Hope Is a Thing with Rockets
by David Gill
The rocket sat on the launch pad, pointed up and into the dark grey sky. From the bleachers, Marcus Xian watched as he prepared to make history.
His clone, a young boy, was up there, asleep in that capsule, waiting like some ancient seed, waiting for an oxygen-rich environment, for damp soil and sunlight after so many years in the cold blackness of space, waiting to emerge from his steel husk and set foot on soil they could not yet know the color of. The children waited, asleep, in that tiny capsule. Waited while the world hoped that this turned out better than all our other endeavors.
Some days Marcus, who had overseen the human elements of the mission, thought of his clone as information stored on a living disc, a sort of potential, suspended energy. Collected inside the sleeping child was all the information needed to grow into a man, and hopefully to live out a life greater and more expansive than Marcus had known here. He was like a computer and they had all the same software, and everything in the universe, it turned out, was information.