Captain McCrea slumped against the cool tile wall, his holo-pad discarded on the floor. He let his gaze drift outside for a moment or so – it didn't get far; the storm continued to obscure everything and anything from view – before raising a pudgy hand to his face. He rubbed his eyes wearily.
As soon as EVE had left that morning to search for WALL-E he had immediately sent out a message to the escape pods and cabins below, explaining the situation.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he had announced. "As I'm sure you've all noticed, we are now experiencing a weather phenomenon known as a … sand-storm (he had been careful to look up the term on the Axiom's computer before sending out the live feed). For those of you who are outside the Axiom in the escape pods, please stay where you are and do NOT under any circumstances try your chances outdoors. These storms are said to be vicious and dangerous to humans, and since we're new to Earth, we should play this one safe and lie low. Do not be afraid; I've consulted the computer, and statistics project the storm passing through in about an hour. As soon as it is over I will send out stewards and maintenance robots to check up on you and attend to your needs To those of you who were inside the Axiom when the storm hit, I ask that you please be vigilant and patient during this time. Thank you."
It had been fairly straightforward, really. And the Axiom had projected the storm to pass in about an hour … Satisfied, McCrea had settled to resuming his information search. But as time had passed, and the more topics he had browsed – irrigation, agriculture, architecture (they would have to renovate those buildings that were sound enough for human occupation, and build new ones for future generations) – the more he had come to realize that Operation: Re-colonize would not find success with the passengers and crew of the Axiom. It wasn't a question of willingness, or dedication, but of numbers.
They were simply too few. The Axiom had carried over six hundred thousand passengers when it had launched seven hundred years ago; in that time, thanks to careful maintenance on behalf of their diligent autopilot (acting of course under order A113), that number had only increased by a few extra thousand passengers. They were a sizeable colony, but age and capabilities must be taken into careful account. A quarter of their population was elderly; another quarter was too young to be any real use to their cause. Also to be considered were hereditary diseases and individual adaptability to their new home …
They were still a large group, but too few to repair the city and the earth on their own, and certainly too few to re-colonize Earth. McCrea had taken solace for a while in the belief that their robotic companions would help them with this seemingly insurmountable task, but the more he grew to terms with their predicament, the more he had come to realize that it was no use.
At this rate, they – the current generation, and maybe even the next few – would never live to see Earth fully restored.
Maybe this was how things should be. After all, if mankind had ruined Earth, wasn't it a fitting punishment to work throughout the next couple centuries to make amends? McCrea had known that things wouldn't be easy – he had in fact welcomed the challenge. And he still did …
But this revelation was causing him to lose hope.
So he had slumped against the wall, eager to take a short break and be alone with his thoughts; to ponder what might be done. What options they might have …
But how did you fix something as monumental as this? Their lives, their futures depended on it!
McCrea leaned his head against the cool tile and closed his eyes. The cold felt good against his thick neck …
He stared at the motionless wheel across from him. The dark screen in the middle. How he wished he could ask AUTO for his advice! For answers! But the thought made him shake his head.
All his life he had depended on AUTO. All his life he had depended on machines to do his job; the reward being a life with little to live for – an empty existence. Since he had met WALL-E McCrea had come to realize the importance these seemingly mundane details held to him. That happiness meant more than comfort! No, he would need to solve this problem on his own – he would know no satisfaction if otherwise.
The captain of the Axiom looked around the bridge, searching for something … anything. An inspiration, an idea … something he may have overlooked.
It was the wallpaper behind the shelves containing the captain's logs (numerous external hard drives with nearly 700 years of messages and recordings from, to and by the various captains of the Axiom. McCrea himself had already added a couple to the collection in his time of service) that caught his eye. A rendition of numerous BNL star liners taking fight into the galaxies unknown; a green and flourishing Earth behind them. What a wonderful lie that had been …
But no, something about the picture intrigued him. He stared at it for a few more moments, searching …
That was it!
McCrea leapt to his feet (which took him about twenty seconds); a broad grin on his face. He knew what they could do. It was so simple!
But not without risks …
Fortunately, McCrea knew of an individual that could help them. He would need his help in this matter anyways, as it involved concepts too advanced for him to handle.
But this was also not without its risks. Would he do it? Would he assist him – them – in their new mission?
McCrea sighed. Yes, he would. He knew he would. It would be his new directive now.
And AUTO always followed his directive.
McCrea took a deep breath as he stepped over to the wheel and flipped the switch.
