Boone looked at the three rockets from the observation deck. Franklin was standing next to him, doing some form of calculation. The Ghouls' Great Journey was this. To board these old prewar rockets and blast off to some far-off lands.

“They are fucking nuts,” Boone said.

“I don't disagree. Those things are over two hundred years old. Even brand new, I would say they were hot garbage. They have only one booster—no secondary guidance systems. The plasma-based thrusters are an interesting design, but I can see cracks in the shielding from here. Only a ghoul could survive a flight on these. Honestly, I don't know what the hell these prewar scientists were thinking. They had to have been fucking high,” Franklin said.

“I meant the Ghouls. Wherever this promised land is, they won't find it with these. Probably crash them into a mountain first,” Boone said.

“More than likely. Long ago, astronauts would have to train for months to survive entry into space. Eventually, newer rocket designs made the ride easier for untrained passengers, but the vacuum of space is hostile to all forms of life. Space passengers had to undergo either cybernetic enhancement or some form of heavy chemical treatment program to survive the Cosmic radiation or bone shrinkage due to low gravity,” Franklin said.

“Never heard about stuff like that,” Boone said, peering over his shades at the doctor.

“You might have realized by now I am not from around here. Well, you can say I am from really far away,” Franklin winked.

Boone stood there, trying to understand the implications of that sentence. Science might as well have been a foreign language to him, but he still knew a few things. Most were from science fiction books.

“Alien?” He asked.

“No. I was born on Earth, just not this one. I could explain the theories behind the multiverse and different dimensions, but we would be here all day. To summarize a long conversation, I am from a world that moved past the Cold War and the fear of nuclear apocalypse. The Great War never happened on my Earth,” Franklin said.

Boone stood there in silence. The stoic sniper had heard his fair share of strange and outlandish tales, but the doctor was the weirdest.

“Is that how you were able to take a bullet to the head?”

“Something like that. I said I was born on Earth, but I am not human. At least not anymore. I am a scientist—specialized in biology and nanotechnology. Right before the accident that brought me to this world, I completed my life's work and fully transferred my mind into a nano-robotic body,” Franklin explained.

“What's this nano stuff you keep mentioning,” Boone asked, puzzled by the unfamiliar word.

“Nano is shorthand for nanites, robots that are as small as the cells in our bodies or smaller. I designed, programmed, and built them. My life's work was to find a way to completely turn a human into a collection of nanites. Every cell in my body is now a machine. As such, I am no longer human in any physical way. But I am still human in the ways that count.”

“And what are those?”

“My Earth fought wars over that very question. How much of a human has to be left to be still called one? What about digital sentients? Eventually, our definition of the word human changed so that a person's origin no longer mattered. To be human is to care about something or someone. To love, hold, and protect that which matters to you. You could care about nature, your family, or your ideals. What mattered most was passion,” Franklin said. His arms were crossed, and he stared ahead at the rockets. Ghouls were moving back and forth, fixing broken parts on the three rockets.

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“Huh,” Boone said solemnly.

“It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. For even the pain of loss is proof they mattered. And if they mattered, you matter to Boone. Now, come on. Let's go get these rocket parts, Mr. I am a ghoul wanted us to get,” Franklin said and turned to the exit tunnel.

Boone stared at the back of the actual otherworldly doctor. Half the things he said, Boone didn't understand, but that part about mattering, Boone got. He didn't necessarily believe him—not after all the things Boone had done—but the words pulled at his heart slightly.

_______

Cass stepped out of the mail van and made for the doctor immediately. “I got things to say to you. First, that radio is not driving again. The floating toaster couldn't find a smooth road if it was painted gold and sang show tunes,” she said, visibly angry and mostly for ED-E to hear. Then she straightened her jacket and calmed down. “Second, I would like to make some kind of deal for your van. I can count on one hand the number of times I have felt air conditioning. So if that was your plan all along, then you got yourself a caravaner.”

“Air conditioning?” Boone asked.

“I have three loves—whiskey, caps, and now air conditioning. Like stepping out of the desert and into heaven,” Cass said with reverence.

Franklin laughed. He thought he would have to buy his way into the crass cowgirl's heart with alcohol, but this would work, too. “We can work something out. Stick with me, and air conditioning will be the smallest comfort you will see.”

“You got more? As long as it's not drugs, then fuck yes. More, please.”

Excited beeps.

“Good to have you back too, ED-E. Ms. Crawford taken care of?”

Vindicated beeps.

“Good to know. We found ourselves between some angry Nightkin and Cultish Ghouls but they are being taken care of. I got a new home for the Nightkin lined up, and the Ghouls are gonna go to the moon,” Franklin said and cheerfully walked towards Dinky the T-rex.

“...what?” Cass asked Boone.

“You heard him. Problem solved,” Boone said and walked away.

Joyfull beeps.

“Like you understood ‘em any better,” Cass ranted.

Franklin walked his way up the stairs and into the Dinky gift shop to see a man about some radioactive rocket fuel being stored in children's toys. It was a wonder Cliff Briscoe hadn't turned into a Ghoul from all the radiation in his storeroom.

Negotiating a price for all the jet fuel-filled toy rockets was easy when you could make caps from scrap nearly at will. Would the mass creation of new caps cause rapid inflation in the local economy? Undoubtably, but Franklin didn’t care. He hoped to one day introduce the wonders of a truly socialist society backed by a near-infinite supply of nanites. Of course, strip-mining the wasteland of all its natural resources would ruffle a few too many feathers, but Franklin felt a little inspired by the cultish Ghouls Great Journey.

Franklin didn’t include any information on space flight in the DARWIN system because he simply thought it wouldn’t be necessary for his terrestrial vacation. He silently kicked himself for that failure when he arrived in the wasteland. Now, with the REPCON facility in hand, he had plenty of research data, blueprints, and technical information on how to build and guide a rocket. Of course, his earlier comments about this world's rocket design still held true. They were hot garbage, but the DARWIN system was designed to evolve. He would have a working rocket design in no time.

Then he would take the MOON! Mwahahaha.

“ED-E, he is doing that weird laughing thing in his head again,” Cass said.

Disappointed beeps.

______

“Pull the other one smooth skin. I ain't no human,” Chris said. Jason and his followers were finally ready to launch their rockets and complete the Great Journey, but they couldn’t bring Chris Haversam. Jason said that wherever they were going, it would have too much radiation. He said that the Ghouls owed Chris too much to let him die like that. He felt a little exploitative to Franklin but wouldn’t hold it against them too much. Chris might, though.

Franklin stared at the man, wondering what it would take to break his fantasy. “You haven’t spent a lot of time around radiation since becoming a ghoul. If you did, you would feel the effects pretty quickly.”

Chris stared angrily at the doctor with sudden confusion and growing horror. “You're not kidding. Holy fuck, no, no, no. It can't be. You're lying you've got to be.

Franklin slowly shook his head no.

“Fuck. Two fucking years I've been with these Ghouls. And what, they've been laughing at me! Do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to sabotage these rockets?”

“Very easy. I could do the same myself, but we both know neither one of us is going to do that,” Franklin said.

Chris scowled and asked, “Oh yeah? And why is that?”

“Because we aren't assholes. Do you really think you would be able to live with murdering this many people? People who trusted you enough to fix the very rockets they will be flying on. Jason Bright might be a fanatic for his beliefs, but he isn't stupid. He trusted you to fix two-hundred-year-old rockets that could crash and explode the second they launch. If he believed you were a joke, he would have let you get aboard the rocket and die from the radiation.”

“Ugh, I guess that's true,” Chris shrugged. He was still dealing with the ramifications of his delusion being shattered.

“They have sanctified you. Congratulations,” Franklin said and patted him on the back.

“Fine. I won't blow up the rockets, I guess.”

“Like that was ever an option. Now come on, let's get these Ghouls to the moon,” Franklin said and began the launch calculations.

“That's not where they are going!”