RE: New Contest from @Xpilar 4/11-2017 "get free upvote"

Re-steemed and upvoted

Night on jupiter
"Mr. hicmaster," a young man with concerned eyes whispered, shaking the shoulder of a larger man.
hicmaster open his eyes, and coughed. His mouth tasted of rum. How long had he been asleep? Too long, no doubt. This was not a time for sleep. He reached over to his side table for his glasses, and sat up on the small single bed. His living quarters were dimly lit. hicmaster always complained that he had sensitive eye, but in truth he liked the darkness. Better for thinking. Better for drinking.
"Mr. hicmaster," the young man repeated. "I'm sorry, but I was told to get you up. We have new telemetry on the asteroid."
hicmaster looked the young man in the eyes. They both knew what this might mean. What was he supposed to do? Say something reassuring? Should he tell this young man, no older than twenty, that it would all be okay? hicmaster had little time for false hope. "What's your name?"
The young man looked confused. "Tom, sir. Tom Henry. I'm an engineer."
"Good man," he grunted as he shifted of the bed to stand. "Well, lets see what Huston has for us." He put his jacket on and led the way.
The two men left the quarters and walked down a long hallway that curved to their left. There was a low hum of power generators below their feet. This base, what they called the Tower, was the largest of seven permanent settlements on jupiter. There were two dozen other research facilities and farming labs, and even three small independent colonies mostly made up of religious whacks. jupiter was growing, and becoming its own thing. Seven hundred people now lived at the Tower alone, in these white lit hallways that burrowed into the ground and rose out of the red Martian dust as a single spire of silver light. Seven hundred people. Would it be enough? hicmaster wondered.
They came to an elevator that ascended in a smooth hum. I should be saying something, hicmaster realized. But he did not. He hated empty chatter. He should have had a drink. Why did he not have a drink. What a mistake. That is why you should never sleep. It makes your head too fuzzy to really think right.
The door opened and they entered a large room full of silent people, working at monitors. Every eye looked to hicmaster as he walked to the centre of the room, but he looked beyond them, to a massive window that looked out at the black Martian night. It would be morning soon. "Thanks for coming at such short notice, Mr. hicmaster." A short man with a narrow face and a visible earpiece stepped away from a monitor to greet him. "We have the numbers from Huston, but even they are still figuring out what it means." This was Dorian Chambers, the senior engineer at the base.
"Well, then we wait," hicmaster said. So much of life was knowing how to wait, to let things sit without them eating you up. "Could someone do something about getting me a coffee?" He asked, and Tom volunteered. It was always good to have something in your hands. hicmaster was president of the Tower, and First Council for the colonies. He had never found it to be much of a job, but at least it meant that he didn't have to pour his own coffee.
"I don't understand," said another man with sweat beading on his lip. This was Walter Perrin, who ran the merchant operations for the base. He was a man that only understood money, but he sure understood it. "What are we looking at here? Someone throw me a fucking bone here."
"It doesn't mean anything yet," hicmaster said, as Tom handed him his coffee.
"We have started to plan for any eventuality," Dorian said, almost to himself. "I think we could squeeze out enough food from the farms and labs on ration. Fuel cells should be fine. We have begun ramping out water collection in any case."
"Good," hicmaster took a large sip from his coffee. This was grown here. And it tasted good. Perrin sold it for thousands a pound back on Earth. What a bunch of sad bastards paying so much for a cup of coffee. They've sent man fifty-four million kilometres away just to make more coffee. What the hell is wrong with people.
"Sir," Tom spoke up, breaking his rumination on the state of coffee and the human race. "If things go bad will we be able to send messages back?" His voice broke with nervous energy.
Tom turned to Dorian. "What are our capabilities then?"
"Not if we're conserving energy. We'll receive what messages we can, but the fuel cells should be our number one priority," he paused, and cleared his throat. "Survival means survival." Tom's eyes fell to his boots.
hicmaster nodded. Survival was the death of sentimentality. It meant letting go of every hope, and holding on to what you can. You burn what you need to burn to stay warm, and you eat what you need to eat in order to keep breathing. You kill, and hate, and maim, and lie, and maybe you live. hicmaster had been a bureaucrat during the California Wars, those long drawn out battles over water and fuel. He had seen survival then, even from his penthouse suite. He saw what was in man, the simian beast locked away just beneath the skin. What will become of us if things go bad here, he wondered. I'll just walk away if things turn sour. Grab a walking suit and just walk out there into the night. Find a quiet place, sit down on a rock, and die. At least there wouldn't be any screams. hicmaster hated screams.
"We've been told to prepare for the analysis," Dorian said, touching a finger to his earpiece.
"What the hell does that mean?" Perrin demanded. "If they know why don't they just tell us. This effects us too." Sweat ran in rivulets down his face. hicmaster had always thought him refined and relaxed in the way that only wealthy people ever are.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Tom asked, and Perrin grabbed him by the collar.
"Do I look like I need a cup of coffee, you little shit?" He squeaked as hicmaster pulled him off the young man.
"I'm a human too," he kept saying.
"The analysis of the telemetry," Dorian announced, pointed to his monitor. His head fell, and no one spoke. The room became so quiet, and someone prayed a prayer that hicmaster vaguely remembered from his childhood, a lullaby his mom had sung, or the words his father had spoke at a funeral.
"Is it?" Tom asked, but he knew.
Perrin sat down upon the floor, hands crossed over his chest.
"Dorian," Yates said.
But Dorian was lost behind eyes that welled with tears.
Dorian," he said again.
"Yes?"
"I need a summary." He paused, cleaning his glasses on his shirt. "I need to know what to do." He could not falter now. The world could falter, but not him.
Dorian spoke through tears. "In fifty-six minutes an asteroid fifteen Kilometres in diameter will strike the Earth, ending all human life on Earth. It is likely larger than the rock that ended the dinosaurs, and it will cause a similar extinction event." He tried to say more, but his words had become groans and sobs.
"How did we not know?" Perrin wailed from the floor. "How could no one see it until it was too late. I have family." He stoped speaking then, and down into his hands as if there was something to see."
"Tom, would you take Mr. Perrin to him quarters," hicmaster commanded, noticing the eyes that looked at him from around the room. He nodded to himself. He would not fail. Not now. The Earth might die, and humans might die, but he would not die. Not yet. "I want everyone gathered in this room to listen, and to listen well," the words flowed out of that voice that said he would not yet die. These were not the words of a politician or of a general, these were the words of pure survival. "We here in this room know what no one else here on the colonies know, that we have suddenly become the best hope for the survival of the human race. We need to be ready to receive what refugees that we will, and we need to be ready to build, and grow. I want whatever stupid idea that you have kicking around in your head on my desk right away. And I want you all to repeat one sentence to everyone you meet every day until you have no more breath to say it. We will survive. We will. We have to. So we will. We will survive," and when he repeated it one last time the whole room said it like it was a spell. He would have to tell the rest, soon, now, before it happened. But he wanted them to hear the other thing first. Survival. He was going to light the fire of survival in this last crumb of the human race and then he would walk out into the darkness and die. But until then there would be no silence, only breathing to breathe again.
He looked over the chatter of voices towards the window, where the sun was rising.