This story happened one night when I was supposed to write something else. In a fit of inspiration, I composed most of the story in a single sitting, about half its current length. I then left it alone for many years before coming back to flesh it out more. It’s now a complete novella-length story. I haven’t tried to publish it (yet), and I haven’t abandoned it (yet), which means there’s more to this story I need to say.
Eric P. Metze
Dallas, March 2019
My name is Raoshan, and I spent the first 25 years of my life on the outer edge of the Sol system. I was born on a freighter while my parents were en route to Pluto, but I was raised on Charon. My father was a miner and my mother was a pilot, so we were always traveling between our tiny homeworlds and any mineral-rich asteroid that floated into range. I wouldn’t call it an exciting life, but my parents were good to me.
When you live on the edge of the solar system, you learn to expect things to be a certain way. And by that I mean you learn to not really expect things. Few people came that far out, so news was hard to come by. Everything that happened in the solar system happened elsewhere, so it’s more than a little strange to find yourself in the middle of historical events.
The closest I’d ever been to a planet was when we intercepted an asteroid that was less than 100 million kilometers away from Neptune. At that distance, the gas giant was little more than a large blue dot, but it fascinated me nonetheless. Seeing it up so close made me realize that other places existed that were much grander than the cold and barren rocks I’d grown accustomed to throughout my life.
My parents obviously felt my sense of awe because that’s when they first told me of the walkabout. It’s an ancient tradition that originated on Earth by my ancestors several hundred years ago. The purpose of the walkabout is the completion of the prime facets: honor your family name, discover your true talents, and find a way to serve humanity. It’s a journey that is both spiritual and literal.
After I’d finished the academy, I was free to begin my walkabout. But first I had to choose a destination. I had no idea where I wanted to go. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to visit Earth, the homeworld of our species. Most of the culture I was raised around was Plutonian, but the majority of humanity considered Earth home. As it happened, I was fortunate enough to have been born in an era when the outer planets were in a relatively straight pattern. If I was willing to spend a little extra time in a few places, I could visit every planetary system and make it all the way to Earth without spending the rest of my natural life aboard ships. The prospect of spending that much time shuttling from system to system didn't really bother me, though. I’d spent most of my life on one ship or another. I had a lot of experience repairing them, too, so I felt right at home on board a ship. They would serve as my homes away from home. I just had to take care of them so they could take care of me.
As I was saying about history, it’s a strange thing to find yourself in the middle of it. The most ironic thing is how unaware you are of the full importance of things as they happen. You go about your way, aware of certain events happening all around you, while the most important ones happen right under your nose. That was the position I found myself in after I was a few years into my walkabout, and that’s why I’m writing this story now.
The Dorvalla was my personal craft for several years, and my father had owned it for decades before he gave it to me. I’d used it to travel to Charon and the other moons countless times, and I enjoyed taking short trips around Pluto’s equator, usually all by myself. Though it was only a three-person craft, it was comfortable enough that I could have lived on it. In fact, it could’ve provided me with all the transportation I would’ve needed for decades. But it wasn’t the kind of craft that could fly all the way to Earth.
“It’s a good ship,” my father told me. “But it wasn’t designed for long-distance travel.”
“I can’t use it for my walkabout, then?” I asked.
“You could probably make it as far as Neptune, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Freighters and passenger transports are much safer.”
“Agreed,” added my mother. “I hate the idea of you drifting through space in that tiny thing.”
“Then what should I do?” I asked on the verge of frustration.
“You’ll have to sell it,” he replied.
“But, Father,” I protested, “the Dorvalla has been in our family longer than I have.”
“My dear, sweet daughter,” he said with that comforting smile of his, “it’s yours to do with as you please. I have no use for it anymore, and I’m sure someone else does. It’ll provide you with more than enough capital to get you started on your journey.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded. “How far will it get me?”
“Hard to say. But if you’re careful with your time and resources, it should get you far enough.”
Mother added, “I’m sure we could find a suitable buyer for you to meet.”
“How you fund the trip after that will be up to you,” said Father. “We won’t be able to help you out much the farther away you get.”
“Well, okay,” I said. “I suppose I could trade a family heirloom for a joyride.”
“You’re our family heirloom,” said Mother.
“Exactly,” Father noted. “It’s just a ship, Shan."
“All we care about is that you to find your way back to us, eventually.”
And with that, I was convinced. I would use the funds from selling the Dorvalla to get as far as possible, and I would earn the rest along the way. I knew that would work out fine because ships always had work for mechanics like me.
I wasted no time getting prepared for my trip. I emptied it out, sold whatever I could, and then went shopping for essentials: a food synthesizer, a waste recycler, a medical kit, a tesla generator, and a computer full of entertainment. A few brief days later, I was ready to leave. After a large meal and many hugs, I said goodbye to my parents. I promised them I would keep in touch and honor our family name, then I packed all my gear into a couple of bags and set sail for Pluto.
I docked the Dorvalla inside the central station of Pluto and stepped outside. I looked over its worn gray exterior and had a strange urge to pat it goodbye. I met with a man named Wheaton (the dealer my parents had recommended for me), and he briefly looked over the ship before agreeing to buy it from me. He gave almost twice what I expected, so I thanked him graciously and promptly bought a ticket for the first transport to the Neptune outpost.
It was going to be a few hours before the transport left, so I stopped to eat at the station’s cafeteria. One of the things I was looking forward to experiencing was food from other cultures. I’d always heard that was one of life’s great pleasures, and I’d been consuming variations of the same five meals my entire life. So I resolved to sample all of the local cuisines I could stomach (until it killed me, at least).
I printed a ration and started slathering it with all the flavorings available. The cafeteria was spartan and automated, so people kept themselves occupied by chatting with one another. I was so busy eating that I hardly noticed the other travelers in the room with me. It wasn’t until I heard one of them mention Mars that I started paying attention. Through my eavesdropping, I learned that a conflict on Mars had been escalating for years, Once they referred to it as a war they had my full attention. After that, I was mostly just poking at the meaty pile in front of me.
Apparently, a massive religious movement known as the Illari had formed on Mars a few hundred years ago, and they always seemed to be under the persecution of the Martian government. I recognize that all of this is now common knowledge for most people, but at the time I knew embarrassingly little. There had been some major atrocity (though it wasn’t clear who committed it) that had sparked public outrage. The person speaking couldn’t say what it was, but they did know it’d led to widespread uprisings. At the time, I remember feeling a twinge of excitement over the idea of a full-scale war. Don’t judge. I was young.
But then someone standing nearby mentioned Sol, and the subject quickly shifted to that. Though it was probably quite interesting, out on the outer edge of the solar system Sol was more of a bright star than anything else. Light takes more than four hours just to reach that far out, so to me, it was more of a navigational beacon than the center of everything. My mind drifted back to the war that I knew was happening on Mars…right then. If only I’d been more focused I might’ve heard the first mention of the Great Exodus, but all I could think of was the localized conflict unfolding on that distant world.
As I finished my meal and stood up to leave, they were talking about how Pluto was only capable of launching deep space probes. They were concerned that an increase in traffic would completely disrupt their way of life.
Blah blah blah, I thought. There’s a war going on!
I didn’t fear the idea of conflict at the time because it was more of an abstract concept than a concrete reality. Considering how long it would take me to just to complete my journey to Earth, I believed the conflict would dissipate long before I made it anywhere close. Even if it didn’t, I would just bypass it. My goal, after all, was Earth, not Mars.
But that was a long time away. I still hadn’t left Pluto. I tried to relax while I waited for the transport to arrive but I was too excited. The longer I sat in the same place, the more restless I became.
Finally, the ship arrived at the station. I watched out the station’s massive oblong windows as the ship known as the Filament docked in the port. The massive metal clamps that grabbed onto the hull sent a subtle-but-distinct ripple through the floor, which heightened my rapidly-growing sense of adventure. I was the first person of the eight or so who got on board, and I strapped myself into the surprisingly comfortable seat. An hour later, the ship floated gracefully off of Pluto, hardly struggling to escape the weak gravitational pull. Once we were in deep space, they powered up the ion drive and I left my homeworlds behind. My walkabout was officially underway.
To say that the Filament was utilitarian would be a missed opportunity to redefine the meaning of the word. It possessed the absolute bare minimum of human beings needed for space travel. The only real privacy you could get was on the toilet, and that was assuming no one else found themselves in the same position. The showers were communal, and each room was filled with several bunk beds. Fortunately, most of those beds were empty because few people ever left Pluto once they arrived, but I was rarely ever alone in any room. The beds were so short that I wondered how the average passenger could sleep in them, but luckily for me, I was shorter than your average person.
There weren’t any luxuries on such a freight-minded ship, so I had to find ways to keep myself entertained. That was when I first started recording my log and working out regularly, almost entirely out of boredom. I would write (by speaking my thoughts) into a recorder in between bouts of exercise, which I later learned that listening to some of the notes for writing this story left me feeling breathless.
The ship really was just designed to carry cargo and crew. Most ships like it were only designed for transporting goods. Humans are too needy; they require too much to transport. Unlike iron – which could sit quietly indefinitely – humans require food, light, mental stimulation, and warmth.
We were expected to keep our areas clean because there was no janitorial staff. Someone joked that people had been known to get left somewhere because their quarters were so dirty, but in case they weren’t joking, I promised myself that wouldn’t happen to me. I didn’t realize it until many years later, but my area was considered immaculate.
I also had to make some serious adjustments to my grooming habits. I inherited my mother’s straight black hair, and it always seemed to be getting in my way when I worked. So, I always had to find a way to keep it cut short. My clothing selection was far more limited than what I was accustomed to, so everything quickly broke down into two categories: always clean or always filthy. I used my always-cleans exclusively for sleeping. So if anyone ever saw me walking around the ship, I was wearing my always-filthies: thick work boots to keep my feet from getting crushed by falling parts, pants that were dark and strong enough that I didn’t have to replace them constantly, sleeveless shirts so my shoulders were never restricted, and a coat that was long and strong enough to use as a blanket in a pinch.
At the time, I wasn’t really aware of how spartan the ship was, and looking back it’s probably best that I wasn’t. I was like a stowaway, except that I was paying for it. The only work I could really do on this fairly well-oiled machine was clean and occasionally repair things. Fortunately, I had a knack for the latter, so they found plenty to keep me busy. The captain even came down to thank me personally a couple of times.
“So,” he said, looking down at me with a smile. “I hear you’re the one that finally fixed my starboard power relay.”
“Yeah,” I answered. “It just needed a little tuning.”
“Interesting. I’ve been trying to get my guys to fix it for months.”
He smirked while one of the men standing with him glared at me over his shoulder.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked with a friendly smile.
“I grew up on freighters like this one,” I responded. “They all have similar working parts.”
“Don’t we all.”
I tried to avoid the gaze of the man whose toes I apparently stepped on and told the captain that I would fix anything I could while I was on board. This actually suited my walkabout because it helped fulfill one of my primary facets: discover my true talents. I thought everyone understood how these things worked (especially because they were our lifelines in the unapologetic bleakness of space), but I quickly learned that it was a disturbingly rare thing. All these ships floating through space and few people knew how to repair them. And as it turns out, I was unusually good at it. So, I continued to fix and fine-tune everything I could on the Filament while doing my best to stay out of the way.
I also made it a habit to reflect upon my journey. I knew it wasn’t a vacation or a simple joyride, so I learned to accept that things would not always be luxurious or comfortable. I left my home, my parents, and my comfort zone in order to find myself. Whenever I began to worry or question my purpose, I would reflect upon the facets, what they meant, and how I was going to achieve them. I also tried to read as much as possible, and the lessons I learned in those books helped me prepare for the rest.
Even though the Filament had an extremely fast drive, it still took several months to reach Neptune. In that time I’d gotten to know it very well. But just as it finally began to feel comfortable, we arrived in the Neptune system. I stepped off the ship and entered the Triton station. A few hours later, it was gone, off to deliver goods and travelers to Pluto. Before I saw it leave, there was a moment where I briefly entertained the idea of getting back on board, but I knew that urge was just a natural fear of the unknown. The truth was that I felt excited about my journey, so I resolved to always look forward.
There is (or I should say, was) a large fuel depot on Triton, Neptune’s largest moon. Neptune is the outermost hydrogen-rich planet in the system, so everything that is heading out past Pluto has to make this important stop first. It was quite literally your last chance to fuel up before heading into the endless depths beyond our solar system. But travelers rarely ventured beyond Neptune, so government-run missions were far more common than commercial ones. The Terran government was omnipresent in that part of the solar system because of the fuel depot. Oddly enough, none of the Terrans in this area were actually from Earth; they were locals from the outer planets who just happened to work for the government. I remember feeling disappointed that I probably wouldn’t get to meet an actual Terran on this leg of the journey because I had so many questions for them.
A few days after we arrived, I visited a food bar that several locals had suggested. Their specialty was pasilim, a kind of nutrient-enriched soup that was filled with something called noodles that were handmade every day by the owner. He was a short and friendly old man who must have been over two hundred years old. His bar was set up with several stools that surrounded him, and a handful of patrons were eating or waiting for something to be cooked.
I was seated next to a man and waiting for my food when I heard him mention the war on Mars. This time I felt it was appropriate enough to introduce myself. He said his name was Liu and that he worked at the local fuel depot. Though he didn’t know much, he knew more than I did. And that was all that mattered.
“I have a cousin who lives in orbit around Jupiter,” he told me. “He says the war is getting pretty bad. Both sides are claiming that terrorists have infiltrated their borders, so they’re using it as an excuse to attack one another.”
“Do you know what set the whole thing off?” I asked.
“Honestly, there’s no way to be sure. I heard a rumor that an entire city was razed in retaliation for the bombing of a school. After that, things just spiraled out of control. But I don’t think that has anything to do with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’ve been a lot of calls from the Terran government requesting our fuel supplies for outbound ships,” Liu said.
“Yeah,” a man beside me said, entering our conversation. “That happens all the time.”
“Why’s that a problem?” I asked.
“The problem,” Liu said, looking back at me, “is that they’ve been requesting a lot of fuel.”
“How much?” I asked.
“All of it,” he replied. A few people around us stopped pretending to not pay attention. “And,” he continued, “they’re requesting that the depot increases production until further notice.”
“That’s void,” one surly man exclaimed before going back to slurping his noodles.
“It’s the truth,” he shot back. “I’m the one who’s been taking the calls.”
“What do you mean?” someone else asked.
“I’m the person who’s been directly receiving the orders.”
I think all I did was blink at him because I didn’t understand the significance at the time.
“I was the communications chief at the plant,” Liu finally said, trying to drive the point home.
“Was?” I asked. “Why aren’t you the chief anymore?”
“I quit.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
There was a brief moment of silence as I tried to put it all together. I was still trying to decide if this guy was serious or not. If the Terrans used up all the reserves, it would’ve put the outer planets in a serious bind, to say the least. That’s why they’re called reserves, after all.
“Hey,” another man said, “If all of this is true, won’t the government have your head for telling us this?”
“Maybe,” he said. “But by the way they’re acting, they won’t be around much longer to care.”
“Huh?” one man asked.
“What does that mean?” asked another. Everyone at the bar (including the owner) was now privy to the conversation, and Liu was no longer speaking just to me.
“They’ve requested all of the fuel in storage,” Liu said, “including the emergency reserves. And now they’re demanding more.”
“Friend,” the man to my right said, “if this is true, then someone’s gonna come after you for telling people this.”
“I really don’t think they will,” Liu answered. “They have bigger problems to deal with. They’re using up enough fuel to move billions of people.” He glanced around the room. “Billions,” he repeated.
“Where are they going?” I asked.
“They’re leaving,” he replied.
“Wait,” said one man who hadn’t spoken yet. “What are you saying? Who is leaving?”
“I don’t really know,” he answered. “But what I do know is that nothing like this has ever happened. They’re planning something big. Really big. And they don’t want any of the other systems to know about it.”
“Is this because of the war on Mars?” I asked.
“It could be,” Liu admitted. “But I’m not sure how. It wouldn’t make sense to come all the way out here to get fuel when they’re so much closer to Jupiter.”
“I think this has to do with what’s happening to Sol,” said the owner of the bar.
“What’s happening to Sol?” I asked.
“Whatever it is, it has people on the inner planets worried. There are rumors that the Terrans are planning on relocating to the outer planets.”
There were a couple of gasps, a few scoffs, and the conversation started reeling.
“The traffic out here is going to get crazy,” said one man.
“We’re going to get overrun by foreigners,” said another.
And that’s when I tuned most of them out. Liu and I spoke for a couple more minutes, but he eventually ran out of information for me. After he finished his noodles, he politely said goodbye and left.
I had no idea I’d just heard about the Terran Deception years before it would go public. At the time most people (myself included) were focused on the Martian war. The reasons for an evacuation of that size were so incredible, so unprecedented, that the whole thing was cast aside as mere nonsense.
I spent a few more weeks on Triton, watching the massive blue ball known as Neptune rise and fall in the sky. I didn’t feel like I was paranoid, but it did seem like there were a lot of Terran government employees at the station. Their pristine gray uniforms and upright postures stood in stark contrast against the seasoned outworlders. I just assumed at the time the only reason I even noticed it was because of the seeds that Liu had planted in my mind.
It turns out that the Martian war had apparently been raging on, and it was clear that Earth was planning more than a mere diplomatic intervention. I wondered (perhaps naively) whether they were going to use the fuel to some positive end, but I had to admit there was no obvious connection. I was right, of course, because it had nothing to do with Mars. Nothing at all.
As the transport arrived to take me to Uranus, I saw Liu getting on one of the deep space freighters. In retrospect, I wish I’d spoken to him again.
The Xavier was a fine ship as far as freighters go, but I never quite felt welcome on it. They expected me to keep my section clean, which wasn’t unusual, but I wasn’t supposed to venture into certain areas “under penalty of execution.” It was just a sign, but it didn’t feel like an idle threat. Someone put it there for a reason. There were little things like that everywhere, so I was rarely able to fully relax. It would have been okay if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was going to be on that ship for a long time. In truth, that was the first time I felt regret for going on the walkabout, and a lot of it had to do with the unusually serious atmosphere. I just reminded myself that this journey was going to have its ups and downs.
Part of the reason it was such a struggle was that I spent most of my time alone. I only saw members of the crew on rare occasions, and I hardly saw any of the other passengers. I never once saw the captain. The ship was well-staffed, so I was rarely needed. All that mattered was that I paid my way and stayed out of theirs, which I eventually decided was a good thing because it gave me a lot of time to reflect upon the purpose of the walkabout. After all, that was part of the goal of this journey.
So I continued to log my thoughts in my journal, which was initially meant to keep myself busy. In retrospect, it was extremely useful because it allowed me to look back at how much I’d changed over the years. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. It wasn’t until much later that I realized how useful it was to have kept an account of my experiences.
I was so far away from home that communication consisted of sending and receiving messages that took over an hour to relay. My parents missed me already, and I assured them that I felt the same. I tried to keep up with the latest news, but this far out it was still mostly rumor and hearsay. Most people seemed uninterested in what was happening across the solar system. By that point, I welcomed any news because I was starving for more information, but several months passed with little to report. By the end of that leg of the journey, I was in good physical shape due to the recreational equipment and the never-ending boredom. My mind was dull, but my senses were sharp. I suppose there are worse things I could’ve dealt with. In fact, so little happened during this time that I can clearly recall the moment I first approached Uranus.
I was sitting alone in my cabin when I suddenly realized that everything had a bright blue glow. As I looked out the large circular window, my mouth fell open. The giant blue sphere shone brightly even this far away from Sol. A thin but distinct band of rings surrounded it vertically and glimmered faintly in the barely perceptible sunlight. The planet tilted away from me as though it was attempting a slow and futile escape, and a uniform ocean of clouds covered its surface and moved so slowly that I questioned whether the movement was real or my imagination. We landed on Titania, the largest moon, with the great planet looming steadily overhead.
It was during my time on Titania that I first began hearing real warnings beginning to spread through the solar system. Because of the war, other news was slow to spread. There were occasional media blackouts (allegedly due to a large jamming signal emanating from Mars) wreaking havoc all over the solar system. Signals would get disrupted even in the depths of space as they passed through the field. Certain planetary systems were unable to receive anything from the other side, which led to rolling blackouts that sometimes lasted for days. At one point there was even a rumor that Earth had been destroyed because the loudest planet in the solar system appeared to have fallen silent. It hadn’t been, of course. It was just a temporary unexplained outage. People just tend to use their imaginations more than their brains.
Though I was endlessly fascinated by the ongoing war on Mars, I generally found myself more concerned with the happenings on Earth. Were they still requesting all that fuel from Neptune? Was there any explanation yet about why they had asked for so much? Was there a connection between it and the Martian war? When I asked these questions, most people acted as if it was the first they had heard any of it. I thought I must’ve been searching too deeply. Surely, I figured, if something important was going on, everyone would‘ve been talking about it. But they weren’t. I found that fact to be more unsettling than the tiny shreds of information I already knew. I guess people just didn’t take the threat seriously.
Perhaps, I thought, maybe I’m taking it too seriously.
I tried to keep myself busy during my month on Titania by exercising regularly, which was easy to do considering the facilities in the station. I’d spent so much of my early life in microgravity that my parents drilled the importance of strength-building into my head. I’d seen people completely debilitated by even the most moderate gravity because their bodies just weren’t prepared for it. I hated the idea of getting all the way to Earth and not being strong enough to stand up. I had a lot of growing to do, but fortunately, I had a lot of time to do it. I studied the level of gravity I would encounter at each stop and scaled my workouts to match them. And yes, that’s how uneventful my time was in the Uranus system. The most interesting thing was deciding how to exercise. As beautiful as the planet was, I was glad to see my next ride arrive to take me farther inward.
The Diligent was unquestionably the nicest ship I’d taken thus far on my journey. My cabin was easily four times bigger than the one I’d had on the Filament and infinitely more comfortable than the one I had on the Xavier. It wasn’t that I minded being confined to the same space for so long, but the more room I had to move around the better. The nicest thing about the cabin was that the outside wall was almost entirely transparent. I could stare out into space and meditate for hours. The Diligent was also significantly quieter than any other I’d been on, and the bed was extremely comfortable. I’m not sure I ever slept better than that in my entire life.
The activity on the Diligent was also much livelier than anything I’d encountered thus far. There was something invigorating about the people, probably because they were in a more populated region of space. Most of them were from the Saturn system or even farther inward. They weren’t reclusive or distant like most of the people I’d always been around, and they had a social warmth about them. They approached each other with a calm kindness that felt foreign to me at first. Because of my previous experiences, I worried that I might be ignored (or worse, shunned) for being so introverted. But that was simply how I grew up. I couldn’t help it. And so, being hyper-aware of this, I resolved to be more outgoing.
That decision paid off almost immediately. I met a woman named Erilyn who quickly became my friend. She once lived on Mars before her career sent her to the outer planets.
“What’s it like?” I asked.
“I’ve adjusted to it. My boss is a bit arrogant, but only because he’s extremely successful.”
“I meant, what’s it like on Mars?”
“Oh,” she said, slightly embarrassed. “I loved it, though the weather can be very intense.”
“How so?”
“Even with all of the terraforming they’ve done, the atmosphere is still pretty thin. So there’s not a lot of resistance when wind storms begin to pick up. The sky could shift from a soft blue to a rusty orange within minutes, and the wind storms would rage for days, sometimes weeks.”
“And do you know anything about the war?”
She sighed a little. “Yeah. It’s terrible. The government has committed some pretty serious offenses against the ethnic minority there.”
“You mean the Illari?” I asked.
“Yes. Not only are they an ethnic group, but they’re also a minority of the population and a religious movement. So they are being oppressed for multiple reasons. The problem is that they’ve committed their own series of atrocities.”
“So both sides are right?”
“No,” she said plainly. “They’re both wrong. They are killing each other and justifying it because of all the killing the other side is doing.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Technically, for centuries. When I lived there, conflicts were always happening. But this recent war is,” she paused to consider, “different.”
“How?”
“It’s much more violent and widespread. That’s why other planets are getting involved. The Terrans have always been the police of the system, but I’ve heard they’re planning on getting significantly more involved.”
“In what way?”
“Oh, I don’t know. They’re mostly just rumors. The whole thing is just awful,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Can we talk about something else?”
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “Let’s get a drink.”
Erilyn was a kind and genuine person, and after enough drinks, she taught me more about Mars and the Illari situation. I learned more from every conversation with her than everything I’d known up until that point. Mars, she said, could be a beautiful place when the weather was nice. But the weather was often so harsh, and the conditions were so rough that it forced people to take on a kind of siege mentality. Entire cities were designed to become closed off during storms, so there were underground tunnels all over the planet. There were even large sections of the population that lived entirely underground. The war only exacerbated the situation. Knowing what I do now, it makes sense why she accepted a job that led her away from Mars.
Our conversations encouraged me to venture to the surface of Mars, but I didn’t realize at the time how difficult that would be. As far as I could tell, the conflict was going to last much longer than I originally anticipated. I thought surely by the time I reached the Martian system there would be a way to visit. It was the first planet I would reach with solid ground, after all.
Erilyn and I promised to keep in touch, but once I left the Diligent, I never heard from her again. I hope she’s okay.
I should point out that before I started on my walkabout, the largest thing I’d ever seen in my life was Neptune. And even that was from a considerable distance. On this trip, however, I was able to see Neptune and Uranus from their moons. The massive gas planets hung beautifully in the sky, blocking whole sections of space with their multi-hued bodies. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of majestic Saturn and its incredible system of rings. I mean, I’d seen plenty of pictures of it, but to experience it this close without a simulator was almost overwhelming. Its rings were slightly tilted as we approached them, their dark side facing toward us, and they glowed brilliantly even this far away from Sol. The view was nothing short of breathtaking.
As we flew by Saturn en route to the moon Rhea, I noticed something that seemed strange to me. Almost all the ships in orbit around the moon remained on its dark side. I asked someone why that was, and they answered that it was due to solar storms, almost as if it were old news. Well, it wasn’t old news to me. I didn’t know a lot about solar physics, but solar flares this far out hardly seemed like a threat. I felt this strange suspicion they were just pranking what they believed to be a naive outworlder.
We landed on Rhea, and I promptly left the Diligent. One of the first things I did was visit the observatory on the top of the station, and that’s when I got my first good look at Saturn and its rings. They filled the entire sky, disappearing below the horizon at one extreme only to appear again at the other. It was so massive that I couldn’t take it all in with one look, so I would have to wait until we left the system to see the whole thing at once.
I stayed at the station for a few days, mostly trying to soak in the local culture. There was an impressive variety of food vendors and even a few entertainment venues. This was the first time I ever experienced a dance hall or watched a play being performed live. It was a vibrant and lively place, and I quickly realized I’d scheduled my next ship far too soon. I wanted to stay much longer, to dance more, eat more, and see more plays. I got very little sleep during this time and quickly grew exhausted, but that wasn’t enough to slow me down. People were just so full of energy and life that I awoke every time ready to try something new.
I met several people from Jupiter while I was there, most notably a man named Donovan. He loved to dance, drink, eat, make love, and he always seemed to be looking for something to do. We spent several days together before our friendship became intimate, and after that, I was drawn to him as much as he was to me. I enjoyed many long conversations with him, which were usually upbeat and superficial. But one time we were laying in bed together, and I must have struck a chord with him because he seemed to change into a different person.
“So, what drew you to Rhea?” I asked.
He sighed and said, “I came here with a group of my friends.”
“For a vacation?”
“Sure,” he said. “Vacation.”
“Well, obviously that’s not why.”
“We just needed to get away from Jupiter for a while. The war is getting out of control, and we were going to stay here until it calms down a little.”
“So why leave Jupiter?”
“Because if the war spreads, it will spread to the Jupiter system.”
“I thought it was just a Martian problem.”
“Oh, no,” he said, suddenly addressing me more directly. “This is much larger than Mars. The Illari are everywhere, and the Terrans have been supporting the war effort the entire time.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“Of course not,” he responded. “They’re pretty good at controlling propaganda.”
“It’s been really hard to get reliable information,” I admitted.
“And that’s how they like it. The whole thing has made the other systems more than a little resentful.”
“Because they’re fighting against the Illari?”
“Nah. They’re not against them.”
“Then, who are the Terrans supporting?”
“Everyone,” he said. “Anyone.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It was supposed to be a localized religious conflict, but it escalated into a full-scale war. Why?”
I shrugged.
“Because the Terrans have been providing weapons and financial support to both sides. They used the existing hatred between the Illari minority and the Martian majority against one another.”
“So, are you saying that the Terrans caused the war?”
“I’m saying someone did. Someone besides the Martians.”
“I see.”
“That’s why it’s grown into such a major conflict. The Illari have been persecuted for so long that many of them have scattered to other systems. And now that they are under attack on Mars, many of them have had enough.”
“And what does Jupiter have to do with this?”
“There is a significant population of Illari in the Jovian system, and they are pushing hard to enter the fray. Everyone I knew was talking about war.” He shook his head. “I just couldn’t be around all that.”
“So the war is definitely going to spread to Jupiter?” I asked.
“Probably,” he replied. “I had friends that were leaving the system to fight on Mars, and that really bothered me. I hope Jupiter doesn’t get directly involved. But if they do, I’m going to move in with you on Charon.”
He’d mispronounced Charon, but I didn’t care. “I just hope it all calms down before I arrive,” I told him. “I don’t think I could justify several extra months in the Jovian system waiting for this thing to blow over.”
“Not to mention all the people who are dying right now,” he added.
“Ah, yes,” I said, noting his seriousness. “Of course. I didn’t mean–”
“I know,” he said, throwing in a smile. “I’m just teasing you, kid.” He then leaned in and began kissing me. I went with it and enjoyed myself afterward, but I found myself distracted by the truth in what he said.
I’m a little ashamed to admit that was the first time I considered the war and its human toll. Until that point, it was just an abstract thing happening in a far off place, but now I was meeting people who were personally affected by it. Far from winding down, it seemed to be ramping up. And if everything Donovan said was true, then the situation was much more disturbing than I previously realized. War is not a pretty thing, but a war that is being exacerbated by outside influences is even uglier. I wondered what the Terrans had to gain from their involvement. Mars had no valuable resources, and there wasn’t a large Illari population on Earth. It just seemed so…unnecessary.
I met with Donovan one last time to say goodbye because my next transport was scheduled to arrive the next day. We spent several hours alone together, embroiled in passion and desire. I was sure I would never see him again, and it pained me to know this was the last time we would be together. He was obviously a decent and attractive person, but his concerns did not involve me. I felt no reason to stay on Rhea with him nor did I feel he would have followed me on my journey. Other than that relatively disheartening realization, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the Saturn system. I’m sure I could’ve spent a dozen lifetimes and never run out of things to do. There was just so much activity, and there were so many interesting people. Many of the moons were inhabited, and there were many prosperous and powerful cities on Rhea and Dione. But my next ship eventually did arrive, which cut my visit short. Before I left the system, I resolved to come back at some point in my life.
The Renaissance was an aptly named ship. It glistened with copper and gold on the inside, and it was clearly unlike any ship I’d ever seen. It was a busy and elegant cruiser which was full of things you never saw on similar crafts: art hung on the walls, rugs lined the floors, and music played in the hallways. Though it had been in use for almost a century, you could hardly tell because it had been so well-maintained. It spent most of its life going back and forth from Jupiter and Saturn, bussing millions of people during that time. And now I was one of those people, leaving a successful system behind for an even more successful one.
As we accelerated away from Saturn, I joined a dozen other passengers in the aft lounge to view the planet and its rings in their full glory. The world glowed brightly in the sunlight, and the rings stood out magnificently against the stark blackness of space. It resembled a stylized picture of a human eye, gazing inwardly at Sol.
“It’s good to be heading home,” a woman next to me suddenly said.
“You’re from Jupiter?” I asked, picking up on her social cue.
“Well, Ganymede. Jupiter itself has very few inhabitants,” she said with a wink.
“Of course.”
“But yes,” she continued. “I consider Jupiter my home.”
“What’s it like compared to Saturn?”
“Busy,” she said. “There’s just so much more to do, so much more to see.” She looked back out at Saturn. “This is a very nice system, but I find Jupiter to have much more entertainment and culture. And better food.”
“That’s saying a lot,” I told her. “I felt my time in the Saturn system was far too short, and the food was delicious.”
“How long were you there?”
“About a month.”
“Ah, yes. That’s hardly enough time. Are you from Jupiter, too?”
“I’m from Pluto-Charon. This is the farthest inward I’ve ever traveled.”
“Oh, goodness,” she said. “That’s quite a journey. What brings you this far in?”
“I’m doing a walkabout.”
“Fantastic,” she said with a smile. “I’ve always wanted to do that, but I just let myself get too old.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “You’re obviously not that old.”
“I’m at least a hundred years older than you, my child,” she said, placing her hand on my cheek. “But your compliment is well-received.”
I just smiled at her.
“Well, when you get to Ganymede make sure you try the veilagrue. It’s a classic Jovian dish, and almost any restaurant will know how to make it well. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
“I’ll definitely do that,” I told her.
Just the thought of seeing Jupiter and tasting the local flavors made me smile. But it would be several more months before I’d ever reach the system. Though the planets had been in a favorable position, Jupiter was a little farther out than usual. I figured it didn’t matter how much longer it took. It was still going to be there regardless of when I arrived. And I was definitely going to try the veilagrue, whatever that was.
About two months later, I found out that the war on Mars had escalated significantly. Rumors were beginning to spread that a military invasion by the Terran government was imminent. Even worse, large-scale reinforcements were starting to flood in from Jupiter. Up until this point, the only people who were joining the fight were Illari, but now the Jovian governments were getting involved. Many of my fellow passengers on the Renaissance were Saturnians who had also decided to join the fight. That was a total of four planetary systems becoming involved in the conflict, and there were plenty of Illari from around the solar system flocking to Mars. I could hardly believe what I was hearing, and I assumed it couldn’t get any worse. I was wrong.
Though I didn’t know it at the time, people were starting to flee Earth. Most people throughout the solar system assumed it was due to the war, but word had finally begun to spread that something was happening to Sol. On any long voyage, rumors are likely to spring up, but these were much harder to ignore. Though everyone seemed to be saying different things, there was an underlying thread that was tying them all together. I thought about what Donovan had told me about the Terran government’s proclivity for spreading propaganda. Even still, there was a seriousness to these rumors that bothered me, a grave undertone of legitimacy that left me feeling decidedly uncomfortable.
During my sixth month on the Renaissance, I learned that the death toll on Mars had reached a kind of critical mass. The fighting was getting worse, and more than fifty million people had died. When I heard that number, it literally made me sick to my stomach. War figures are often inflated, but this couldn’t have been a mere oversight. Even if it was an exaggeration, it was a dreadful possibility.
As it turned out, it was true. Terribly true. The war had transitioned from mind-numbingly historic to soul-crushingly catastrophic. I found myself genuinely upset every time I thought about it. The entire thing was so beyond my control that I felt helpless and useless. I knew people that were going off to join the fight, and I would probably never see them again. The entire solar system was paying full attention at this point, and most planetary systems seemed to be on the verge of intervening. War fever was further inflamed by the larger militaries, most of which had pledged themselves to end the war.
As the Renaissance was landing on Ganymede, I stared in wonder as mighty Jupiter filled my view. Countless bands of color swirled across its surface, massive flickers of lightning streaked across its skies, and two great red storms seemed locked in a never-ending quest for dominance. It was a sight unlike any I had ever seen, and yet I found myself distracted by the fleets of warships exiting Ganymede. One of the locals knew what they were, and spoke excitedly about them.
“See those ships?” asked a man twice my age. “The one with the three red boosters? Those are troop transports. If they’re fully loaded, they’re each carrying a thousand soldiers.”
I unconsciously covered my mouth. One thousand wasn’t a lot as far as transports or armies go, but ships were exiting the moon in a steady stream that never seemed to end.
“If that many soldiers are leaving Ganymede,” I started, “then how many will be arriving from other systems?”
“Too many,” he replied. “Or not enough. I guess it depends on your point of view.”
I frowned.
“Either way,” he added, “nothing can stop this war.”
I was witnessing yet another unprecedented event in human history, but this time I was finally aware of it and the full implications. At that moment I thought about my prime facets. How could I possibly serve humanity while it seemed to be destroying itself? I felt conflicted between the purpose of my walkabout and my apparent uselessness.
I exited the ship with everyone else and planned to check into my temporary quarters, but before I made it through the lobby, I noticed everyone staring at the screens along the walls. Most people had pretty much stopped what they were doing and were listening to an announcement from the leader of the Jupiter system. She looked confident but wary, as though it weighed heavily upon her. After a short but powerful speech, she said that all of the Jovian governments had pledged to provide “whatever force is necessary to bring a quick and decisive end to the Martian civil war.”
The Jovian Alliance was the first government other than Earth’s that openly joined the fight, and that was hugely significant. Historically, the Terrans had always been the police force of the solar system. Most others simply reported to the Terran government even if they were – as they often were – fiercely independent. No other system had as many resources as Earth, so when a conflict broke out somewhere, the Terrans would have to step in and bring the problem to an end. But the Terrans didn’t have a good reputation for simply resolving conflicts. They had a tendency to step in, take over, and never leave. The Jovian Intervention was unusual because the arguably most powerful government in the solar system was stepping in without the consent or aid of the Terrans. It was a major turning point in the war and human history, but there was something else (which garnered very little attention at first) that would soon overshadow it.
As I waited on Jupiter, increasingly sure that my trip to the inner planets would get canceled, I finally met my first real Terran. His name was Dahl, and he was a solemn and serious person. We spoke casually for a while about the famous Galilean Gardens, but when I learned where he was from, I found myself more interested in him instead.
“Did you leave Earth because of the war?” I asked.
“No,” he said, looking strangely at me. “I’m not concerned with the war. It’ll be over soon, one way or another.”
“That’s true,” I admitted somberly. “The Jovians seem serious about bringing this to an end.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what’d you mean?”
“You must understand,” he said, turning to face me. He suddenly spoke to me as if I were an old friend. “You should forget your trip to the inner planets.”
“What?” I asked, incredulously. “Why?”
He almost looked guilty. “The stories you’ve heard – whatever they are – about the conflict on Mars, are just propaganda.”
“I know that.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I’m afraid you don’t. The war is a distraction.”
“From what?”
“Well, have you heard about the solar storms coming from the Sun?”
“A bit,” I admitted. “I didn’t think they would be a problem this far out, but we had to deal with them before I even reached Jupiter.”
“That’s because they usually aren’t a problem. But now they’re becoming a serious problem.”
“Oh?”
“Oh yes. That’s really why the conflict on Mars became such a big story. The Terran government has escalated the Martian conflict as a cover.”
“A cover for what?”
“For what’s happening to the Sun.”
“What’s happening to it?”
“The solar flares are becoming more frequent and intense. I don’t know why. All I do know is that the inner systems are becoming unsafe, and it has nothing to do with the war.”
“But,” I told him, “How do you know all this?”
He frowned, reached into his collar, and produced a necklace with a round pendant on it. “This is my son’s necklace,” he said. “His mother gave it to him when he was just a young boy.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“She was very sick at the time, and he promised her that he would wear it for the rest of his life. She died three days later, and I never once saw him without it.”
“So, how’d you end up with it?”
“A few weeks ago a package arrived for me, and inside was this necklace. At first, I couldn’t understand why he’d sent it to me, but then I discovered it’d been modified to store data. I was able to access it, and the only thing inside was a letter from my son. The message was so vague and strange that, at first, I worried about his mental state. But then I realized he was trying to protect me. The message basically said that we were all in danger and that I should get as far away from Earth as possible.”
“Why would he say that?”
“At the time I had no idea, but I’ve come to realize the truth. He’s an intelligence officer in the Terran government. He’d always joked about how corrupt and conspiratorial they were, but it wasn’t until I read his letter that I realized he wasn’t joking. I tried contacting him after I got the message only to find out that he and several others had died in an accident.”
“Oh no!” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“But he didn’t just die,” he said, suddenly growing even more serious. “He was killed.”
“How do you know?”
He lifted the necklace off of his chest.
“The necklace?” I asked.
“As far as I know, the only time in his life he’d ever taken this necklace off was so he could send it to me. And three days later he dies from an accident? That’s no coincidence.”
“Are you saying the Terran government killed him?”
“Absolutely. He wanted me to be safe, so he didn’t tell me anything specific in case someone did find the message he’d hidden in this pendant.”
“So,” I started, “why are you telling me this?”
“You seem like a sweet girl,” he replied. “I feel you deserve to know the truth. Plus, I don’t think it matters anymore. The Terrans won’t come looking for me. I’m safe now, at least from them.”
I stared blankly as the truth of what he said began to sink in.
“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said. “I have to go. For your own safety, reconsider your trip to Earth. Take care.”
And with that, he bowed to me, walked off, and I never saw him again.
I’m still not sure if it was the conversation I had with the mysterious man or whether it was just a coincidence, but I immediately began to hear a lot of chatter about Sol. No one was certain what was happening, but it was significant enough that people were actively leaving the inner planets. Some were even heading out of the solar system entirely. It was during this time that the news of the Terran Deception had finally begun to gain traction, though looking back it was clear that most people had no idea what that actually meant. It soon became common knowledge that the Terran government had been stockpiling fuel to evacuate billions, which was something I’d known for years. But that was just one aspect of the story.
As soon as people started asking why the Terrans would even consider an evacuation, it was revealed that a solar observatory on Mercury had detected unusual activity on Sol a few years before. A series of sunspots unlike anything previously observed had begun to appear on its surface. Once Terran scientists started paying attention, it quickly became apparent that something unprecedented was happening. After months of solid observation, the stability of the star came into question, and the Terran government quietly began contacting the Neptunian fuel depot. In an otherwise private conversation, one official said it was “strikingly obvious that the Sun is experiencing a phenomenon previously unknown to humanity.” At the time, no one understood what that meant, but it was enough to prompt some staff members to take action.
Before I’d even begun my walkabout, abnormally large solar flares were starting to bathe the inner planets in solar winds. Electrical systems were being affected by the increasingly intense storms. The early warning systems in place to warn people of coming solar flares had been working overtime. Something like that was impossible to keep secret. But the Terran government worked hard to downplay the threat. Almost everyone was aware that the star was behaving erratically, but what most people weren’t aware of was how much it was going to affect them. After all, the Martian civil war was beginning to spread to other systems, and that was considered the most pressing issue at the time. Still, it had people on Earth scared enough that evacuations were actually beginning to happen, not just threatening to happen. And people weren’t just leaving the inner planets; they were leaving the solar system altogether.
I started asking people a lot of questions, but no one seemed to have meaningful answers. Everyone was just too preoccupied with the war, which made me wonder if that was the whole point. And I know what you’re thinking. I’m not claiming to be that insightful. It’s just that – looking back at it now – it’s perfectly obvious. But at the time I was still relatively naive. How could I have known?
A few days before my transport was supposed to arrive and take me to Mars, I learned that the ship had been delayed while they finished making a few necessary upgrades. They weren’t even sure how long it would take. So I suddenly found myself stuck on Ganymede, waiting to see how the war would affect my walkabout. During my extended stay, I met with many people who were leaving the system. There were so many conflicting ideas about what should be done. Many people sympathized with the Illari, but most felt that they were behaving desperately. After a lengthy and intense conversation with a particular person, I briefly entertained the idea of joining the fight. However, I quickly realized that was not the path for me. I had no interest in dying for any of their causes. It was their holy war, not mine.
By that time, anyone with a telescope and a proper filter could see massive sunspots all over Sol. It was no longer a vague and esoteric idea. Billions of people could see it for themselves. More Terrans were arriving and departing the Jovian system every few hours. The general feeling I got from the locals was less of just senseless paranoia and more of a byproduct of the brutal war going on so close to Earth. Every person, every planet, every government, and every system had its own take on the truth, so there was hardly a consensus about what should be done about it. Consequently, most people weren’t actually leaving the solar system, especially because there was a war still raging on.
I spent several more weeks on Ganymede waiting for my transport to arrive, and I kept my ears open to any news from the inner planets. I was eager to get caught up on the information, but not eager to get caught up in the conflict itself. Finally, after weeks of anxious waiting, I got word that my next ship would reach Ganymede within the week. I was thrilled, to say the least. The war kept the Jupiter system on a kind of lockdown, so it was nothing like my time in the Saturn system. The famously active and diverse environment of the system was unusually serious and muted. I would be departing for Mars soon, one step closer to my destination. Though it disturbed me to know that I would be close to such a brutal conflict and so much death, I felt it would be an important part of my journey to at least be a witness to it.
The day the Evenstar docked on Ganymede, I said goodbye to the handful of people I had befriended and left behind the massive gas giants of the outer solar system. We loaded up and had to wait our turn to launch amid a constant stream of military transports. Then we set off for the inner planets.
The Evenstar was an absolute behemoth. It was a typically Martian transport ship, except that this one had been made battle-ready. The exterior bristled with weapons of all kinds, and shield generators covered it like a network of large glowing gems. It looked large and sluggish to me at first, but then I learned that it was equipped with a gravity drive.
I happened to meet one of the engineers that maintained the drive while in the lounge on the observation deck. I’d heard of them before, but this was my first real education on how they worked. They were able to harness tiny black holes to create gravity wells in front of the ship. Then the ship would “fall” toward these ripples in space, reaching speeds that were impossible with traditional engines. The theory was an old one, but the technology was cutting-edge. They were rare for many reasons, most notably because they were so expensive to build. That’s why there was one on the Evenstar, a ship that spent its whole life in a high-traffic area. Another reason gravity drives were so rare was that they were a relatively unproven technology, and there had been several near-disastrous experiments while they were under development.
I couldn’t wait to experience the new drive, and fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. As soon as we were at a safe distance from Jupiter, they activated it and propelled us forward. Honestly, I was a little disappointed. From my perspective, it was impossible to tell that we were traveling so fast. The ship didn’t make any unique sounds, nothing was flying by our windows, and there was no apparent change in momentum. In fact, the only sign that the drive was working came much later when I realized how much shorter the trip felt compared to other legs of the journey. Something should have taken over a year only took a few months.
Inside the ship, of course, the crew was all business. I was one of only a few civilian passengers on what was essentially a military transport, and everyone was acutely aware that we were entering a war zone. Comfort was not an issue, which was all right with me. I prefer my shipmates to be more concerned with protecting me than with how cozy I felt. There was also an unusual sense of camaraderie on this ship, which I attributed to the war mentality. After I had spoken with one veteran crew member, I realized that the Evenstar had only recently been converted into a warship, which is what all those “necessary” upgrades were that caused the delay in its arrival.
Considering the nature of this leg in my journey the trip was surprisingly uneventful, except for one day in particular. We received a warning that a massive solar flare – the largest one ever recorded – had erupted from Sol, and we would be flying into a storm in the next few days. An hour before we passed through it, they shut down several systems and began coasting by inertia (which, thanks to the gravity drive, was still an incredible speed). The captain then made an announcement.
“This is Captain Jasheer. We are shutting down all non-essential systems to brace for a solar storm that will reach us in…fifty-seven minutes. All auxiliary systems are offline, which means you won’t have access to long-range communications or other luxury items. Do not be afraid, however. I have faith in our engineers. They tell me that diverting power to the forward shields will be more than enough to protect us. And though I do not suspect any danger, I advise all passengers and crew to put on their radiation suits until the storm has passed. This is not mandatory, but I encourage you to do it anyway. I will keep you informed as needed and once we have passed through the storm. Jasheer out.”
A few of the engineers walked around without their suits to show their confidence in their calculations, but virtually everyone else wore them out of simple precaution. If anyone had a concern about it, they would speak with an engineer, and the engineer would calmly assure them that everyone was safe from harm. Confident in their predictions but not wanting to take any chances, I made sure I was wearing my dark gray radiation suit when the time came. It was clunky and a little uncomfortable, but it was far better than the alternative. Cosmic rays aren’t very forgiving to organic beings like me.
Just before we entered the storm, I could feel the ship shutting down. Fewer things were humming, the lights dimmed significantly, and people started acting uneasy. I’d never truly experienced a solar storm, so I didn’t know what to expect. I wish someone had told me ahead of time, though, because it would have saved me a lot of stress. The first signs of trouble were subtle, mostly flickering screens. But eventually, there were widespread electrical issues. Devices that weren’t even on would suddenly short out, producing a popping sound followed by a small puff of smoke. Doors randomly opened and closed. Alarms kept going off. And – the creepiest part of all – there was a constant moaning coming from almost every speaker in the ship, like lost spirits trapped inside the walls. Had someone not explained what that sound was, I might have gone insane from sheer terror. In fact, I still get chills just thinking about it.
After a few relatively tense hours the captain’s voice replaced the awful howling, and the ship began returning to life one system at a time. As it turned out, several systems had taken an unexpected amount of damage from the storm. They assured us that everything was fine, but no one seemed prepared for the intensity of it. One seasoned crew member referred to it as the strangest thing he’d ever experienced.
Fortunately, that was the most nerve-wracking part of this leg of my journey. The best part of all was that I was able to repair some of the damage, so I got my first good look at the gravity drive. Although I didn’t get to work on the drive itself, I spent several days in the engine compartment working on related systems. It was almost magical. The drive itself was surprisingly small (only a few meters long) and resembled a shiny black rock. Perhaps most intriguing was the soft humming that emitted from it, almost as though it were singing to itself. I found it hard to believe that something so small packed so much power.
I spent the rest of my time on the Evenstar talking with people and trying to get a feel for why they were joining the fight. Many were volunteer soldiers, but some were doctors, nurses, engineers, and even a few chefs. Some were Martians who were just trying to get home. There were so many different reasons and one terrible destination. I had a hard time pinning down what, exactly, was driving millions of people to fight to the death. There were many answers, but they only left me with questions. I thought about helping the people who were fighting, but I didn’t know which side I supported. They both had legitimate complaints, but both sides were using the same excuses to perpetuate the conflict. I just tried to stay focused on getting to Earth, which eventually made me feel guilty. After all, I was supposed to be finding a way to serve humanity, but the more I talked to people about this war the more I felt like it was misguided. I could have been a medic, but really, I was a mechanic. I’ve patched a few minor wounds in my day, but I could rebuild an entire thruster assembly in the dark. And anyway, I wasn’t convinced that fixing a war machine would help either side.
I joined a few people on the observation deck as the copper and blue sphere called Mars finally came into view. A few people smiled as we grew closer, but most were somber and severe. At first, you could just barely make out the cloud patterns from that distance. There were bright sections of clouds and darker sections of oceans, but I eventually realized that the darkest spots were massive clouds of smoke. The room grew quiet as we grew closer.
I was still on the observation deck when the ship went into yellow alert. Most of the passengers and crew went back to their cabins, but those of us who stayed got a view of Mars never seen before. Rust-colored windstorms had always been an active contributor to the Martian landscape, but now they were filled with smoke and ash. The dark streaks across the planet’s surface were due to the scattering of dust and debris, some of which covered hundreds of kilometers. Though it was impossible to see cities or any other artificial structures, you couldn’t help but realize that these were the planetary scars of war.
We docked at the station on Phobos, the largest of Mars’ two tiny moons. That’s where the trip ended for the vast majority of my fellow passengers, though none of them entered the station. There was a military transport waiting with several escort units buzzing around it. I said goodbye to a few of those I happened to run into and wished them well. I doubted I’d see or hear from any of them ever again.
It was a relatively small station. In fact, I’d been on transport ships that were larger. Phobos was so small that gravity was almost nonexistent, so I spent most of my time floating from room to room and latching into place. It also rotated far more quickly than most planets and moons I’d visited, so I was able to see Mars rise and fall in the sky on a regular basis. Though you could only see the larger effects of it, you could clearly see the war raging on the planet’s surface. During the day it was streaked with dark smoke, and at night it sparkled with numerous fires.
There were so many ships coming in and out of the system that I could have left at any time, but I wanted to experience this part of the system if possible. It was disturbing how many transport ships were arriving only to dock with one of the military transports and head directly into a planetary war zone. Almost everyone I encountered on Phobos seemed concerned, but there was an air of purpose to them that was undeniable. I wanted to stay for a while if only to experience as much of Mars as I could. As it turned out, I got more than I wanted.
I was floating around my cabin composing a message to my parents when I saw a sudden flash of light from behind me. As I slowly spun around, the security alarms started blaring. I floated to the portal of my cabin that faced the outside and watched with confusion as a shower of debris began pelting the moon. Then I looked up to see a transport ship high above me that was rolling awkwardly. It had a massive hole in the side, and I could clearly see inside the ship as debris fell away from it. There was another flash as something inside the gap exploded, and the lights on the ship went completely dark. I gasped and watched in horror as I realized some of the debris was people spiraling into space.
I left my cabin immediately and went to the main room of the station. Almost everyone was gathering there trying to figure out what happened. Some people said it was a rocket, others said it was a bomb, and others insisted that it was just an accident. Whatever the cause, the fact was that the transport was floating away into space with a massive breach and no power. Emergency crews were dispatched, but most were occupied on the planet below.
Several hundred people were on the transport when it exploded, so it was impossible to tell who was missing from it. Fear began to set in with many people on Phobos, and it was utterly infectious. I volunteered to help with the recovery effort of the transport, but the military said they had it under control. Though I felt the urge to hide in my cabin, I spent most of my time hanging out in the social areas. I was afraid to be alone even though they were all strangers.
Two weeks later I began hearing that people might abandon Mars, and with it, the entire civil war. The Terran government broadcasted its first official announcement that it had begun a full-scale evacuation, and they advised all systems to do the same. Sol, they said, was experiencing dramatic shifts in luminosity, and the solar flares were growing increasingly intense. Though the fighting on Mars continued, reports began coming in about people leaving the battle and seeking passage off-planet. For the most part, people were hardly concerned and continued to fight. I figured the news would slow the influx of transports coming into Mars, but while I was there, I saw no sign that this was the case. The war had been going on for years at this point. People were far more committed to it than they were concerned about Earth or Sol.
But then I received news that they'd canceled the transport that was supposed to take me to Earth. I asked if they were going to reschedule it, but the woman just laughed in my face. Though the Martians weren’t taking the threat from Sol seriously, the Terrans certainly were. Still, I was determined to find passage on an Earthbound ship. As it turns out, that was incredibly easy. Terrans were escaping the planet in droves, so freelance transports were everywhere. All I had to do was catch a ride with one as it was heading to Earth. I didn’t even have to pay. I found a ride a few days later on a ship called Voracious, and the very next day I set sail for my destination, humanity’s homeworld.
I left the battered Martian system behind amid a steady flow of transports. The Voracious was a frighteningly old but surprisingly fast ship that had been ferrying people from Earth to Mars for more than a century. As we made the relatively short trip, I kept a close eye on the reports from the Martian and Terran systems. The war on Mars had stalled a bit, but hundreds of people continued to die every day.
Earth was also under severe strain, but for entirely different reasons. Order was quickly devolving into chaos as billions of individuals began abandoning the planet. They were starting to act as though the end of civilization on Earth was imminent. Some said it would be a matter of weeks. More conservative estimates put it at several years. And then there was the significant section of the population that believed there was no threat, and humanity would still be around on Earth in another thousand years. I just hoped it wouldn’t fall apart before I had time to reach it. I didn’t want my whole journey to be for nothing.
I began to worry if anywhere on Earth would be safe. But I had to keep going, to keep working toward my goal. This was my walkabout. I had to find myself and a way to serve my species. I felt confident in my decision to stay out of the Martian war, especially after people began referring to it as the largest aborted war effort in human history. But I eventually began to fear that I might be condemning myself by not fleeing with everyone else. No one was certain what the future held, and I felt the risk was worth it.
The first glimpse of Earth was not what I expected. I heard the captain say that we were only a few hours away, so I looked outside to see it. But at that range, Sol was far more noticeable, especially because I’d never seen it so large and bright. Earth was just a pale blue dot in comparison. However, a few hours later I checked it again, and I was captivated by what I saw. I’ll never forget the moment I saw Earth in its full glory. That inviting jewel stood in stunning contrast to the bleakness of space, and I grew more mesmerized the closer we got. It had the same kind of atmosphere as Mars, but the clouds were nothing like those relatively pathetic wisps. These were rolling, swelling thunderclouds that churned massive oceans and spewed them across the face of a bright blue and green sphere.
As we grew closer, I could clearly make out a ring of ships floating around the equator. There were millions of individual ships of various sizes, almost all of which were waiting for passengers so they could escape. It circled the planet like a halo.
We landed on Luna, Earth’s only moon, and docked at the station. Within the hour I was aboard a transport to take me to the surface of Earth. It took them a long time to launch the ship, but in retrospect, it probably just seemed like that because I was so excited. I was almost to my destination, the whole reason I’d made this trip. As we lifted off the moon and plunged toward Earth, I felt the gravity fall and my spirits rise. Finally, I’d reached the literal and metaphorical birthplace of every human who ever existed.
The transport descended through the whitest clouds I’d ever seen and emerged above the greenest place I’d ever imagined. Every centimeter of ground appeared to be covered in something alive or the precious water that feeds life. It was heavenly compared to the dull, dead rocks I used to call home and every planet, moon, or asteroid I had ever visited. To say I was in awe of its beauty does a gross disservice to the terms “awe” and “beauty.”
The transport that delivered me to the surface left shortly after we landed, filled with people fleeing the planet. This large and usually bustling station was mostly deserted, with only a minimal staff operating. The thing that I was most impressed with was how many people were still doing their jobs. There was no telling what might happen to Earth in the next few years. Still, many people continued calmly about their lives and their work. I remember realizing at one point that these people weren’t crazy; most were resolved to the fact that whatever was going to happen was simply beyond their control. Some felt that running away would be cowardly, and others just refused to believe that this truly was the end. Billions of beliefs, and just as many possibilities.
I rented – or as it turned out, bought – a personal craft so that I could tour the planet at my own pace. It was almost impossible to find a guide, so I let my computer show me around. I visited several historic sites I’d learned about growing up: the Great Wall of China, one of the largest artificial structures on the planet; the Trinity site, where humanity first tapped into the strong nuclear force; the Gaian Temple, birthplace of humanity’s most influential religion; and the island of Manhatta, the capital of the entire solar system. I visited more than fifty historical sites, all on a planet I’d only previously experienced through simulations. It filled me with a strange nostalgia for a place I had never actually known. The architecture was stunning and oddly familiar. The buildings reflected that distinctly human urge to reshape the land to fit our needs and extend our reach as far as possible. But many cities were abandoned, and a few were destroyed. I wished I could have seen them full of people busily going about their lives, filling the walkways that twisted through the forests of buildings.
Even though I spent most of my time alone, that was the most exciting year of my life up until that point. I visited more places in one year than all the places I’d visited in the years since I left home. In fact, I probably would have spent another year just traveling the planet had it not been for a chance encounter with a man on Manhatta island.
I was walking around the Central Park forest, a green oasis in a valley of steel and concrete, when I noticed a man standing by himself and staring at a large and ancient obelisk. His dark green jacket looked decades old, but it had been well taken care of during those years. He was taller than me and half a generation older, which wasn’t apparent until I got closer to him. I think his hair was red, but it was cut so short that it was hard to tell. His hands were placed casually in his pockets, and he slouched slightly to the side as he admired the massive sculpture.
“It’s beautiful,” I said as I approached him from the side. And that’s when he first looked at me. His eyes were a deep dark green, framed by attentive worry lines. A friendly grin pushed through his otherwise serious face.
“Yes it is,” he replied. “I’m surprised it’s lasted this long.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it’s just a giant piece of rock. It should have fallen apart by now.”
“It doesn’t look like it belongs here.”
“That’s because it doesn’t. It came from the other side of the planet,” he explained. “It was moved here from Alexandria hundreds of years ago.”
“You mean in Egypt?”
“Yes.”
“Ah,” I said. “That’s why it looks familiar. I was there a few months ago.”
“You’re a world traveler, then?”
“For the past year, yes. I’m actually a worlds traveler. I’ve spent the past several years traveling from the outer planets to Earth.”
“Oh? Where are you from originally?”
“Pluto-Charon.”
“Whoa,” he breathed. “You’re a long way from home. What brought you here?”
“I’m on a walkabout,” I answered.
“Interesting. My family encouraged me to do a walkabout when I was about your age. I’m originally from Dione in the Saturn system.”
“I was there a couple of years ago,” I told him. “Saturn is lovely.”
“Isn’t it? As a kid, I used to try and count the rings. That’s actually what first drew me to the Sun. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the first step toward the rest of my life.”
“Why did you come to Earth?”
“I originally moved here for school.”
“To study archaeology?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “Politics!”
“Why is that funny?”
“Let’s just say that I wanted to make a difference before I realized it didn’t make a difference.”
“I see,” I said, pausing a moment.
“What made you think I studied archaeology?” he asked.
I nodded at the obelisk.
“Oh,” he said. “No. I just like it. I’m actually a solar astronomer.”
“How’d you go from politics to solar astronomy? Seems like a huge leap.”
“I was involved with a woman who studied it. I would visit her sometimes at the observatory, and one day she showed me a live image of the Sun through an ancient telescope. After that, I was hooked. I changed my focus the very next semester.”
We had a nice long conversation after that, and he eventually offered to show me around. We had so much fun that day that we decided to meet up again the next, and we spent the entire day together. He knew the most interesting areas to see, which places had the best food, and taught me something new about Sol every day. I learned about how it worked and how it seemed to be no longer working. We quickly got into a routine of meeting regularly. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and during that time we grew very close. I had no idea at the time that this man, Jensen Shih, would eventually become an infamous figure in human history. At the time he was just a nice person who soon became my friend.
One day, Jensen invited me to visit the solar observatory where he had been working for the past year, and I was genuinely shocked by what I saw. Thousands of people, almost all of whom were scientists and engineers, had created a temporary city that clustered around an impressive observatory high in the mountains. A series of makeshift buildings and scientific theaters were set up to relay the latest findings. They were full of people poring over data and watching feeds of video, gamma rays, x-rays, and quantum streams of the Sun’s surface. The rest of the buildings were used mostly for sleeping and eating. This cloister of structures covered an entire section of land that had once been nothing but barren mountainside. Some of the buildings even spilled out into the dangerous mountainous territory that surrounded the area. Everyone there was a specialist of some kind, and there was a sense of purpose to everything they did. They were so committed to being there that they risked their lives just to be a part of it. Even though people were injured (and sometimes killed) in various accidents, it didn’t seem to scare people away.
The sunspots on the Sun became so widespread that they began to alter its overall brightness. Solar flares were a regular occurrence by then, and they grew ever more intense. Every few hours a computer system would fail, and technicians on hand (of which there were plenty) would spring into action.
By this time it was estimated that half of Earth’s population had evacuated and that “evacuation fever” was spreading through the entire solar system. Trends, cults, and full-blown religions were preaching the message of the end times for the first time in centuries. Because of this, one could easily find a way into deep space.
My situation, on the other hand, was more unusual. One night Jensen and I were having dinner, and he told me that he was on the verge of making an important discovery. But to learn more about it, he needed to visit the observatory on Mercury.
“Wait,” I said. “You want to go closer to the Sun?”
“Absolutely. That’s the best solar observatory in the entire system.”
“But,” I said hesitantly, “aren’t the flares getting worse?”
“Oh, yes. Much worse.”
“And aren’t they getting more dangerous?”
“Extremely,” he said plainly.
“Then why would you want to go there?”
“Because we have to figure out what’s going on, why it’s happening.”
“Does it really matter?” I asked incredulously. “I mean, if things are getting worse, then why aren’t you escaping with everyone else?”
“Because,” he said, looking perplexed. “We have to know why.”
“Jensen, the flares are getting worse.”
“Right.”
“And they’re becoming increasingly dangerous.”
“I think we already covered this.”
“Then leave this place!” I said, unable to hide my frustration.
That got through to him. He stopped eating, smiled, and placed his hand on my arm. “Raoshan,” he murmured. “I appreciate your concern for me, but I have to understand.”
I paused a moment, afraid that he was right. If humanity abandoned the system and this was to happen again in the next, then it would be imperative to understand why. And that’s when it occurred to me: this was a major part of the reason why I was on my walkabout. I was neither an astronomer nor a scientist, but I found myself in the birthplace of humanity and present for this incredible event. I wanted to help even if all I could do was make simple repairs. Besides, Jensen had become my best friend, and I wasn’t ready to leave him just yet.
“Then let me go with you,” I told him.
“What?” he asked. “Why?”
“I want to help.”
“Rao, you have to get out of here.”
“Why? Because it’s dangerous?”
“Yes! It’s incredibly dangerous.”
“And no one should be here?”
“Yes! No one should be–”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Oh,” he said. “Right.”
“Neither of us should be here.”
“But I have to.”
“Then so do I.”
He paused to consider this, gave me a lopsided smile, and then grabbed my hand. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
Within a few hours, we were scheduled to make our way to the observatory on Mercury. As I mentioned earlier, most people were making their way out of the solar system, so it was much harder to find a flight heading in toward Sol. But Jensen was able to find a privateer ship, and a week later it arrived to pick us up. However, before we departed Earth, Jensen told me that we would have to make an “unfortunate” stop at Venus.
“What’s so unfortunate about it?” I asked.
“We are delivering a thousand Millennialists to the surface of Venus,” he said in a somber tone.
I just blinked at him because I had no idea what he was talking about.
“They are a doomsday cult,” he said. “They’re all being placed inside metal capsules and put into a medical coma. They’ll stay asleep the whole trip, and we are supposed to drop them into a terminal orbit around Venus.”
“They’re committing mass suicide?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “The capsules will keep them asleep, but they’ll either burn up in the atmosphere or disintegrate after they hit the surface.”
“Are they doing this because of what’s happening to the Sun?”
“That,” he admitted, “and the war on Mars. The Millennialists are an offshoot of the Illari religion, but they were never fully accepted by the rest of the Illari. They were persecuted by their own people, and everyone was being persecuted by the Martian government, so they fled Mars altogether and settled on Earth. This whole event has been a kind of sign for them, and they want to be sent back to Venus.”
“Back to Venus?”
“Yes. They believe that is the origin of the seed life that was sown on Earth.”
I stood in front of him for a moment. “Fascinating,” I finally said.
“So, this is acceptable to you?” he asked, a bit annoyed.
“I just said it was fascinating,” I replied. “They were persecuted by their own people who were persecuted by the majority, and now we’re persecuting them in our minds. They’re completely outcasted.”
He paused to consider this.
“Anyway,” I said, “if they want to do it, that’s their choice.”
He frowned and nodded.
“Besides,” I added. “Maybe they’re right.”
Jensen made a strange face. “Right about what?” he asked.
“Maybe the only option we have is to strap ourselves into a metal box and ride it out to the end.”
“Raoshan!”
“Relax,” I told him. “I’m kidding.”
“Oh, good,” he said with a sigh.
“Kind of.”
He grimaced at me.
I was trying to be lighthearted about it because I was genuinely bothered by the whole thing. It was just another tragedy among countless tragedies that had been occurring these past several years. The only good thing about the situation with the Millennialists was that they weren’t directing it at other people. They just wanted to die in peace as we all do, and I couldn’t fault them for that. My biggest concern was trying to understand how this could be fulfilling any of my prime facets. I felt no honor, growth, or usefulness being a part of that.
The plan was to deliver the Millennialists to the surface of Venus and then dock at the station in orbit. Then we would get on a specially-designed ship that would take us to Mercury. I’m not sure what the name of the ship was before we boarded it, but it was called the Deliverance during that particular mission. The Millennialists held a grand ceremony as the crew loaded the ship full of the metal coffins. I watched from the window in my quarters for a little while. Each person’s face was visible through a transparent section of the capsule, which I thought was a rather morbid touch. Mourners gathered around as they loaded them into the ship. They were alive but in a deep sleep.
The Deliverance lifted off of the surface of Luna and turned toward the center of the solar system. As we picked up speed, I watched Earth floating away from us. It was a fitting home for humanity, comforting even from this far away. I hoped (perhaps foolishly) to return very soon.
A few weeks later, something started happening to Sol, so I went to the observation deck with Jensen and several others. The windows gradually grew darker to compensate for the ever-increasing brightness, and it quickly reached the point where you can see no other star except Sol. The monitors around us displayed feeds from dozens of satellites in orbit around the star. Some of the feeds had been broadcasting for generations but never had there been so many people keeping an eye on them. Large dark sunspots formed vast swaths that smeared across the surface. By this point, you could see the sunlight changing intensity, and though it was barely perceptible, the entire star was beginning to pulse.
This was a major turning point for the solar system. Every human being with a strong enough telescope could see what was happening. It was the first time in the history of humanity that anyone had been able to discern a change in their sun’s luminosity. For thousands of generations, humans had relied on the constancy of the Sun, and now that was beginning to change. Devastatingly intense solar flares erupted from each dark swath, and each one damaged or disrupted vital systems in their wake.
As we neared Venus, they warned us about a triple flare. Each one was only spaced apart by a few hours, and they were all heading in our direction. We prepared each time as we had on other ships, shutting down specific systems and donning our radiation suits. By the time the third storm reached us we were close enough to Venus that the captain decided to fall into the shadow of the planet rather than waste more power on the shields. Though we stayed out of harm’s way each time, this routine quickly became a strain for many people.
Space travel didn’t use to be this dangerous, I thought.
Hours later, we were in orbit around Venus and navigated close to the upper atmosphere. There was a ceremony I did not attend, but many people were present to see the capsules dropped to the surface. While they were in the middle of the ceremony, we received another report that a strong storm would reach the system in a few hours. The people that made these decisions chose to speed up the ceremony so we could safely dock at the orbiting Venusian station.
The ceremony finally ended, and the capsules dropped out of the ship in a rapidly decaying orbit. It would just be a few hours before they finally plunged to the surface. The crew on the Deliverance monitored the progress of the capsules as we turned back toward the station and docked with the floating platform. An hour later, the general alert went out that the solar storm was about to arrive. We hunkered down and prepared, and it passed without incident…or, so it seemed.
Several minutes after the solar storm began, something unexpected happened. Many of the capsules started sending back alerts, and the technicians scrambled to understand what they meant. The storm was disrupting many of the systems aboard each capsule, and most of them were not responding to commands. The only information coming back was simple physiological data, and there was a marked increase in the circulatory and respiratory rates of the people inside. The technicians were afraid to admit what their instruments were telling them. As the moments ticked by, it became apparent that something terrible was happening: people were waking up.
It turns out that the capsules weren't adequately shielded. They were only intended to be simple life support systems on a one-way journey to a very literal terminus. They weren’t designed to handle solar storms. Perhaps worst of all, the capsules were not designed to terminate the occupants if needed. All anyone could do was watch in horror as the event unfolded. In the end, more than half of the capsules were reporting significant increases in vital signs. In some cases, it took almost an hour before they finally started falling out of orbit and turning into Venusian meteors.
Word of this horrific incident spread like wildfire across the solar system. The sheer madness of it focused attention on the chaotic nature of what was happening to the Sun. Up until that point, the planet Earth was the only one engaged in a full-scale evacuation, but the Millennialist Massacre directly triggered the Great Exodus. Across the system, people were throwing out law and order for basic survival instincts. Things were reaching a boiling point, and I feared that we might never make it to Mercury (or anywhere else, for that matter). So I asked Jensen if we were still planning to go.
“I’m going,” he said. “But you’re free to leave at any time. I understand why you're afraid.”
“Are you afraid of it?” I asked him.
He leaned in close, putting both of his hands on my shoulders. “I’m terrified of it,” he said with a strangely comforting smile. “But it would be useless to go around telling people that. Things are crazy enough as it is.”
He waved his arm, directing my attention to the people around us. We were in the middle of the station orbiting high over Venus. The bright pink clouds glowed through the oblong windows that surrounded us.
“Most of these people are heading to Mercury,” he said. “This phenomenon can’t be controlled, but at the very least it can be understood. Everyone here knows that.”
“I understand,” I told him. And for the first time, I truly did. These people weren’t even on a walkabout, but they had found a way to serve humanity. Knowledge is empowering, and we were all powerless in the face of such overwhelming forces.
We waited a few days for the next ship to take us to Mercury. The crew that was going with us contrasted greatly with the rest of the people on the station. Most of them stood around calmly, just waiting for our next flight. The rest of the people scurried around as though they were on the verge of a full-blown panic. Every outbound flight was full.
Our ship arrived a short time later, and we boarded a very small, very old, but very elegant ship.
I spoke with Jensen shortly after the Cosmopolitus undocked from the station. He said he was more confident that he understood what was happening to Sol. I asked him to explain it to me.
“Well,” he started haltingly, “it’s hard to explain. I mean, I know how it’s explained mathematically.” He paused and seemed to consider the idea, then continued, “Basically, I believe there is an unseen gravitational disturbance in orbit around it.”
“Around the Sun?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s not a part of the star itself. Something is out there.”
“And it’s invisible?” I asked.
“Not necessarily invisible,” he replied. “We just haven’t seen it yet. That may be because it’s invisible, or maybe because nothing’s there. That’s why I wanted to get as close as I could.”
“Have you shared this with anyone else?”
“Only a couple colleagues on Earth and a few of my crew here with me. I’m waiting to do some more research before I present it to the community.”
“So, what does this mean?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he told me honestly. “But I’m certain it’s related to the Sun’s erratic behavior.”
He seemed introspective and distracted, which is how he acted when his mind was reeling with thoughts and calculations. So I left him to his work and retreated to my quarters to get some sleep. We would be arriving at Mercury soon, so I wanted to be well-rested before then. If there was one thing I learned through my journey, it was that you should take every opportunity to sleep you can because you never knew when you might be needed.
I woke up a few hours later, somewhat disoriented. It felt like someone had tried to wake me, but my cabin was empty. I opened the door to step out and immediately noticed that something had everyone excited. People were moving to the front end of the ship, heading for the observation deck. I felt compelled to join them.
“What’s going on?” I asked a woman near me.
“The Sun is flickering,” she replied.
“Flickering?” I asked as we walked.
“I don’t really know,” she said with a shrug.
I was a little shaken by what I saw once we reached the observation deck. Mercury was a dark spot in front of us, but I hardly noticed it because of Sol. It was huge at this distance, about three times bigger than it appeared from Earth. What both fascinated and frightened everyone was the large streaks of blackness across its surface. They were forming and disappearing in slow waves, drastically changing the entire face of the Sun every few hours. The sunspots were many times the size of Jupiter, covering up to a fourth of the visible surface at times. This caused the light from Sol – which had shone steadily and brightly for billions of years – to pulse slowly. This led many people to start predicting various catastrophes, everything from the destruction of the inner planets to plunging the entire solar system into darkness.
A short while after the spectacle, I met with Jensen for food, though we hardly ate. The behavior of the Sun was clearly disturbing him, and his demeanor worried me. I divided my time between listening to him and staring blankly at him.
“I predicted this would happen,” he said.
“You did?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure what would happen exactly, but I saw a pattern emerging weeks ago. The problem is that events like this are going to happen with increasing regularity and intensity. Then it will happen.”
“What will?” I asked.
“I think,” he started, looking down at his hands. He took a deep breath and looked up at me. “The Sun is going to collapse.”
I sat back in my seat. “How is that even possible?”
“Basically,” he said, searching for a way to explain it to me, “the thing that keeps the Sun in the shape of a sphere is the perfect balance between the constant nuclear explosions pushing outward and the massive gravity pulling inward. When stars run out of fuel the nuclear reactions slow down, and their massive weight causes them to collapse in upon themselves. All that matter rushes to a center point, and that sends the contents of the star exploding outward. This is a normal and natural process, but something is accelerating it.”
“So,” I started, “is that also what’s causing the solar flares?”
“It’s not really causing them directly. They are just a product of the gravitational distortion that’s occurring.”
“And why are they happening so often now?”
“I’m not entirely certain, but I know it’s somehow related.”
“But even though it’s accelerating it won’t happen for a long time, right?”
“Well, it’s not supposed to,” he said. “But my calculations show that it’s going to happen soon.”
“How soon?” I asked.
“In a matter of months.”
I sat in complete silence for a moment until he spoke to me again. Even if I took the first ship and headed directly away from Sol at full speed, it would take me years to get out of the system.
“You should get ready to land,” he finally said. “I’m going to do the same.”
I glanced at the black dot that was Mercury as I walked back to my cabin, noticing the glittering colonies that speckled its dark side. The planet seemed peaceful and serene against the chaotic backdrop of the Sun, and I remember thinking that it might very well be my tomb.
The Cosmopolitus touched down on the dark side of Mercury. The surface completely locks down whenever it’s daytime because of the extreme heat, and the surface spends many months in near-total darkness. Consequently, almost all the structures on Mercury were below ground, and I tried not to think about how many meters of rock were over my head at any given moment. Jensen and I headed to the main observatory shortly after we arrived. He knew exactly where to go, but I was completely lost. Every centimeter of wall, ceiling, and floor was made of the same dark metal. The only thing I was sure of was up and down.
The first level we entered held the cafeteria and other social areas. Above that was the science layer where all the real work happened. The top layer was the instrument area, and usually off-limits because of the dangerous environment and delicate equipment. The layers extending below the entrance held the living quarters, and that was where Jensen and I headed first. We checked in and took our things to our rooms. Minutes later, Jensen showed up at my door.
“Well,” he said, “do you want to see the Sun?”
“Of course,” I told him.
He took me up to the science level, and I walked into the most impressive lab I had ever seen. It wasn’t noisy, but it was busy. Most of the light came from the dozens of screens that lined the walls. Everywhere I looked there were video feeds of Sol in its various wavelengths.
A woman recognized Jensen as soon as we walked in the door, and they greeted one another with a friendly hug. She was slightly taller than him and very slender. Her skin was a light olive color, her almond-shaped eyes were so dark that they almost seemed black, and her tousled short hair was white due to genetics rather than age. She also had two small braids that hung around her shoulders, which I recognized from my time near Jupiter as a cultural fashion. Jensen immediately introduced me to her, and that’s when I first met Gabria LaDeau. She was obviously brilliant and surprisingly friendly. I felt like a backward outworlder next to the two of them, but they both treated me as an equal. However, as anyone who survived the Exodus knows, these two people were not the same as the rest of us.
After a brief back-and-forth about how long it had been since they last saw one another, they wasted no time getting to work. Gabria motioned for us to follow, and we walked to a nearby workstation. I stood close to Jensen as she pulled up a few images on a holoprojector, the kind that projected images in space rather than on a flatscreen. She showed us – or should I say, him – several images of Sol, including video of the most recent disturbance.
After a moment, Jensen asked, “Can you show me the magnetosphere?”
“I was actually getting to that,” she said with a half-smile. “Is there something in particular you wanted to see?”
“There’s something I want to show you,” he replied.
The image flickered, and Sol shrank to a small dot. A wave pattern arched out of the top and bottom of the star and swept across the solar system. It was mostly regular, with large sweeping arcs, except for one area.
“There,” he said as he pointed, his hand passing through the glowing lines. “Have you determined what is causing that?”
“We’re working on it,” she said. “It is coinciding with the sunspots, and even seems to be causing a few of them.”
“Causing them?” he asked.
“Well,” she answered hesitantly. “We’re almost certain it’s directly related to the sunspots and the unusual activity, but we haven’t been able to determine the source of the anomaly.”
“I was afraid you might say that,” he answered. He then turned toward her, “I’d like to run some information through your servers if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she said, turning around. “This way.”
We followed her to a terminal along the wall of the main room, and Jensen used his computer to enter data into the station’s matrix. After a moment he began to point out detailed technical information to Gabria. Their knowledge of mathematics and solar physics were so far beyond me that I had trouble keeping up with the most basic things. But, I believe the gist of their conversation was something like this:
“The anomaly is definitely related to the sunspots,” he told her. “But it is indirectly responsible. The spots are just a byproduct of what’s happening. Something is draining the mass from the Sun.”
“Ah,” she said. “That would explain a few things. How could you tell?”
“I’ve seen these patterns before,” he answered, entering a few things into the computer. A diagram of swirling gridlines appeared on the screen. “If you run time backward when looking at the formation of a black hole, you can witness the exact moment of the supernova.”
The images turned and swirled, and a picture of an old red supergiant appeared and then froze. “As a star is collapsing,” Jensen said as the giant red ball began to shrink, “there is a mass of particles crunching down upon one another. That crunch of particles generates a massive magnetic disturbance.”
The image froze just before the star exploded, and then it faded away to reveal a set of gridlines that even I thought looked familiar. He said, “That’s similar to the anomaly, isn’t it?”
Gabria’s reaction told me all I needed to know. “Amazing,” she said without looking away from the screen. She then turned and yelled to someone on the other side of the room. “Kody! Bring up the Sirius X6. I have something for you.” She ran off, leaving us standing near the holoprojector that was still displaying the twisted gridlines.
After that, the energy in the room began to pick up, and they all left me far behind. I just sat or stood in various places watching them work and tried to stay out of their way. I grappled to understand as much as I could about what was going on, but they were light-years ahead of me. I spent hours there with Jensen in the lab, only stepping out with him for short breaks. They were making great strides, and they felt they were developing an accurate model of the anomaly.
Eventually, I started taking breaks by myself because Jensen was too involved to stop. The nights on Mercury last for several Earth months, and we were only a few weeks away from the dawn. I wanted to see what the Mercurial landscape looked like, so I went to an observation platform on the top floor. It was still extremely dark outside, so there wasn’t much to see except the dark gray ripples of ground that stretched out to the horizon. There was no atmosphere to reflect the sunlight, but there was a distinct glow coming from the edge of the planet. I spent a long time up there reflecting and trying to relax. At one point, I thought I saw something flicker on the horizon. While I sat there, wondering if it had only been my imagination, a general alarm sounded in the platform. Another solar flare had just occurred, and people in the surface-level buildings were ordered to get below. I went back down to the lab because I was sure they would get a good look at it.
They did get a good look, apparently. Everyone was poring over video and other data of the sunspots and accompanying flares. A couple of the people passed by me looking quite worried. Some people would occasionally get up to leave, and it seemed like they weren’t coming back. With every flare, the observatory saw a marked increase in absentees. That left me more than a little concerned. When I had the chance, I asked Jensen if we could speak.
“Yes, of course,” he said without moving, looking expectantly at me.
“Well,” I said, lowering my voice a little, “people seem to be leaving.”
He blinked. Then I saw it dawn on him, “Oh!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry.” He stood up reflexively, concern spreading across his face. “You don’t have to stay here, Rao,” he said. “I have nowhere else to go, nor do I feel the urge to be anywhere else. In fact, you should leave as soon as possible.”
“But,” I started, “do I really need to leave? Is there a point?”
“You’re free to stay,” he admitted. “But I would advise against it. The Sun will keep growing more unstable as time goes on, and I have–” He lowered his voice, “I have no doubt that something catastrophic is going to happen. The best thing for you to do would be to get as far away from the solar system as quickly as possible.”
“So, that’s it?” I asked incredulously. “I’ve come all the way from the outer edge of the system, and now you’re saying I should just go back?”
“Actually, you shouldn’t even go back. You need to leave the system entirely. Once the Sun dies, this entire system will become a wasteland.”
“It’s taken me several years to reach this point,” I told him. “And you think I only have months to escape.”
“There’s still a chance you could get out safely.”
“How good of a chance?”
“Well…” he stammered. Then he did something I’d never seen him do: he lied to me. “A pretty good chance.”
“You’re lying,” I told him.
He looked down. After pausing a moment, he looked back up at me. “Yes, I am,” he said. “There’s no guarantee that anyone in this solar system will survive the next few months. There’s a chance that you might get lucky. But this star is dying, and it’s going to take most of the solar system with it.”
Just then another series of alarms went off, and he turned his attention back to the monitors.
“Okay,” was all I said, and I left the lab to return to my quarters.
I’m not sure how long I sat on my bed before I finally made up my mind. It was probably just a few minutes, but it felt like it was closer to hours. The purpose of the walkabout was to find myself and how I could best serve my species. My instincts told me to flee, to join the Exodus and leave the solar system. But I couldn’t understand how that would serve anyone but myself. And then there was the timeline. I didn’t know how much longer it would be before the collapse that Jensen predicted would occur. I couldn’t see how a futile attempt at escape would serve anyone or honor my family name. Even if the only thing I could do was sit in the corner and watch everything come to an end, I decided it would be better than simply running away and dying in the middle of space.
I went back up to the laboratory level and found Jensen staring at a video feed of Sol.
“Jensen,” I said. He turned around with a grim look on his face.
“Yes?” he responded.
“I’ve decided to stay here,” I told him.
“Okay,” he responded. “Can I ask why?”
“Because it’s foolish to leave. Because there’s nowhere to go. Because you’re my friend, and I love you. I have more reasons to stay than to run.”
“I see,” he said solemnly. “And you’re sure this is what you really want?”
“I wouldn’t say 'want' is the operative term.”
“Fair enough.”
“Besides,” I continued, “do you see any other option?”
“No,” he admitted. “I suppose not. But, you’re still on your walkabout."
“Yes, I am,” I told him. “I’ve decided to share the story of how I got here, what’s going on right now, and report the end of all things. I’ll broadcast it at an appropriate time later, and hopefully, the people fleeing the system will get it.”
He gave me a lopsided smile, and said, “It sounds to me like you understand the walkabout better than I ever did.”
“I’ll take that as the ultimate compliment,” I told him.
He reached in close, and we held each other tightly for a moment. We shared a meaningful kiss, and I told him to get back to work. Then I started doing my own. I sat down in the corner of the lab with a recorder and began recalling how I got to this point. Over the next several days, I compiled all the logs from my journey and started editing them into what would eventually become the story you’re reading now.
Jensen, Gabria, and all the other scientists continued to work as much as they could. Like the workers on Earth who continued to do their jobs or the volunteers who once poured into Mars, most people on the station continued to work diligently. But there was a growing sense of futility that manifested itself in a sudden rash of suicides that swept through the observatory. Most of them were quiet and confined to their chambers, but some of them were disturbing and violent. I had to remind myself that they were just afraid, and I tried not to judge them for what I believed to be the easy way out. Because, after all, who knew what kind of fate awaited us? What would happen if Sol collapsed and plunged us into darkness? Even if Sol went supernova this close to us, would it be a quick and painless death?
The discovery that Sol was on the verge of collapsing had finally made its way through the communications of friends and families on the observatory. They were warning people across the solar system, but by that point, the Exodus had already been well underway for a long time.
However, as anyone who is familiar with history knows, this isn’t how Gabria and Jensen became so famous (or infamous). I started composing this memoir mostly to keep myself occupied, but I have witnessed how the many rumors surrounding them have distorted the truth. People have tried to label Jensen and Gabria as fools, liars, traitors, and worse. But I know what happened because I was there. And most people are wrong about them.
A few days after Jensen discovered that Sol was on the verge of collapsing, Gabria and her team pinpointed the source of it. There was a gravitational anomaly in orbit around Sol. Although there were plenty of hypotheses presented, no one understood how or why it had gotten there. A massive amount of radiation was emanating from it, so it was difficult to get anything useful from the readings. There were hints that it was a singularity like a black hole. However, as dark as black holes are in the visible spectrum, they are blinding in other wavelengths. It was like trying to look directly at a star without filters.
And that’s where Jensen made his breakthrough. Using software and hardware tricks I still don’t understand, he placed a filter on the information coming in from the anomaly near the Sun.
I enjoyed being a part of the meetings between Jensen, Gabria, and the others even if I barely understood what they were talking about at times. I felt it was almost my journalistic duty to be a witness to these events even though it seemed to be an exercise in futility. At one meeting, Jensen told them about his breakthrough. Gabria invited two others, Kody and Hari, to join them. The four scientists had been working together since we arrived, and they eventually shared a kind of shorthand.
Jensen said, “I was looking closely at the noise coming from the anomaly, and I found something unusual.”
“What is it?” Gabria asked.
“There’s a pattern buried deep within it.”
“What kind of pattern?” Kody asked.
“I really don’t know. There’s just so much noise with all of the radiation that it’s barely discernible.”
“Show me the data,” said Gabria.
“Of course.”
He pulled up a few screens of information, some of it visual and some of it numerical. It looked like a mess of lines and data to me, but Jensen could see something there. At first, it seemed like he was the only one. The others furrowed their brows as they digested the information. But then Gabria spoke up.
“There!” she said, pointing to a place on the screen. “What is that?”
“Let me focus on it,” Hari said as she manipulated the information.
The image flickered and wobbled, the wavy lines moved and distorted, and then suddenly, there was something new. Something different.
“What is that?” Gabria asked.
“I don’t know,” answered Hari.
“It looks…artificial,” said Kody.
“Digital,” Jensen suddenly corrected.
“Digital?” Hari asked.
“Oh, yes,” Gabria said. “You’re correct.”
I stared at the information on the screen for a while, and then I finally saw it: something among all those wavy lines had solid and jagged edges.
“I see it, too,” I said, finally joining the conversation.
“Yeah,” Kody said. “It’s definitely a digital signal of some kind.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
After a brief and intense pause, Jensen said, “It means that whatever is affecting the Sun isn’t a natural phenomenon.”
The phrase hung there in the room. Everyone unconsciously backed away from the screens almost as if the information itself was volatile.
I’ll admit that the full implications of this were not immediately obvious to me, but the more I thought about it, the more disturbing it became. I could sense other people crowding around us, and everyone else in the room felt the same.
“Does this mean that someone intentionally caused this?” asked Kody.
“It appears that way,” answered Gabria.
“That can’t be,” said Hari, covering her mouth.
“I know,” Jensen said. “I don’t want to believe it, either. But that’s what the evidence suggests.”
Everyone in the room had a distinctly different posture after this revelation. A few moments before, everyone was hunched over, focused, and determined. Now, they were all standing upright and going through various stages of denial and acceptance. After a moment of silence, I had a thought.
“So, what could it be?” I asked.
This seemed to break them out of their internal dialogues, and the scientists in them all came back to the surface. Jensen manipulated the information on the screen.
“It’s impossible to tell from here,” he said. “There’s just too much noise, and the signal is too weak.”
“So, what do we do about it?” I asked.
“Do?” Kody asked incredulously. “There’s nothing we can do, kid.”
I looked at the ground, which distracted me from noticing Jensen as he turned to look at Kody.
“There’s always something we can do,” Jensen said, standing close to him. “And Raoshan is no kid.”
“I’m sorry,” he quickly responded. “I just don’t see what can be done about this.”
Jensen relaxed a bit. He sighed and gave Kody a resigned look.
“We have to do something,” he said before turning back to the information.
“Fair enough,” Gabria added as the tension melted from the moment. “But what? We don’t even know what it is.”
“Well,” Jensen started, “that’s why I have to go there.”
“Go where?” Hari asked.
“As close to the anomaly as possible,” he answered.
“Are you serious?” Kody asked.
“Yes,” he responded flatly. “I’ll take a ship out there and find out what, exactly, we’re dealing with.”
“Jensen,” said Gabria, “It’s far too dangerous. You can’t.”
“Yes, I can,” he said. “I must.”
Instinctively, I moved toward him and grabbed his hand. He slowly turned to look at me, knowing full well that I was the one who had touched him.
“I must,” he repeated, but this time it was just meant for me.
I may not be a scientist or an engineer, but I’m not a fool. I saw the look in his eyes, and I knew what it meant. This was extremely dangerous, and – considering the nature of the solar weather around us – it was probably deadly. The group started debating how to approach this, but it all just faded away as I stood there holding his hand. I’d gotten to know Jensen well since I first met him in that park on Earth, and I knew when he was resolute in his decisions. He was going to do this even if it was his last act as a living person.
“…will take a ship and investigate,” I heard him say as I finally focused on the discussion again.
“Do we even have a craft that is capable of dealing with the heat and radiation?” asked Hari.
“The Trinity’s Gaze is perfectly suited for this kind of mission,” replied Kody. “It was designed to get far closer to the Sun than you’ll be going.”
“But you can’t man that ship alone,” Gabria said. “It’s not a one-person craft. And what would happen if something went wrong?”
“Then I’d just vaporize,” Jensen said calmly.
“Dammit, Jensen,” Gabria said with a frown. “That’s not what I meant. You need people to help you fly the ship.”
“I won’t ask anyone to go with me,” he said.
“You don’t have to ask, Jensen,” Gabria said. “I’m going with you. I programmed half of that ship’s systems, and I’ve flown it a dozen times.”
“I’m going, too,” I said without hesitation.
Everyone looked at me.
“You aren’t an engineer,” interjected Kody.
“And none of you are mechanics,” I replied with an edge of hostility. “You seem to forget that I came from the outer edge of the solar system. I was born on a freighter. I made my way here by working on the ships that carried me. No offense to you academics and your clean hands, but mine have always been dirty. And I know how to use them. Besides, I’m still on my walkabout. The whole point of this is to help me find a way to serve humanity. And though this is a bit more dramatic than I was expecting, I don’t see how I could serve humanity by waiting to die on this glorified rock.
“Maybe,” I continued, “the only option we have is to strap ourselves into a metal box and ride it out to the end.”
Jensen smiled as he looked at me, and that was all the answer I needed. There was a bit of back-and-forth between the others, but we just looked at each other until he finally interrupted.
“Raoshan is going,” he told them. “End of discussion.”
I met with Hari a short time later and told her about the memoir I’d been writing. I asked her to do me a favor and see that it was transmitted if something went wrong. She was very understanding and knew exactly what to do, and she promised to make sure that my story reached the Net if I wasn’t able to finish it. I took a lot of comfort in the thought that even if my life ended on this journey, my lessons wouldn’t be lost.
Several people helped us get ready for the trip, and it eventually seemed like the entire observatory was part of the process. The information we were seeking was invaluable, and the risk we were taking was incalculable. Everyone knew this. But as Jensen pointed out, we had to find out why this was happening.
A few hours later, the three of us boarded the Trinity’s Gaze, and I was surprised by how many people had gathered to see us off. After all, this was just supposed to be a quick reconnaissance trip. The looks in everyone’s eyes said more than I could have. They knew this mission was incredibly important, and they recognized how big of a risk we were taking. Hari hugged all three of us, taking great care to address us individually. The thing I didn’t expect was how Kody reacted. He treated me differently at that moment than he had in all previous ones. It was so strange that I had to resist the urge to make light of his sudden concern. The whole send-off was surprisingly somber, which left me with a mix of emotions. It was a bit disconcerting that everyone was saying goodbye, but it was comforting to know that all these people seemed to care. We boarded the ship, and with tears in my eyes, we set off on the final leg of my journey.
Our small ship exited the hangar and lifted off the planet without a problem. Several screens lined the walls, each filled with images of the outside. Sol seemed to beckon us, almost taunting us to come closer. Gabria pointed the ship directly at it and engaged the thrusters.
I felt comfortable inside the Trinity’s Gaze despite its small size because it reminded me so much of the Dorvalla. In many ways, it was just a heavily modified version of the same ship, except that it had extremely thick plating and several shield generators. There were no windows, but the many monitors on the inside more than made up for that. We were surrounded by video feeds of Sol from every imaginable angle and spectrum, most of which were being transmitted to us from the station on Mercury. It was designed to carry four people, but it could be operated by one. But as Gabria noted, you couldn’t do much science while trying to fly or make repairs.
Once we were on our path to the anomaly, we each settled into our respective roles. Gabria took the helm, and Jensen sat beside her. I strapped into the seat behind Jensen, facing several monitors. Many of the monitors displayed information I didn’t understand, so I focused on the ones I did: fuel systems, hydraulics, electronics, etc. This ship was far more advanced than most ships I’d ever been on, but everything still made sense to me. Not that I let myself get too comfortable. We would be flying dangerously close to the hottest thing in the solar system, and the unpredictable storms would likely wreak havoc on us at some point. That was something I had to address with my crew.
“How will this ship hold up against these storms?” I asked.
“It’s difficult to tell,” Gabria told me. “The ship is well-protected, but these storms are unpredictable. I’ve flown through plenty at this range, but none of them have been this strong. And I’ve never experienced so many.”
“No one has,” Jensen noted.
“Right,” Gabria said. “The only thing we can do is prepare ourselves for the worst.”
“While hoping for the best,” I added.
“Of course,” she said through a slight grin.
Even though we were inside a completely enclosed craft, you could sense how bright and hot it was outside. The thickly plated hull creaked softly as we grew closer. If you could have looked outside, the massive ball of plasma would have drowned everything out around us. At this range, Sol was no longer a dot, a circle, or a ball in the sky; it was the sky itself.
Gabria continued to fly us closer to our target, Jensen kept an eye on the data, and I monitored the health of the ship. Meanwhile, the entire observatory monitored our progress. The storms were no longer an occasional issue. At this range, we were inundated with violent solar activity. The ship was well-shielded, but even it wasn’t immune to such a hostile environment. At first, it was just annoying: an alarm over here, a temporary blackout of a computer over there, and so on. But we were clearly not in a safe place. At one point, one of the dozen shield generators simply failed.
“Is that going to be a problem?” Jensen asked.
“Probably not,” I replied.
“That’s not very reassuring,” Gabria said.
Inside the ship, it was relatively dark and calm, but outside it was a torrent of heat, light, and almost every other manifestation of electromagnetism. I wanted to look outside to see it with my own eyes, but I knew that doing so would be the last thing I experienced. The longer we flew, the more turbulent things became. Systems would flicker on and off, and Jensen would have to correct them. Even though we were in a cooled environment, Gabria was beginning to sweat. And I had to fix things as they shorted out, which happened with increasing regularity.
I was returning to the front of the ship after replacing a fried power coupling when Jensen spoke up.
“There’s the anomaly,” he said.
“Can you show me?” asked Gabria.
“Yes,” he answered, pointing to the screen in front of him. “It’s right here.”
“We see it, too,” said Kody over the intercom.
I looked carefully at the screen. I felt like I saw something but wasn’t really sure if I actually did. Waves of distortion and energy filled most of the screen, which was a projection of data instead of a video feed. But then, even my untrained eye could clearly see it: a dot where there had otherwise been nothing but waves and a point where the waves were clearly distorted.
“How close can you get us, Gabria?” Jensen asked.
“That depends,” she responded. “How close do we need to get?”
“As close as possible.”
“I don’t think we should get too close,” she said. “It may not be very big, but it’s still–”
“Wait,” Jensen suddenly said. “Wait!”
The tone of his voice concerned me.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something else out there. I can see it.”
“So,” Gabria said, “do I just keep–”
“It’s a ship!” he interrupted.
“A ship?” she asked.
“There’s a ship near the anomaly.”
Gabria turned her head to look at Jensen.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m positive. That must be what’s emitting the digital signal.”
“But how is that…” she said, trailing off.
There was a moment of silence before they came to the same realization.
“A gravity drive,” they said simultaneously.
“A gravity drive?” I asked.
Jensen and Gabria began manipulating data on their respective computers.
“Did you say gravity drive?” asked Kody over the intercom.
“Hang on, Kody,” replied Gabria.
The two of them continued working as they tried to decipher what was going on. Gabria stopped actively flying and was focusing on the data they were receiving. I remained focused on the ship, and that’s when I noticed we were accelerating. At first, I didn’t think anything of it, but then I realized that Gabria wasn’t causing it.
“Gabria,” I said.
“One moment,” she responded.
“Gabria,” I repeated.
“Please give me a moment, Raoshan.”
“Why are we accelerating?”
“We aren’t acc–” she instinctively stopped what she was doing and looked in front of her, then immediately started changing course. “We’re accelerating toward the anomaly.”
“What?” Jensen asked. “Why are you doing that?”
“I’m not doing it.”
“We’re falling into the gravity well,” I told them.
“She’s right,” Gabria said.
Just at that moment, I felt the ship bump slightly, and Gabria glanced sideways.
“Did you feel that?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Feel what?” Jensen said absently, distracted by the information he was studying.
Then, there was another more significant bump, and that caught his attention.
“That,” I said.
“Are we trapped in the gravity well?” he asked, slightly concerned.
“Not yet,” Gabria answered, making adjustments.
“Yet?” I asked just before yet another jolt.
“Don’t worry. The turbulence is probably due to the storms. It’ll get worse, but we have to get closer,” Jensen said.
“Closer?” Gabria asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “We need to get a closer look at that ship.”
“I’m not sure that getting closer is a good idea,” she said.
“It’s probably not a good idea, but it’s necessary.”
Gabria reluctantly acquiesced. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“Just get us close enough, Gabria. That’s all I’m asking.”
The engines and shields required more power the closer we got, and I could hear the ship complaining. At one point, it even seemed to let me know it was upset by shorting out an important navigational system.
“I’m losing control,” Gabria said with a hint of panic in her voice.
“Hang on,” I told her as I unbuckled myself and moved to the back of the ship. I almost tripped a couple of times because of the occasional jolts that were becoming distinctly stronger. I couldn’t see Gabria, but I could hear her concern. After a few tweaks and one hard whack with a wrench, the system came back online. The controls began to respond, and the ship was partially back under her control.
“Thank you, Rao.”
“Don’t relax just yet,” Jensen said. “There’s a solar–”
The ship shook violently, almost knocking me to the floor.
“–flare,” he finished.
I stood back up as the storm raged around us, making the ship creak and groan. The shields were struggling, the exterior plating was flexing, and every electrical system seemed to be throwing a tantrum. Jensen did everything he could while the two of us worked to keep the ship together.
“I can see it!” he finally exclaimed. “It’s a small ship.”
“Can you get anything from it?” Gabria asked.
“Probably,” he answered.
A moment later, the screen he was monitoring filled with recognizable images.
“It’s a…Terran ship,” Jensen said.
“What?” asked Gabria, visibly shocked.
Kody’s voice suddenly came over the intercom: “Did you say Terran?”
“Yes,” Jensen answered. “It’s a Scimitar class ship.”
“You mean the kind the military uses for reconnaissance?” Gabria asked.
“They’re supposed to be,” Jensen noted.
“Then what is it doing here?” asked Kody.
“It was put here,” Jensen said. “Deliberately.”
“How can you tell?” I asked.
“It’s in a stable orbit, no one is inside it, and the gravity drive has been modified to do this.”
“How do you know all that?” asked Kody.
“Because I’m looking at the logs right now.”
Hari’s voice suddenly blared over the intercom: “Send them to us, Jensen!”
“Of course,” he responded.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Gabria replied.
“It means,” Hari interjected over the intercom, “that someone in the Terran government is responsible for what’s happening to the Sun.”
A small chuckle escaped my lips, though there was nothing particularly funny about it. If I hadn’t been a first-hand witness to this, I would never have believed it. I had no idea at the time, but this was the most significant discovery of my journey, probably of my entire life. For those of you who missed history class or have been swayed by propaganda, this was the actual origin of the Terran Deception, the beginning of the end of the centuries-old government. The escalation of the Martian war, the secret plan to evacuate only certain systems, and everything else we were told was just a small part of the truth. Though it wasn’t exactly clear who did this or why, the sad truth is that all the chaos that preceded this moment was completely and entirely avoidable.
I stood there for a moment, holding onto a rail and staring blankly at one of the screens. After a moment, Jensen said, “We have to destroy it.”
“Destroy what?” I asked.
“The computer on that ship is maintaining the gravity drive,” he explained. “If we can destroy the ship, then the drive will go offline, and the black hole should eventually dissipate.”
“Should?” I asked.
“Well…” he responded.
“But this is just a science vessel,” Gabria said. “We have no weapons.”
“We have to destroy it,” Jensen reiterated.
“Kody,” Gabria started, “Do we have any ships capable of taking that thing out?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But none that are shielded enough to–”
Just at that moment, the ship rocked violently. And because I was the only one not strapped in, I lost my balance and fell over. As I fell, my elbow smashed into a nearby screen, and it went blank.
“Rao!” Jensen yelled, looking over his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assured him. “But this screen is…”
And that’s when the idea came to me.
“Ram it,” I said.
“It’s what?” Jensen asked.
“Ram it,” I repeated. “Ram the ship!”
Jensen and Gabria glanced at each other.
“This ship has half a meter of heavy plating,” I explained. “And it’s five times larger. We could easily destroy it if we hit hard enough.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Can you do it, Gabria?” Jensen asked.
“I don’t see why not,” she admitted. “The computer could guide it most of the way. I’m just worried about that gravity well.”
“Agreed,” said Jensen. “I’m not sure we could escape it if we got that close, and that’s assuming the ship survived the impact.”
“But would it work?” I asked. “Would ramming it destroy the gravity drive?”
“Possibly,” answered Jensen. “They are relatively delicate. I’m actually surprised it has lasted as long as it has this close to the Sun.”
“Then it’s decided?” Gabria asked.
We all exchanged looks. Though our ship was still being rocked by the storm, everything around us seemed to disappear temporarily.
“Kody,” Gabria finally said.
“Yes?” he responded.
“Did you hear all of that?”
“Yeah. We’re already prepping a rescue ship, but it won’t reach you for several hours.”
“Understood.”
Gabria began programming the computer to keep us on course, Jensen monitored the storms, and I continued to keep an eye on the ship. Everyone was all business at that point because we’d begun to accept our fate. This was going to take us much closer to the surface of Sol than most human beings had ever been, and there was no way to know how the ship would hold up after a serious collision.
“We’ll need to convince the computer that we know what we’re doing,” said Gabria. “Collision alarms will be the least of our concerns if the computer takes over and dodges the other ship entirely.”
“Okay,” Jensen said. “Any idea how fast we should be going when we hit it?”
“It depends on how well the shields hold up,” I said. “If we have to rely on the plating, then we take a serious risk of a breach. I can’t fix something like that.”
Kody said, “I have some people here who are working that out. I’ll transmit the speed recommendations as soon as they’re available.”
“Thank you, Kody,” Gabria said with a touch of sadness.
We flew closer and closer to the other ship, and Sol filled every monitor. Our ship continued to rock from the ripples in the storm, and systems continued to overreact. It kept me busier than I ever imagined I’d be on a craft like this, but the Trinity’s Gaze was strong and reliable. I knew it would be more than enough of a match for the other ship. I just didn’t know what would happen after that.
An hour or so later, Jensen finally spoke up.
“There it is,” he said calmly.
We finally got our first clear view of the other ship. It was small, unassuming, and otherwise forgettable. However, several hundred kilometers in front of it was the artificial black hole. Though you couldn’t see the singularity itself, a thin but distinct thread of plasma stretched out from the surface of the star to that point. It was somewhat comforting to know that we weren’t going to fly much closer, but the fact that it had the power to drain the life directly from a star made me fear it more than the massive ball of fire.
“Okay,” Gabria said. “We’re closing in.”
We both looked at her.
“Are you two ready?” she asked.
Jensen and I looked at each other. I nodded my head, and Jensen pressed his lips together.
“Alright then,” she said. “Kody?”
“Yes, Gabria?”
“We’re heading toward the other ship now.”
“Okay,” Kody said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be fine. We’re probably wasting fuel just to send you some company.”
“Well, good,” she said. “Just let them know we’ll be waiting for them near that massive ball of incandescent gas.”
Then she aimed us directly at the other ship and set the thrusters to maximum.
I was raised in the blackness of space. I spent the vast majority of my life in a place where Sol was just another star in the sky. It was the brightest one, but not by much. Every artificial light in my life had been significantly brighter. For me, the universe was supposed to be cold and dark, and I was content with things being that way. It wasn’t as strange or depressing as it sounds. That’s just the way things were in deep space. That’s why I appreciated getting to go on my walkabout. I experienced more during those years than the quarter-century I lived up until that point, but finding myself on the Trinity’s Gaze was unquestionably the most important thing that has ever happened to me.
During my journey, I saw the most amazing things: all eight planets, dozens of moons, hundreds of cities, thousands of ships, and millions of people. Of all of the things I’d experienced, Earth was easily the most beautiful. During the daytime, it was bright and vibrant, and during the nighttime, it shimmered with electricity. I’d reached my goal, but Sol was my destination.
I don’t remember what happened after we collided with the other ship because I was immediately knocked unconscious. The first thing I do remember was opening my eyes and trying to focus on Jensen’s face. He held the sides of my head and kept repeating my name.
“…me, Rao? Raoshan? Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I finally managed.
I felt dizzy up until the point when my mind recognized I was floating. The artificial gravity had been knocked out, and everything loose seemed to be in constant motion. That meant the ship was probably rolling. As my vision returned to me, I could see blood on Jensen’s forehead. It was dark in the cabin because most of the ship’s systems were offline. I tried to move and felt a sharp pain in my back, and then I felt dizzy again.
“Take it easy,” he said. “Try not to move.”
I floated there for a moment, trying to think.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It worked, Rao,” he said with a strange grin. “Your plan worked. We destroyed the–”
He was interrupted by an intense hacking that wracked his whole body and caused him to bank and roll awkwardly. I could hear fluid in his lungs. I reached out to him instinctively, enduring the pain. Jensen was bleeding from more places than his forehead. He was warm and wet when I finally grabbed onto him. That’s when I first realized how seriously he was injured. His legs didn’t seem to be responding, and there was a small pool of blood clinging to him.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“It worked,” he repeated. “We did it.”
A bright spark temporarily lit the cabin, and I got a glimpse of Gabria. She was still strapped in the pilot’s seat, her arms floating like someone about to play a piano.
“Gabria?” I asked.
“Don’t,” Jensen said. “She’s gone.”
I immediately looked away, afraid that another spark would illuminate more than I was prepared to see. After a moment, I looked back at Jensen and squeezed up behind him.
“Where are you hurt?” I asked as I curled up next to him.
“Everywhere,” he said with a small chuckle. “But it’s okay, Rao. It worked.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, looking around the dark cabin for proof. All the monitors were either blank or showing nothing but static.
“I’m positive,” he replied. “I saw the ship disintegrate as we smashed into it. There’s no way that gravity drive could have–” he winced, coughed violently, then continued, “–could have survived that.”
“What about the black hole?”
“It’s microscopic and unstable. Without the drive holding the field, it should consume itself and evaporate.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, mostly,” he said with a wince, immediately followed by another bout of coughing. His breathing was heavy and labored.
Though the ship was dark, it was far from quiet. The storm still raged around us, and the ship had taken a brutal pounding. I wanted to check for damage, but I was still dizzy, and my back was in a lot of pain. Jensen held onto me, taking deep breaths and trembling.
“I’m going to get the medkit,” I told him.
“Don’t bother,” he said.
“What?” I asked incredulously. “Why not?”
“Because it’d be a waste of time. And I would rather you stayed here with me.”
I frowned because he was right. I could tell he was far too injured for a few bandages to help. I squeezed him so tightly that he groaned, so I loosened my grip just enough for him to stop.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry, Rao,” he said. “Don’t be sorry for anything. We may have just stopped the Sun from dying. That kind of thing doesn’t come without a cost.”
I thought about Gabria as I felt him struggling to breathe.
“You know,” he started, “your walkabout may turn out to be the most successful one ever. I don’t know how you could’ve served humanity better.”
“I didn’t do anything, Jensen.”
“Sure you did,” he said, smiling at me. “You held this ship together, and ramming the other one was your idea.”
“Anyone could have done that.”
“And yet, here you were. The one who did.”
I kissed his forehead and absently wiped the blood off my lips.
“I’m glad I met you,” I told him.
“That makes two of us, kid.”
I floated there with him for a long time, but I won’t share everything we said. That was just between us. But before I felt him take his last breath, I promised him that I would share our story. I also promised him I would stay out of politics, which is why it took so long to come forward with all of this.
After he was gone, I strapped him back into his chair. Then I became aware of my own mortality. I scanned the cabin again for damage and fumbled around for a communicator. It was actually pretty fortunate that the gravity was offline. Though I didn’t know it at the time, I’d cracked several ribs, bruised multiple organs, and broken my leg in two places. If I didn’t move around much, I could endure the pain. It would have been futile to move anyway. The ship was completely offline. I estimated that it would’ve taken me a couple of hours just to get enough of the systems back online to do a diagnostic, and that’s if I was able to move around the ship with ease. In my condition, I was barely able to bend my torso without blacking out from the pain.
When I came to that realization, I just floated aimlessly and tried to relax. The ship shuddered and creaked all around me. The noise from outside was going around me in a circular pattern as we rolled, and multiple weak points of the hull called out as the solar winds blasted them. I wasn’t sure if I should overthink what was happening to help me rationalize it or if the sheer danger I was in would eventually overwhelm me. After all, there was no denying that a catastrophic failure was terribly imminent.
It seemed like I floated there for days. The only thing to keep me company was the oppressive darkness and the rhythmic taunting of the solar winds. I grew tired, I slept, I woke up, I stretched, I groaned, I cried, I grew cold, I grew hungry, and then I grew tired again.
Sometime later, I found myself sitting in the cockpit of the Dorvalla, quietly soaring over what was obviously the Amazon jungle on Earth. I looked to my right, and my mother smiled at me from the co-pilot seat. I knew my father was behind me, probably reading something. We flew into a station and waited as the docking clamps grabbed onto the ship. Though it was all very real, there was something about it that felt unusually familiar. Too familiar. Too…real.
That’s when I awoke to find myself still floating in the Trinity’s Gaze. The cabin was still dark, and the storm continued to rage on. But something was different. The noise only seemed to be coming from one side of the ship. I listened carefully and tried to understand. That’s when I heard a sound I recognized, of metal pressing hard against metal. The ship shook slightly, which startled me at first. But then I realized that something had grabbed onto the hull. The only thing that could do that was another ship, and that’s when I knew the sounds I heard were docking clamps.
A few tense minutes later, a plasma torch burned a perfect circle into the wall of our ship. The circular piece of metal floated slowly out of the way, and someone wearing a helmet crawled through. They turned to look at me: it was Kody. He carefully climbed inside and moved to me. Behind him were two other people, both with helmets and carrying medical kits.
“Raoshan!” Kody said. “Are you okay?”
“I have a lot of pain in my back, and I think my leg is broken.”
“Just relax. We’re getting you out of here.”
“Why are you wearing helmets?”
“We didn’t know if you’d have pressure in here or not.”
“It’s a pretty helmet,” I told him. Remember, I’d lost a lot of blood.
“Just try to relax, Rao,” Kody said with a nervous smile.
They put me on a stretcher and carefully handed me through the small hole. A few more people were waiting on the other side. A while later, they had Jensen and Gabria’s bodies safely inside, and we left the Trinity’s Gaze behind.
“Did we destroy the drive?” I asked Kody.
“You sure did,” he said with a smile.
“Will that stop the Sun from imploding?”
His smile faded a bit.
“It’s hard to tell,” he admitted. “We’ll know in a few hours. Fortunately, that black hole was microscopic. Right now, let’s just get you back to the observatory and get you some proper medical attention.”
I laid there for about an hour before Kody put his hand on my arm and nodded at a nearby screen. It was focused on the Trinity’s Gaze. I could see it begin to spark and glitter, and in a sudden flash, it started to shred apart. The pieces scattered and ignited, leaving a beautiful trail of sparks that coruscated into the turbulent atmosphere. A couple more hours and I would have been a sacrifice to the sun god.
Once we reached the station, they immediately put me under anesthesia. I passed out, so I missed the big announcement that the black hole was dissipating. When I finally woke up, Kody and Hari were sitting with a few others in my room. The look of utter relief was evident in everyone around me, and they were chatting quietly.
That’s a good sign, I thought.
Hari just happened to glance my way, and we made eye contact. Her eyes widened, and she immediately stood up close to the bed.
“Raoshan?” she asked.
I tried to smile at her.
She smiled as she leaned in to hug me, and everyone else in the room stood up and gathered around the bed.
“So?” I asked. “Did it work?”
Hari looked at me with a broad smile and tears arcing down her cheeks, and I knew her answer was yes.
I began to cry as a wave of relief poured over my body. These people who had spent so much time on the verge of death were finally standing casually or slouching in chairs again. And smiling. Everyone was smiling. I didn’t even know what Kody or Hari looked like when they smiled until that moment.
Then, inevitably, my mind drifted to Jensen and Gabria. I made and lost some of the best friends I’d ever known. I’m often reminded of them, and it’s a shame that they have been cast in such a negative light. The questions they raised fueled entirely too much speculation, and many people depended on the secrecy of that information. I find it strange that you can save a hundred billion lives and still have enemies, but these are the worlds in which we live.
Sometimes, I still wonder if I even want to find out the truth about the Terran Deception. I do know that what most people have heard about Jensen and Gabria are lies. For example, the people on the Mercury station did not invent the data in an attempt to overthrow the Terrans as they would have you believe. They saved humanity while someone was trying to destroy it. The Terran government, for whatever reason, used the existing conflict on Mars as a distraction for their own ends. I have tried to avoid these public discussions because I only know what I have experienced first-hand. I can’t even fathom why someone would disrupt things the way they did, much less understand what motivated them. There will always be people who will sacrifice others for their own sake, but I am comforted by the knowledge that there are also people who are willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good.
My walkabout was intended to give me a purpose, and in that sense, I would say it was successful. I finally healed after some serious medical reconstruction, and I even got a shatterproof leg in the process. After a few years, I was reunited with my parents. They left Pluto-Charon far behind and met me back on Earth. They looked like they hadn’t aged a day. By the end of my journey, I was several years older, in peak physical condition, more cultured, and highly skilled. I learned more about myself and humanity than I thought was possible. But the most important things I learned from my walkabout were simple: don’t expect things to be a certain way, visit other worlds, make your own decisions, and sometimes you have to go toward the danger.
Oh, and try the veilagrue. It’s delicious.
The End
“So, having a good time so far?” “Yeah, I am. How about you?” “Well, you haven’t crushed my heart yet.” “This is just our first date.” “Then we’re off to…
“This guy really likes to think outside of the box.” “How outside of the box are we talking?” “On a scale from 1 to 10?” “Yeah.” “Pineapple.”
This is a collection of ten short stories that were intended to bemuse, berate, and bewilder.
“I don’t like bad words.” “You mean magic words.” “No, I mean curse words.” “Right. Magic words.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Other people don’t think like that.” “Have you met other people?!”
