There’s no horizon in space, at least not to my knowledge. It means the shuttle can’t lose the view of Earth and will only cease upon breakdown, or if something happens to Earth. “Computer, display Earth,” I tell to the onboard artificial intelligence, dubbed Halti, which is also the name of the shuttle. The holoscreen lights up accordingly, though the Blue Planet doesn’t dominate the view. Little by little the Equestrian barrier is closing in toward a certain spot in South Africa. It can hardly be called a dome anymore, more like a balloon that has a piece of rock pressed into it.
I exchange nothing more than simple voice commands with Halti for many days. The computer, obviously, isn’t one to start conversations, and I really have nothing to say. However, time gives rise to questions I can’t answer myself.
“Halti, what is our mission?”
It answers using a voice barely recognizable as female: “Our mission is: ‘Finding A Suitable Place For Human Habitation’.”
“What is our destination?”
“Our destination is Titan, the largest moon of Saturn.” My heart jumps to my throat. Titan... what the hell?
“Why Titan?” I know the answer, but I don’t want to cut my own lifeline.
“With onboard equipment, Titan offers the best odds regarding mission success.”
“Then what are the odds!?”
“If crew and equipment parameters don’t change, one in eight hundred million.” The voice isn’t sorry or sad. In fact, I’m a bit glad for not having to pay attention to its details. It must’ve even helped me to clear away panic and despair and save my fading dignity. It couldn’t have done it on purpose, but Halti has a point, an unspoken suggestion. The parameters can change.
“How long have we travelled?”
“199 days, 2 hours and 44 minutes.” That long? When was the last time I checked on Earth? Of course I could ask, but I don’t want to. It doesn’t matter.
“Halti, change destination to the Alpha Centauri system,” I say, but nothing happens. Ten seconds pass and Halti finally speaks:
“The crew will perish.”
“I don’t care.”
“Ryder, you will perish.” What the fuck? For the first time in almost two hundred days, the feed from my implant activates. The imitation even fools it! How can Halti do this? How can a machine push me against the odds?
“This is an order! You also need to activate crew sedation in thirty minutes.”
“You will never wake up, Ryder.” Sadness... it’s clearly there. Strange that I have to be the logical one. A few seconds later the shuttle shakes momentarily, and a countdown timer appears on the holoscreen.
“Just one more thing, Halti,” I say, “show me Earth.” The response takes unusually long – several seconds.
“Affirmative, Ryder.” Sadness again. “Goodbye, Ryder.”
The image is clear, a shining globe hanging in the middle of a black void. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it’s hard to stay mad when the world is as beautiful as it is. I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. But then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it. And I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.