“How old are you, Lionel?”
“I’m twenty-three, sir.”
Abe slaps his forehead. “Twenty-three? I’m forty years older than you!” He wags his finger. “You see, that’s your problem right there, private. Your generation missed out. Philz was the last great coffee franchise. It’s a shame they’re no longer around.”
Lionel unbuckles his belt and floats upward. “What was it like?”
Abe lifts a dumbbell and exercises. “Magical. You would walk into a shop and the whole place smelled like roast. It was heaven.”
“Wow… where did all the coffee come from?”
“Things were different back then. When I was your age, it grew on trees. There were plantations with miles of beans as far as you can see.”
“You mean it grew naturally?”
“Yes! It wasn’t like today where it’s farmed under lamps. We had unique blends and varieties. You’d walk into a Starbucks and a barista would make your cappuccino exactly the way you wanted—double shot Arabica with frothy milk on top. And not some artificial powder. I’m talking about real cow’s milk.”
Lionel’s eyes widen. “Cow’s milk? I heard about that.”
Abe points. “You see, there it is again. Your generation is lost.”
“Well, we learned about that in school—”
“There’s no substitute for the real thing, private. You can’t experience life from a book. Back in the old days, cows roamed free on pastures and you’d eat your morning cereal with a splash of milk and some strawberries. It got your brain working for the day.”
“That sounds great,” Lionel says. “I wish I could have some.”
Abe puts away his dumbbells. “All this food talk is making me hungry. Let’s fire up some Ration 2.”
“Yes, sir.” Lionel floats to the console and taps a monitor. A sucking noise fills the cabin and two plastic packages drop from a vacuum tube. He grabs one and hurls it in the direction of his boss.
“What’s on the menu?” Abe asks.
“Mashed potatoes, sir.”
Abe reaches for the packet and unplugs its cap. “You know there aren’t real potatoes in here?”
Lionel frowns and grows silent.
Abe raises a finger. “Private, don’t tell me you’ve never had a real potato? What about hash browns or French fries with ketchup? Back in the day—”
Lionel fumes. “Sir, with all respect, you don’t have to mock everything. Times have changed. We enjoy our food differently now. It doesn’t make it any better or worse than how it was before.”
Abe gives a cold stare. “It’s definitely worse now. You’re telling me food today tastes good? All that Midwest farmland has turned to desert and nothing grows in the soil anymore. You see, it’s the sun and dirt that give flavor. That is what’s missing in these laboratory crops. One day you’ll understand, private.”
Lionel bites his lip and drifts back to his seat, buckling himself in. He checks his status update and opens a mission log. As he gets back to work, a female voice fills the cockpit. “Attention, all units!”
Abe swims back to his chair. “It’s from Central Command…”
A red light flashes. “Attention all military personnel, you’re advised to be on high alert. Repeat, this is a warning for all soldiers in space.”
Lionel trembles. “What do we do, Colonel?”
“Relax, private, just listen to the instructions.”
“This is an urgent message from Central Command. All troops in New China, prepare for armed conflict. Repeat, be ready to defend against an imminent attack.”
Abe buckles in. “This sounds serious.”
“Attention all forces en route to Mars, you are advised to abort your missions and return to Earth. Repeat, all outbound spacecraft must turn back.”
“What the hell is going on?” Abe shouts as he scans the mission log. “Why would we turn back if there’s an attack on Mars?”
The transmission goes silent and Abe picks up an emergency phone. “Come in, Centcom.”
Seconds pass and the cockpit stays quiet. Lionel types on a navigation window. “I’m turning the ship around, Colonel.”
“Don’t do that yet.” Abe holds the phone to his ear. “Central Command, are you there?”
A female voice streams through the intercom. “USS Hawkeye, this is Centcom.”
“We received your message,” Abe says. “To clarify, you want us to return home?”
She answers after a two-second lag. “Yes, Hawkeye, come back.”
“You don’t want us to engage the enemy?”
“Obey your orders! The Chinese have blockaded the ports on Mars and American ships are not able to land. You must turn around immediately.”
Lionel leans forward in his chair. “Yes, Houston, we hear you loud and clear. I’m programming us to head back.”
“What a waste of time,” Abe mutters. “We flew to space for nothing.”
Lionel stares into space. “It’s a good thing we left this morning. We’ll be home in no time.”
Thrusters kick in and the shuttle reorients its trajectory. Soon Earth and the moon come into view as sunlight brightens the cockpit.
Abe clenches his fist. “Rats! I was looking forward to destroying the enemy. We’ve got some new weapons in our arsenal.”
“We do?” Lionel asks. “I wasn’t told about that.”
“I guess they didn’t brief the junior staff.”
“Thanks for the confidence boost,” Lionel scowls. “What’s on board?”
“Nukes and long-range EMP guns fresh from the factory.”
“EMP?”
“Electromagnetic pulse. You haven’t heard? It’s a blast that destroys all infrastructure in an instant.”
“Sounds powerful.”
“It is. We can instantly disable cities without killing anyone, even cripple entire countries with no bloodshed.”
“Guess we won’t be using it this time.”
Abe shakes his head. “That’s a shame. You know when American was really great?”
“Sir?”
“When we had a penis.”
Lionel rolls his eyes. “Don’t say that, Colonel. We’re still a powerful country—”
Abe points at Earth. “I’m talking about Florida, private. The Sunshine State used to look like a penis. Now it’s shaped like the stump of a tree trunk.”
Lionel spots North America and follows the Atlantic Ocean to the square-shaped tip of Florida jutting a few hundred miles from the mainland. “What do you mean, sir?”
“Did you not take geography in high school? What are they teaching you these days? Go back and look at pictures of Florida from 50 years ago.”
“It was different back then?”
“Yes! We used to have great cities like Miami and Key West. Now they’re all sitting underwater.”
Lionel squints. “What were they like?”
“Paradise! I had the best Cuban sandwich in Miami one summer. I remember it like it was yesterday—sitting near the ocean in South Beach with a margarita. That sandwich was divine, young man. Fresh pork and cheese.”
“Yes, sir, I’ve had pork myself.”
“Fresh from a pig? Or grown in a laboratory?”
Lionel squints. “I’m not sure.”
“This is what I’m talking about, private. Your generation is clueless. You need to go out and experience the world.”
Lionel looks away in frustration. The pockmarked moon grows larger from the cockpit window as they approach Earth. Its ozone layer is stripped bare and the northern ice cap is nearly gone. Sparse glaciers line the Arctic Circle, and most of Greenland and Canada are dry. Once connected, North and South America lie separated by miles of ocean.
The shuttle heads for Spaceport America, the country’s largest rocket dock located in New Mexico. Lionel prepares for reentry.