  Of course, as soon as the findings made their way to the media, recreational drug enthusiasts and international cartels alike were clamoring for a trip to the Amazon. But despite the near global decriminalization of recreational drug use, possession of Brain Freeze carried a mandatory prison sentence, stemming from the terrifying statistical evidence that nearly all known incidents of ingestion resulted in a cannibalistic event. The number of gruesome deaths attributed to the use of the fungus prompted a worldwide ecological debate as to the usefulness of the lizard that carries the fungus.

  Eventually, scientists were able to conclude that the lizard’s impact upon its ecosystem was mostly redundant and unnecessary. And thus began, with the best of intentions, the forced extinction of the box-crested Amazonian gecko. But despite the targeted and thorough extermination, some of the more enterprising drug lords had been able to get their hands on breeding pairs before they went completely extinct. Though incredibly rare and very expensive, Brain Freeze still made its way to the black market. And now, Toby Westcott had managed to bring it into space.

  “I need the identity and location ID of that craft,” Banks demanded.

  “Southwest Stratosphere flight 563, sir,” piped up one of the communications clerks. “Location ID is delta 88 foxtrot 40.”

  Banks punched the location into the console in front of him. “They’re scheduled to dock at Galactic Resorts Worldview Station in less than an hour. We can’t let that happen. I’m going to authorize a strike.”

  “Sir!” Jenkins gasped. “There are over eighty innocent people on that flight including top scientists and respected celebrities! We can’t kill all of them over a prank!”

  “They’re as go
od as dead anyway,” Banks snapped, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. “The vial has already been exposed to radiation. As soon as Westcott cracks the seal, those spores are going to react with the air and will begin to proliferate and increase in strength. Once they get into the life support system, we’re going to have a ship full of zombies eating each other’s brains. I’m willing to sacrifice eighty people if it means saving the four thousand, including two ex-presidents that are on that station at the moment.”

  “There will be an investigation,” Jenkins reasoned. “The GSCC isn’t going to let this go after the issue with Westcott’s clearance.”

  “Jenkins,” Banks said with as much patience as he could muster. They were running out of time to safely target the shuttle. “Need I remind you of the peanut butter incident?”

  “No,” Jenkins said with a noticeable shudder. Two years earlier, a shuttle transporting supplies to one of the amusement resort stations received a shipment of peanut butter that had been tainted with salmonella. The levels were low enough that quality control machinery in the processing plant had allowed the batch to pass inspection. However, once in space, the bacteria reacted with the increased radiation and became a deadly toxin that claimed the lives of hundreds, including many children. This had led to tighter quality control measures as well as a yet another ban on peanut products in closed environments, much to the dismay of peanut growers everywhere. The industry was only just beginning to see economic recovery thanks to a genetically modified allergen-free legume when this newest disaster struck.

  “You have been a NASA security agent long enough to know better,” Banks continued. “How many previous ‘mishaps’ were ever investigated? How many fatal epidemics have we stopped by sacrificing a life here and there?”

  Jenkins wanted to scream. It was easy for Banks. All he had to do was press a button. Every shuttle that took off from American spaceports had been equipped with a small, undetectable device that would trigger an explosion in the fuselage in the event of an uncontrollable disastrous event. Jenkins was the one who had to deal with the press and the grieving families. But he couldn’t scream. He couldn’t do anything because Banks was right. As the peanut butter incident had proven, zero gravity and radiation did strange things to even the most innocuous of substances, creating super viruses and toxins that would be devastating if they had been allowed to escape into the Earth’s atmosphere. For all he knew, exposing Brain Freeze to radiation might very well trigger the zombie apocalypse that, for some reason, was still a fashionable doomsday fear.