Copper Rain

Copper Rain Part 1

Prologue

Yeah, so we finally did it. We finally fucked up the only place we'd ever called home, and we did it with an élan that only the willfully ignorant can truly master. Sure this devastation didn't come easy. It took us time, energy and, most importantly, a deep commitment to overlooking the fucking obvious. We had our chances to stop the rot. We had our chances to set things right. And we had the technology to turn what was left of our planet around and make sustainable changes. But our tragically egocentric species wasn't even remotely interested in making the necessary sacrifices.

So instead we blundered our destructive way forward, convincing ourselves that balmy mid-winter walks along flooded urban shorelines was what normal people did. Gazing in stunned wonder as putrid plankton-plagued waves surged against the lower levels of semi-submerged skyscrapers. And we imagined that savoring exotic vacations on polymer-bonded garbage patches anchored deep in the twisting Pacific gyre was a superior choice to cleaning up the marine environment and reinvigorating the food chain. We then gasped in boat-bound awe as garishly tinted sunsets refracted through a micro-particle infused atmosphere—all while viewing former tropical island settlements through the prism of glass-bottomed hulls.

So rather than making the tough decision to change our calamitous conduct and preserve the only world we'd ever known, we seized the planet's remaining resources, spurned the poor and the helpless, and flung ourselves at the heavens in one last orgasmic chance of redemption.

And you know what?

We fucking made it.

Like a holo-porn hooker the universe splayed open before us, only it turned out it we were still more interested in screwing each other than learning from the lessons of the past. As on Old Earth, the twin godheads of business and science were enshrined as the galaxies' Overlords, and we gorged at their altars like hogs at a trough. Our lives became longer, our bodies became stronger, and diseases were all but eradicated. But down the line, in the vast emptiness of space, the butcher's bill for this unholy trinity of gifts came due—and, as in the past, humanity was in no position to pay.

* * *

Chapter One

The Present

You know you're banging on the door of middle age when you start replacing the outside chance of a quick fuck with the absolute certainty of a cold drink. You know what I mean? You survey your almost empty glass, then contemplate the timeline of beverages in your immediate future. You still have a solid few boozing hours stretching out towards your inebriated event horizon, or you could slow down and play the procreation game with this attractive woman sitting to your right. You could make nice, be pleasant, see where things go. You may be a little rough around the edges, but you can do a roguish style of charm when the occasion demands.

Except that's not where your alcohol-addled brain takes you. You probe your murky future probabilities, and your warped ego bubbles up a possibility. Do you really want to take the next step? Make some small talk, take down a number, go on a date, make plans, then settle down. Do you really want to take on parenthood again at this stage of your diminishing life? Shit, when the kid hits college age, you'll be checking out the latest mag-burst of Old Bastards Weekly, praying for a discount code for the latest Cy-Zimm mobility skel. You'll still be pushing hard at some no-name job, kowtowing to get-ahead-pricks twenty years your junior and trusting that your future-ex-missus will give you a pass on the alimony this paycheck.

I shudder.

Distracted again. When did this train of thought leave Depression Station? Shit, last I heard my actual ex-wife and daughter were solar systems away—living the life of Riley on a heavy-load inner planet, reaping the biological benefits of one-plus gravity. They have no need to snake down a gelatinous cocktail of micro-gee medication to ensure their bones don't splinter and their organs don't mulch. They can amble through the mostly empty corridors of a corporate breeding colony, hoping my daughter's number comes up, and the genetic lottery doesn't roll snake eyes like it has for so many. I shake my head to ditch the thought. Past experience tells me strolling down this dreary road leads to nothing but hurt. Besides, I'll never see them again. Circumstances and a series of self-inflicted fuckups smashed the door shut on that part of my buried history.