2123/07/25 at 4:40 AM — RECEIVED

Oh, it’s on. Okay, okay, finally.

I hate the title. They don’t let you name your tapes here, unlike in San Fran. Which is frustrating because if I’m going to write my suicide note, I would want to label why. So I’ll let you decide. You would know best.

You’re probably wondering why I’m recording this in the South Eastern laboratories, on an admin floor too. You’re probably wondering this the same way I’m wondering why you never responded to my previous transmissions and the same way you’ll be wondering why you never hear from me anymore.

The first question is easy to answer. There’s nothing left. It’s either the Himalayas or two thousand meters deep in the ocean, and you know I’ve never been much of a swimmer.

Yes, this is a concession, but you don’t need to rejoice right this minute. I’ll give you plenty of opportunity once I get there because once I start I won’t st

The other questions are irrelevant. Even if you had sent me anything, I wouldn’t be able to hear it now, and even if I tell you this, it won’t do either of us any good unless you recei

Sorry. You’ve probably noticed by now—wait, who am I kidding—but the transmitter’s not working very well. Something something thermohardening something something large-scale overvoltage. Yeah, I know you’ve heard it all before. Oh, but you know, yesterday, one of the 700s decks broke down. The metal plating, it bubbled and melted like pus from a pimple. I watched it fall past my window, and the screams were loud enough to wake Julia.

So, you know. The usual.

Do you remember the time this substitute came in for our chemistry class and started raving about glacioeustasy for half an hour? How old were we? Eleven? Twelve? He was ancient, though, at least in the triple digits. If he’s still alive he would have been the first to step foot on those white ships.

Do you remember how we laughed? We sat across the room and we stared each other in the eye and we shook and shook. The teacher noticed. He turned down the AC.

I remember thinking, If you were alive to watch the last ice cap melt, what are you expecting us to do about it? Not our problem. But now he’s probably on Centauri in blissful retirement while I’m waiting for my department to explode at any minute, so I have no more right to laugh.

You do, though.

Okay, we’re not getting there yet, but I just wanted to clarify. I wasn’t against extraterrestrial travel for ethics or anything. I want you to know that I never attended a single one of Verity’s conspiracy meetings or read a single one of those fifty-page articles preaching about space colonialism, not that I had the ti

I think this is the one thing you never really understood about me. If nine-tenths of the human population wants to blast off to the nearest working star and never look back, who am I to say no?

I was never a big fan of heroics, so you don’t need to feel bad. You always feel so bad. I didn’t really get it back then, but now that I’ve had a lot of time to reflect, I think I do. See, I didn’t want to be a hero, I just wanted to be right. I didn’t like it when the Boston labs started talking about leaving way back in the 10s, even when our stuff hadn’t been abandoned yet. I hated it when you said, Aimer, maybe they’re right, we can’t compromise our only chance of survival for sentiment, because all I could think of were those tens of thousands of kibble-sized ticks festering on one moose hide, the black blood and the ugly, gaping sores, and it wasn’t fair because I spent a decade in ecological management only for

It wasn’t about you, you understand. I just thought it was mine. The missions. The labs. The world. The Sun, also. I wanted to be the one to stay, to be the one to fix the problem while you all ran away.

I joined the atmospheric projects the same month you began building the ships, and when poor Mikhail pulled an Icarus and lost our carbon dioxide filters along with, like, half his face, I was invited to work on Laila’s ice sheets, and by the time that ended your group had already finalized the names of the first wave. So I guess that didn’t really work out.

But no hate on Laila. She really tried. I miss her.

Okay, the air purifier just broke down, but there’s no need to panic. The generator’s still running. You’ll know when it stops because you’ll hear screaming…and then nothing. Ha ha.

No, you know, I think it’s fortunate that I’m here instead of you. You would never be able to stand this heat, not when you would pull through each California summer like a sprinter in the twenty-sixth mile of a marathon. Not me, I always wore sweaters, and I think those were the only times you got mad at me. I would like you to know that I’m not wearing one right now if that makes you feel any better. Not that you would tell me either way.

Never mind, I actually can’t leave it alone. Why didn’t you respond to me? I know we fought before you left, but we’re always fighting if I’m being honest, and that’s never stopped you before

Was it the coordinates? Did I get them wrong? But I shouldn’t have, not unless you moved ships, and I don’t know how you would manage that in the middle of interstellar space. Is it you then? Did you assume that I would leave the Western labs after the last heat warning? Come on, I was always more stubborn than that—

One second, I’m not hearing the generator…oh, sorry, it’s just getting really quiet. I wish the purifier hadn’t gone so quickly. Dying wouldn’t be so bad if I could just breathe. But maybe that’s the point.

Hey, you designed this system so you should know best. How fast do you say this message will reach from me to you? Let’s say we give it two seconds, maybe three. Do you think that if I sent this recording minutes before the generator fails, if you heard it seconds before the lights go out, if you responded milliseconds before I fall, I would be able to hear your voice as I die?

Just kidding. Let’s not be dramatic. I’m a firm believer that if you leave a problem alone, it’ll get better, so if I just

The lights are out.

Do you want to start now? Before we won’t have a chance?

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for leaving you when you were still here. I’m sorry for ignoring you when you still cared.

I’m sorry that at the time, before the end of everything, you came and knocked on my door and I let you in, past the towers of reports in my living room and that giant box of tungsten plating I should’ve thrown out a long time ago, and we sat down in the kitchen, next to the window—except we had to close the blinds, remember, because at that time the radiation was already getting pretty bad—and we talked about how we’ve been, or more like how I’ve been, because you were always the more considerate one, and then in the last few moments you looked me in the eye and begged me to come with you, and I just told you, No.

You left and I never saw you again. Will those be our last words to each other? Please and No?

See, that was always our problem. I only care about what’s right in front of me. And you only care about me. At least, after this, you can finally stop.

I remember after each of our fights you always apologized. Even if it wasn’t your fault. Especially if it wasn’t your fault, because then I would forgive you and we would pretend like nothing happened. I said it first this time—where are you now?

Oh. The generator, it’s not

hear me? If it bothers you can tilting now the

i don’t think Julia

but the other decks are also

aybe this is not the best time say that i wish i had taken the pill

el do you remember? time we met, you were tucked shyly behind your mother’s

do you remember? the time i lent you my keys and you drove into

and when we found him, you said, but wait, the whiskers are longer

noel

noel

no

2123/07/25 at 4:44 AM — SENDING

Aimer?

2123/07/25 at 4:45 AM — TRANSMISSION NOT DELIVERED