They leaned on an old, corroded rail, the only thing separating them from three hundred feet of empty air. A few miles beyond the trail overlook, a city sprawled along the bottom of a grayed-out valley and crept up its containing slopes, its glare painting the night sky a sickly yellow. Embedded in that yellow, points of light shifted, connecting to form a message.

 

Basilios Burgers. Best in the West!

 

The message blazed white against the jaundiced heavens for eight precisely measured seconds before dissolving and reconstituting itself.

 

Spaceport 2091: Season 7. Only on Cafetorium.

 

Peter Jansky hated SkyAds — the whole company, from the CEO down. As a child, he could climb up here and watch the stars, a dozen or more sprinkled about the sky. But light pollution and SkyAds had obliterated them. Venus could still shine through the glare. Jupiter, if you knew where to look. So could the solar panels of some comm satellites, when they caught the sun just right. But not stars. Not even Sirius.

 

Jansky spat into the abyss and zipped up his synthetic Chinese one-looks-like-another jacket. The night cool was settling in.

 

His companion, Gerard Orlik, smirked. “You look ready.”

 

“Been ready for fifteen years.”

 

“Why didn’t you join up fifteen years ago?”

 

Pushing back from the rail, Jansky eyed Orlik. A slick sort of guy, not dressed fancy, but not one-looks-like-another, either. His demeanor said lawyer or politician or C-suite exec. Orlik had a lean face, a solid build, a shrewd gaze. He knew what Jansky was thinking, or thought he did. Well. Jansky had a surprise for him, didn’t he? But he didn’t reveal it just yet.

 

“Why didn’t you?” Orlik repeated.

 

“I didn’t know you existed back then.”

 

“We did. Our seeds did, anyway. We have roots clear back to the 1970’s.”

 

Gaiaists liked to think that, but they weren’t environmentalists. Some said environmentalism had failed. Some said it was too late to resuscitate the movement. Or the planet itself. Gaiaists had a different view. Jansky had all but memorized their manifesto.

 

“Are you, then?” Orlik asked.

 

“Am I what?”

 

“Ready to commit.”

 

Part of him was. They had lost the glaciers, many of the forests, almost the whole sky. The oceans had become garbage dumps, the cities carnivorous beasts that consumed resources and people with their insatiable hunger. Gaiaism is right, he thought. The slate does need to be wiped clean. We do deserve it. Part of him thought that, anyway. That part scared the rest of him. Jansky nodded anyway. “How do I join?”

 

Orlik grinned and pulled a slim device from his trouser pocket. He handed it to Jansky, who weighed it in his hand. It was much like one of those old cell phones. Thin. Light. A button on the side. He tapped the button, and the screen came to life, bathing their faces in a soft blue glow. A numeric keypad filled the display. Nothing else.

 

“What’s this?” Jansky asked although he knew.

 

“A way to put an end to that.” Orlik pointed skyward, where ad after ad poured down upon the land, changing every eight seconds.

 

Swim swift in swimwear by Shift.

 

Payge’s Pleasure Emporium. Adult parties every weekend!

 

Luna Cruise Lines. Excursions for the exclusive.

 

“Our engineers hacked into the SkyAds control systems. Tap in one nine zero eight to unlock the device.” Orlik nodded at the unit.

 

Jansky shrugged and did as he was told. The screen changed to display a bright red circle on a dark red background.

 

Orlik cocked his head. “No reaction? You don’t recognize the year?”

 

“What year?”

 

“Nineteen-oh-eight.”

 

Jansky did, but he shrugged again. “Should I?”

 

“Ever hear of a place called Tunguska?”

 

“Nope.” Another lie.

 

“Never mind. Just tap the red button.”

 

Jansky frowned at the screen. “I’m not sure I want to. It looks… evil.”

 

“That’s evil.” Orlik pointed at the changing messages in the heavens. “Poke that button, and you’ll initiate deorbit of that particular SkyAds constellation.” Orlik brought his hand down in a swoop.

 

Jansky regarded the device. A push of a button, a victory for the planet. Except for one thing. “Where does the smoldering wreckage hit? Middle of the Pacific, I suppose? A hi-tech addition to the trash already there?”

 

“Not at all. It’s a controlled descent.” Orlik pointed at the city. “It lands there. Mother Nature scores two. Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to get clear.”

 

Jansky’s finger hovered over the button. Part of him wanted to do it. Humanity deserved it. Maybe. But those people down there?

 

The screen went black, and the device locked. He could reenter the code. He could do what Orlik wanted, what some dark part of him wanted. “Nineteen-oh-eight, huh?” Jansky said.

 

“Unlocks it every time,” Orlik affirmed.

 

Jansky didn’t know the answer to humanity’s failed stewardship of the planet, but murder wasn’t it. He handed the device back. “I can’t.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

 

Orlik frowned at the unit. “Progress demands sacrifice, Peter. I’ll give you one more chance.” He started to type in the passcode.

 

Before he could finish, Jansky whipped a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and slapped them on Orlik’s wrists, then snatched the device. He stepped back, gun in one hand, doomsday trigger in the other. “FBI. Gerard Orlik, I’m arresting you on suspicion of terrorism.” He waggled the unit. “Were you testing me, or does it actually work?”

 

Orlik bared his teeth. “Try it and see.”

 

Jansky tucked the device away. “No, thanks. I’ll let our techs examine it. I found out what I need to know.”

 

About us both, he thought.