Astraea floated fifty kilometers above the surface of Venus, held aloft by the simplest trick in physics: air is lighter than carbon dioxide.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The city was a dirigible the size of Manhattan, stitched together with acid-resistant polymers and powered by solar energy so abundant it bordered on obscene.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It wasn’t paradise. It was survival. And it was home.&nbsp;&nbsp;Cael and Lys were born there—second-generation cloud kids. No mutations, no enhancements. Just human beings raised in a place where stepping outside without a suit meant death by acid mist.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They were seventeen. Old enough to know better. Young enough not to care.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The Council had rules. Rules about who got to train for Earth-return missions. Rules about who stayed behind to keep the city running.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Cael had the scores. Lys had the instincts. Neither had the pedigree.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Earth was for the elite. The genetically vetted. The politically connected.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They were neither.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So they did what kids always do. They broke the rules.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The shuttle was old. A cargo hauler nicknamed Tin Widow, half-disassembled and parked in the maintenance bay like a forgotten relic.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Cael knew its systems. Lys knew its blind spots.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They spent six days rerouting power, patching hull breaches, and forging launch codes. They stole oxygen tanks, protein packs, and a digital copy of I Come From A Blue Planet by the philosopher Eugene Mark Boyd from the library archive. He grew up on Earth.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On the seventh day, they launched.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Venus tried to kill them.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The shuttle bucked and swirled. Pressure dropped. The hull groaned. The heat shield cracked.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But they made it.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They broke through the clouds, through the gravity well, through the bureaucracy that said they didn’t belong.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They were free.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Space was quiet. Too quiet.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They drifted for weeks, rationing food, recycling water, and arguing about orbital mechanics.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Cael was methodical. Lys was impulsive. They fought. They made up. They kissed. They listened to Boyd read aloud to them in the dark.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They talked about Earth.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;About forests. About rain. About freedom. They didn’t know if they’d survive re-entry. They didn’t care.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Earth was beautiful.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Blue and green and white, spinning like a promise.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The shuttle was barely holding together. The guidance system was manual. The heat shield was patched with scavenged plating.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They held hands as the sky turned to fire.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They screamed. They laughed. They rode it down like a wild ride and lived.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They woke in a forest. Real trees. Real air. Rain that didn’t burn.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The shuttle was a wreck, but they were alive.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lys was in awe at the fresh air and tried to drink it with cupped hands and it started to rain. It was amazing.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Cael tore his suit from his torso and danced in it and they kissed in the cooling downpour.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They wandered for days, drinking from streams, eating wild berries, and dodging drones.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They found an abandoned cabin. Overgrown. Forgotten. They made it a home.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They built a garden. Learned to hunt. Learned to live. They were alone, but not lonely. They had Boyd to read to them.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sometimes they saw satellites pass overhead. Sometimes they heard distant aircraft.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But EarthGov never found them.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They were ghosts. Myths. The cloudbreakers. Two kids who ran from the sky to find a world worth loving and in that world, they loved.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Wildly. Fiercely. On their own terms.

A GARDEN AT THE END OF ESCAPE

L_Christopher_Hennessy

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A GARDEN AT THE END OF ESCAPE

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Luke Christopher Hennessy

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