You volunteered to be the first human to travel at near light speed. You’ve been gone 24 hours. You know nearly 200 years will have passed on Earth. The navigation computer says you will drop light speed and enter Earths orbit in 10 seconds.

***

Ten…nine…eight…

There’s something called the Wait Calculation. As I understand it, it stemmed from the idea of waiting for a bus, whether it would be faster to walk to the destination than wait for the bus to arrive to transport you there. Someone calculated that if it took fifty years to get somewhere, that you shouldn’t go, because scientists would have discovered a faster way to get there by the time you arrived and beat you there.

Seven…six…five…

But then something happened: leaping past all expectations, a group of four scientists discovered how to travel almost at the speed of light. Everyone considered the discovery and concluded that we’d never surpass it. So, then we came into another dilemma, which was that we didn’t know how this would impact a human body. Not for sure, at least. When spread out over twenty-four hours, the calculations indicated that the passenger would be fine, no more impacted by the incremental acceleration and deceleration than a jet aircraft. Indeed it seemed like the chimp who’d come before me was fine, but who knew what it might do to a human mind?

Four…

Also, the pickings were slim for an astronaut that qualified for this mission. It wasn’t just that they needed to have as few people as possible left behind who would miss them; it was dealing with the psychological impact of jumping 200 years into the future. Humanity would be waiting for me to arrive, and until then, there would be no other experiments. It was all on me, which was a special pressure in and of itself. But even though it was still Earth, I was essentially leaving one world behind and arriving at another.

Three…

The Wait Calculation was still in effect, of course. We couldn’t know for sure that a discovery of faster than light travel wouldn’t be made. Using wormholes like in the movies was apparently still a hypothetical, not disproven as a possibility. The trip I was making could be entirely for nothing, and that would have a huge impact on my morale. But there was another question: what if I arrived and there was no one waiting for me?

Two…

Humanity has done its best over the years, and its best isn’t always impressive. We write stories about our journey into the stars to other planets, meeting other species, and many of the stories are encouraging. Despite mistakes we may make, ultimately we learn lessons that allow us to flourish, to thrive. That is the appeal of shows like Star Trek, obviously, that humanity can become something more than what we are. Something special.

One…

That brings me to where I am now. Waxing poetical to myself about the nature of humanity, our accomplishments, our flaws, and our hopes and dreams for hours as I waited for the ship to arrive at its destination. What awaited me? Carnage worthy of a Michael Bay film? Destruction of the planet despite the mitigation and solutions to the impact of climate change? Nuclear war?

Or something better? Something beautiful?

Deceleration complete.

As the ship slowed to a stop, I followed the ingrained procedures, pressing what few buttons there were that gave me control and then, finally, turning on the camera. An exterior view appeared, like a window across the front of the ship. And there she was. Our pale blue dot. Practically glowing with more greenery and the oceans a brighter blue than when I’d left, several gigantic ships in orbit, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a space elevator on the equator.

“Oh, aren’t you beautiful?” I whispered.

The planet was still there, but more than that, it looked in better shape than when I’d left. Because that was the only real worry I had. Forget possibly having a brain injury that left me catatonic, or surviving and having to adjust to robots and AIs taking my order at McDonalds; I just worried about what it would be like to be the last human alive. Or worse, to come back to a civilization that was struggling to keep going at all.

Albert Einstein had said, “I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.” I’d been scared that I would return to a radioactive wasteland, and life would be scarce.

But it wasn’t the case. We were still here. They were still here. Apparently while I’d been gone, there had been progress. I’m sure that looking at Earth from so far away made me idealistic, but the fact was that whatever had happened, whatever horrors we’d created, whatever wars we’d fought, overall, humanity had triumphed. I felt buoyant, more than the effects of a lack of gravity. I almost felt separate from my body, as if I were astral projecting out through the image in front of me and looking at the planet as I was suspended in space.

We’d done it. We’d survived and thrived and our planet was still here. We had cared for her and she had cared for us in return, and we’d made it. That was all I needed to know to feel the most incredible sensation of bliss I’d ever known.

Then someone’s voice came over the radio, greeting me in an excited, friendly tone, and I grinned.

Republished with permission from the author, karenvideoeditor. Image created using Stable Diffusion.