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of that period anyone who was a registered citizen of Earth could be selected by a lottery to embark on a journey across the stars to spread humankind. For many Earthers there was no greater honor than being chosen to propagate humanity. I was just curious to see what the hard labor of the miners on Undina had been helping to produce.
    “Next time then,” I said to the Ringer as I tipped my glass in his direction. “Cheers.”
    I drained the rest of my whiskey before following the herd out. It burned and itched all the way down, but the relief it offered against the angry voices of Undina miners reverberating in my head made it totally worth it.
    When I reached the Molten Crater’s exit I glanced back over my shoulder. Everyone who wasn’t passed out appeared to have cleared out, even the bartender. Everyone except for the Ringer. He’d taken a seat on one of the vacated stools at the bar and remained alone, sipping on his glass of water, bloodshot eyes glued to the newscast.

Chapter 3
    I didn’t bother shoving my way to the edge of the raised walkway outside to get the best view. There was no way to miss the Departure as long as you were within the city, since New London was essentially converted into an enormous exhibition of the event. The countless ads strung along the maglev rail line and projected onto the glassy façades of buildings switched over to a live USF feed. None of the city’s structures were exceptionally tall—Earthers had transitioned away from sprawling cities with skyscrapers to elongated cities on a line centuries ago for safety reasons—but they were tall enough for me to see fine over the bobbing heads of the augmenting crowd. The landing pad area outside New London Spaceport was being displayed. It was three kilometers or so away along the Euro-String, and only the richest citizens of Earth could get a spot there on M-day.
    As a trio of inter-atmospheric ships zipped noisily overhead, the myriad screens zoomed in on fifty men and women wearing dark-green tunics. They had badges on their chests that consisted of eight small white dots along a line with a larger one in the center. It was the symbol of the United Sol Federation. Those fifty people were the lauded members of the USF Assembly. The entire crowd broke into a frenzy of cheers as their supposed leaders came into view. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I recognized a few of their faces, but had never bothered to learn most of their names.
    I wondered if all of the years traveling around Sol fixing situations for Pervenio Corp just made me cynical. The assembly may have been elected by registered citizens of Earth, but anyone with a real education knew they didn’t have any legitimate power. Pervenio Corp, Red Wing Company, Venta Co—those were only a few of the corporations that directed the future of humankind.
    I’d heard a retired, probably drunk, security officer explain it best during a rant while I was dragging a bounty into a holding cell during my early years on the job: “If you compare us humans to a hand, then the USF is the palm. It holds everything together, but it doesn’t move. The corporations are the fingers that plucked us out of a second Dark Age before reaching into the blackness of space as a personal fuck you to every god that’s ever been prayed to. The assembly, Collector, is little more than the visible face of the corporatocracy, providing the illusion of control to billions of people who have none…folks like us.”
    In my opinion, truer words have never been spoken, and I’ve held them close to my heart ever since.
    Once the noise started to die down a little the leader of the assembly stepped forward to a podium and started speaking. His buoyant voice filled the chasms of the packed city. “People of Sol!” he began. “Today we must remember our ancestors. We must remember the billions of souls who lost their lives after the events of September 3, 2034. Three centuries ago, on that day,