THUD.

The heavy sound of human flesh colliding with wooden floor pounded just outside of Colin's bedroom door. His heart jumped into his throat. He quickly got out of bed and ran to the door, praying he could apologize and avoid his father 'teaching him another lesson.'

When he opened the door, he saw his disheveled father sitting on the ground. Colin's baseball glove was right next to him and he spotted the baseball rolling down the hallway.

"Hi, Dad," Colin said hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

Colin's father looked up at his son, a confused look momentarily on his face. A scary-looking man with black hair, rough features and a barrel chest, Colin's father almost appeared kind and innocent at the moment. The hard, mean look returned to his eye when he recognized his son.

"I told you to be in bed by ten o'clock," his father said. "Wait...what time is it even?"

"It's around midnight," Colin answered.

"You oughta be sleeping then, boy."

"I was sleeping, sir. You woke me up. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Does it look like I'm okay?"

Colin looked down at his father, barely able to lean himself against the wall without tilting to one side. The truth unexpectedly sprung from his lips.

"Not really," Colin responded.

The same confused look returned to Colin's father's face, surprised by his son's honesty. As Colin waited for the angry scowl to return, his father surprised him. He smiled and began to laugh.

"I guess you right, boy," he said between drunken fits of laughter and coughing. "You could at least help your old man off the floor."

Colin's father extended his hand. Colin grabbed and pulled, feeling the strength in his father's grip, the sandpaper texture of a construction worker's hand. Strangely enough, it was the first time Colin ever remembered feeling his father's hand, or at least the palm of it. Unfortunately, he could all too easily remember feeling the back of that hand.

Colin grew nearly six inches in the past year and now stood only a head shorter than his father.

"You sure getting tall," his father said, lightly patting the top of Colin's head.

Although it was a rare occurrence that did not happen often, Colin appreciated nights his father was happy-drunk.

He must've been drinking tequila instead of whiskey, Colin thought.

Colin could smell cigarettes and booze on his father's clothes and breath. Colin never wanted to know what any kind of alcohol smelled or tasted like. While some of the 'cool' kids at school often bragged about sneaking some of their parents' booze, Colin never had the urge. He knew the dire consequences if his father caught him but more importantly saw what kind of person alcohol turned his father into, both when he was drinking it or when he was craving it. Colin never wanted to be like his old man.

"I'm going to the bathroom and then bed," Colin's father said, taking his first wobbly steps since falling. He barely walked toward the bathroom when Colin saw him starting to tip over again. Colin caught him before he hit the floor but his old man nearly took them both down. Colin served as his crutch as the two entered the bathroom.

"You're a good kid, you know?" his father said. "I hope you never turn out like me."

Colin turned the light on, told his father to grab the sink and then left.

He had just taken the first step out of the bathroom when he heard the sound of his father's retching. Colin could not help but think that his father deserved to be sick but couldn't just go to bed and ignore his father, no matter how much he wanted to. He went to the kitchen and got him a glass of water.

When the vomiting ceased and he heard the toilet flush, Colin gave his father the water and told him to take small sips. As tough and hard as his father was, Colin could never remember his old man looking so pathetic and weak.

"I'm glad that wench of a mother of yours didn't take you when she left," his father said. "It was her idea to get you, you know. It was the only damn thing that woman ever did good."

"Get me?" Colin asked, confused about what his father meant. "What do you mean she got me?"

The confused look again returned to his father.

"Huh?" he asked.

"You said Mom got me," Colin repeated, speaking slowly. "What did you mean by that?"

"I meant... I meant that she thought she got me by leaving you here with me," he answered. "But it's a good thing she did or else this place would never be clean. Just forget about it, forget what I'm saying. Go back to bed."

Colin's father stumbled passed his son and walked into his bedroom. Colin watched his father collapse onto the bed.

In less than a minute, he heard the usual loud snoring.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

SEPTEMBER 2, 2015.

FOUR YEARS, ELEVEN MONTHS, TWENTY DAYS BEFORE IMPACT...

"Teams, check in," Maddox spoke into the radio transceiver.

Wesley Maddox and his second-in-command huddled next to the communication system in the control room of their space station piece. Their station piece was the largest of the four corners and served as the command center for construction. Being confined to a handful of rooms for three months did not appeal to Maddox's ever-growing sense of claustrophobia but at least he wasn't stuck in the even smaller shuttle living quarters like his crew.

Still, the crew did get to go outside every day, as well as having regularly scheduled time off back on Earth.

"Team Three, checking in."

"Team One. We're here, where are you at, Rookie Team?" Frankie Barnes joked. Ever since Team Four replaced Team Two after the first shift change weeks earlier, Frankie took it upon himself to give Team Four a nickname. Even now, as Team Four's production numbers were far exceeding the other two teams, they were still labeled as rookies. Frankie took so much joy out of the nickname, he had already decided to always call Team Four the Rookie Team, even once Team Five arrived.

"Team Four, checking in," a voice said. "And Frankie, could a team of rookies do twice as much work as your team?"

"Ahhh, listen to this rookie," Frankie said. "He comes up to the majors, hits a couple homeruns and thinks he's ready for the Hall of Fame."

These team meetings over the airwaves were not meant for chatter but Maddox welcomed friendly competition between teams. If that served as a motivational tool that would lead to increased work production, the project leader would not interfere.

"Okay, Teams. This is a meeting, not a trash talking session," Maddox said. "And I actually have a bit of good news today."

The teams had these meetings on a daily basis, which normally consisted of production and inventory updates. These meetings were also good for Maddox or Kovalchuk to give teams direction about how they functioned together. Aboard the shuttles were multiple video cameras, each of which followed the teams during their work in space. The feeds from these cameras were received in the command center, where Kovalchuk studied the teams movements and procedures. He could then provide advice about how the crews could work more efficiently.

The time for most of that advising was gone for Teams One and Three, who had worked so many hours that they'd perfected their routines. Even Team Four, with less than half the experience of the other teams, no longer required significant direction from the project leaders. That usually meant these daily meetings were short and uneventful.

Today was different, though.

"The problems with Shuttle Revolution have finally been resolved," Maddox said. "Construction supplies have been loaded and Team Five will be boarding within the hour for takeoff. This means that one of the teams will be going home today.

"Since Revolution is up to speed and larger maintenance crews have been hired to work on every shuttle, we expect our pre-mission schedule to take effect very soon. I know we've been saying that for awhile now, but with the last of our shuttles finally about to launch, we have a greater hope that our plans will now work as originally expected."

These men had been working hard for months now, some of them without having any time off. The project leader wanted to let the good news sink in. Maddox's crew had their own questions about the announcement.

"This is Team Four leader," a voice said. "Who gets to go home today?"

"Afraid Team Rookie is getting sent back to the minors?" Frankie asked.

"Actually, Frankie, Team One is heading home tonight," Maddox reported.

"Space is going to get a lot quieter, that's for sure," Team Four said.

"Team One. It's time to get ready for your departure," Maddox said. "Do you copy, Frankie?"

Frankie, Vlad and the rest of Team One were grouped around their communications equipment, having just heard the news that they'd be going home - if only for a short visit - after more than three months in space. Frankie and most of the other members of Team One smiled broadly but Vlad appeared concerned.

"Team One copies," Frankie said. "Don't let Team Five mess up the work we've done so far."

"Okay, Team One. You'll be following the same routine that Team Two did before their shift change. After this meeting, you'll perform your final space walk prior to departure. All construction supplies must be completely locked down in the cargo hold and any supplies not bolted down on the station must be returned to that same hold. That means all materials currently held by the utility arm must be emptied back aboard the shuttle."

The utility arms could hold dozens of aluminum slabs, which were used to piece together the walls of the space station corridors. Having such a useful construction tool made building these corridors much quicker; the men had to waste little time maneuvering the large, awkward materials. Unloading the utility arm would be a hassle but the hard work would pay off when the men were back on Earth later that day.

"Copy that," Frankie said. "Utility arm will be cleared."

"That's it then, meeting over. Team One can proceed with departure protocol and Teams Three and Four can continue business as usual. Sorry that you'll be the last team to go home, Three. Maddox out."

Once Maddox ended the meeting, excited chatter filled Team One's home for the last three months, Shuttle Exploration. And no chatter was louder than from their leader.

"It's about time we go home. I was getting nervous that my girl was getting lonely. I didn't want her leaving me for the postman or the pizza delivery boy," Frankie joked.

"I don't think she would be that lucky," one of the crew said. "Besides, she probably just used them for what she needed and then sent them away."

Frankie noticed that Vlad still did not appear happy. While the other men scurried about in preparation for their long-awaited return trip to Earth, Frankie pulled aside his Russian mentor.

"What's wrong, Vlad? You don't look happy to be going home," Frankie observed. "I'm sure they'll have your wife and kids waiting for you."

"This is not what I worry about, Frankie," Vlad said. "I am being nervous that we will be losing rhythm we have make for our team once we are back to Earth," Vlad said. "We have set schedule the last few months and this works good, no?"

"Yes, Vlad, we've been doing real good up here," Frankie agreed. "But believe me, having some time off is a good thing. You Russians have to learn how to relax a little, recharge your battery. Before you know it, we'll be back up here working for months at a time with no days off."

"You Americans and your days off," Vlad said. "How the U.S. and A becomes best powerful nation I will never be knowing."

"See, that just goes to show you that I'm right," Frankie said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Now let's go and do some work before we leave. You can enjoy clearing the utility arm and organizing the cargo hold for the next few hours."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Australia, India, Japan, Scandinavia, South Africa, and throughout South America, Europe and Central America. President George Marshall had spent time in each of these places across the globe; some for personal visits, some on business, but mostly for political reasons. He found each location scenically beautiful in its own unique way, the majority of the people kind and good-natured. The President even remembered his travels to Russia early in his first term, when he made the deal that eventually culminated in the accidental discovery of Comet Clement.

Marshall expected to find the Russian landscape dreary and the Russian people hostile but ended up thinking that a snow-covered Kremlin was one of the most picturesque scenes he'd ever seen. And as far as the people were concerned, President Metachenko was one of the most honestly sincere men Marshall ever met. Not a day went by that Marshall doubted his decision to inform the Russian President of the impending comet impact.

With that said, Marshall was not quite so confident that his trip to China would yield the same results. From the moment Air Force One set down in Beijing, Marshall had a bad feeling about what this trip would bring. While a Presidential arrival was treated as a major event in most other countries, there was no sort of welcome ceremony for him there. Instead, he was greeted by a single Chinese diplomat, who said very few words while rushing the President to a waiting car. Accustomed to being treated cordially wherever he went, Marshall found this reception a bit aloof.

The chilled feeling only grew worse when Marshall reached the destination of his scheduled meeting with the Chinese President. When a large set of double doors opened into a conference hall, Marshall was happy to find only two men waiting for him. At least the Chinese honored Marshall's request that few people attend the meeting.

The room had no windows and no furniture except the large oval table and chairs in the middle of the room. A larger chair sat on a two-foot platform at the head of the table, where an elderly man with white hair sat stoically. The man was not President Chang Sun-Li, but he did look familiar to Marshall. The other person, a small man who looked to be in his 40s, quickly approached Marshall.

The man at the head of the table did not move, nor did he acknowledge the President's arrival.

"Mr. President George Marshall," the small man said in perfect English. "Welcome to the People's Republic of China."

The man gave a short bow and then extended his hand. Marshall took it and immediately noticed the limp-wristed shake. The man had no hint of a smile and no trace of warmth or friendliness in his voice. In fact, Marshall almost sensed that it pained the man to be welcoming him to his country. Regardless of his negative perception of the situation, Marshall refused to compromise his sense of diplomacy.

"I am honored to be here," Marshall lied, now wishing he could be anywhere else in the world. "It is my first trip to China and I can already tell that Beijing is one of the finest cities in the world."

"We prefer to be called by our real name," the man said curtly. "We are the People's Republic of China, not just China."

"I apologize," Marshall said.

"This is a common mistake. I am Lu Chun, Minister of Foreign Affairs. President Sun-Li asked that I oversee these affairs today. Seated at the far end of the table is Prime Minister Qui Song Mau."

President Marshall bowed his head to the Prime Minister, who remained seated and frozen. While Marshall expected the Chinese President to be awaiting his arrival, he knew how the unexpected sometimes happened when running one of the largest nations in the world. Therefore, Marshall was not so snobbish as to be offended by Sun-Li's tardiness.

"Is President Sun-Li delayed? I certainly know what it's like to have something pop up, especially when I have important meetings to attend," Marshall said.

"President Sun-Li has other important matters he must handle today," Lu Chun said. "That is why he sent the Prime Minister and myself to this meeting as his representatives."

President Marshall could not believe what he heard. This meeting had been scheduled for well over a month, the time and date chosen by the Chinese President to avoid such conflicts of schedule. Marshall had trouble construing this turn of events as anything but a slap in the face to him and the United States.

"With all due respect to you and the Prime Minister, what I have to discuss today is of the utmost importance and confidentiality," Marshall said, his sense of diplomacy beginning to give way to his sense of annoyance. "That is why I requested to speak with Sun-Li, from one President to another."

The elderly Prime Minister finally showed a sign that he was alive. He spoke rapidly in Chinese to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, who quickly answered in their native language. The answer from Lu Chun was obviously not the response the Prime Minister wanted. He instantly changed from a nonchalant bystander in this meeting to an angry participant.

The white-haired man began to yell in Chinese but was quickly calmed by his soft-speaking fellow minister.

"Prime Minister Mau wonders if you do not find us worthy to be here with you," Lu Chun inquired. "He wishes me to remind you that as Prime Minister, he holds one of the highest posts in our government and speaks for President Sun-Li himself."