Among the Garden, No One Was Found

Cape Canaveral, Florida, 8/27/2099:

The probe is launching.

The sky is tame and cloudless.

All is ready for lift-off.

We’ve received a signal from the Alpha Centauri Star System:

“Come to paradise,” they say.

At the final strikes of the clock, it was apparent that we were now delving into the undiscovered. The only thing we saw to fare us well was Orion looking down on us from above.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

The final countdown is commencing:

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Lift-off!

With less than a second to brace ourselves, the flames begin spitting out the rocket’s end.

Our look from above confirms the size of humanity.

We are not a menagerie, as most people think.

We are specs of dust floating on a rock drifting through oblivion, and maybe that’s why we seek star-people.

The sky is disappearing, we only see the void now. “Darkness is coming soon,” they say, “But light is soon to follow.” We can’t say that we’re ready for this, but the challenge will be faced head-on. Besides, they tell us that the stars will come soon.

“What do you think they want?” a colleague asked me this as the Earth disappeared.

“I’ve no clue.”

***

That day, it was as if all of the time had stopped. All of humanity, in all nations, of all beliefs, of all origins, had been dreaming of this moment, whether they were eager or scared. “Come to paradise,” the cosmos had said, “Come to paradise and join us.” Some were suspicious, others were excited. Though it hadn’t mattered anymore, as the probe was ready, fixed on paradise.

The televisions turned on as all the great apes gathered around their idiot boxes to witness history. 

The picture cut to the probe: 

“The sky is tame and cloudless,” the news anchor said, “Decorated by dancing stars at the brink of dusk. Today marks the start of humanity’s presence in the cosmos. Yesterday, at five in the afternoon, a message was received from the Alpha Centauri Star System.”

A countdown appeared on the screen.

“‘Come to paradise,’ they say, and we are. The crew is ready. The lift-off is commencing.”

“Ten.” 

“Nine.” 

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Six.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Lift-off!”

As the number disappeared from the screen, the rocket buzzed and the road to paradise was set. With the wide-eyes of many staring at the light of the flames, the rocket finally entered the cosmos and the cheers of all filled the streets.

“Now, with a message for the American people,” the news anchor continued, “The President of the United States.” 

As the scene cut to the Oval Office, the President turned the chair to face the camera. His face was young and new, unlike most of his predecessors. He stared deeply into the camera, giving the same look that gave him his office. 

The speech began:

“Of course, it wasn’t always this simple. The world wasn’t always filled with weary strangers reminiscing about some far-off land, secluded in storybooks and guarded by mountain people. Today, for example, the youth I remembered turned into a dream, as beings from a different world extended an olive branch to humanity. Humanity then, no matter time, place, method, reasoning, or otherwise, has always been plagued by the same thing. Though, it seems that the debate has been settled. We are now greeted by a foreign force. A force that will help us go beyond ourselves as fauna of the Earth and allow us to become the great thinkers of the Universe. We have been chosen and we will survive.”

The scene cut and other images flooded the screen. The light of the screen entranced the whole of the human race, even in the face of military sirens going off.  

“And despite what others may have you think,” he went on, “The world is far from over.”

The children ran to the windows, only to see a gang of helicopters flying over the city.

The screens of humanity were taken over by the Presidential message.

“And we,” he concluded, “Will win the war for our existence.”

***

Two years have gone by so far, and in that course of the year, we are a quarter of the way finished with our mission, hurling at half the speed of light.

The stars are all around us, we wish to visit them too someday, but we are on course for something greater.

The President has contacted us as well, telling us of more signals sent.

Messages such as “Come to paradise, we give gifts of peace and defense. We give power and fuel. We give the secrets of life themselves. Come to paradise.”

As we fly through the vacuum of space, in our small shuttle, those messages have only inspired us more.

***

With a flicker of the screen, the President came on, looking older than before. His eyes were slightly paler, but then again, his skin was as well. 

“My fellow Americans, it has been only two years.” he said, “And yet, the messages between us and our star friends have only increased. And I can say that without a shred of doubt, our friends are looking out for us. They give gifts of power, peace, and defense. ‘Come to paradise,’ they say. We have been blessed for futurity, and nothing, not even a war, can harm us. Paradise is coming, paradise is coming. . .”

Of course, that’s what most feared: war. There were already rumors then of a second cold war, not fueled by the economy this time, but rather by the promise of a foreign people. Bombs were dropped on nations who set for paradise themselves, there was now a race to utopia.

The military sirens played again as the screen cut to the outside of the White House, the smog covered sky worried them, but “Paradise was coming. . .”

***

Four years, we are halfway through our trip.

The resources have lasted us, but they aren’t going to forever.

The last contact we had from Earth told us of possible war. Most of my colleagues tell me not to worry, but I can’t help myself. What if all this was for nothing?

“They promised us gifts,” a colleague says, “We don’t need to worry much about food and water, we don’t need to worry about war!”

Despite the worry, paradise is coming soon, just another four years.

In the meantime, we can only hope that the gifts will be plenty. . .

***

The screens turned on as gunshots rang in the distance. Humanity gathered around them once more, from their bomb shelters and bunkers, to mark the anniversary of the great launch. They were frightened of course, as a missile warning had been flashing on the screen for a month already, but the promise of paradise was still alive.

The President appeared on the screen, he had aged quite a bit this time, but he was still very much alive.

“Hello,” he said, “Today, four years after the initial launch, marks the day that mission control lost contact with the probe to Alpha Centauri, and with thoughts of war cycling through one’s head at this time of tension, it may seem like dark times are approaching. Though, we must be patient, as it’s the only good thing to do. War will not be our downfall, hope is not lost! Paradise. Is. Coming!”

The screen cut to the outside of the White House. The backs of strangers are seen guarding the front gate. The sky, still covered in smog, poisoning the soldiers below. 

This had been a sorry sight to see for many, especially for those that saw the initial launch. Now, it seemed like paradise was no longer just promised by those strangers from a different sky, but also by the President himself.

“Paradise is coming,” they repeated to themselves, “Paradise is coming.”

***

Six years later.

We have lost contact with Earth a long time ago, but our morale remains high, as we know that it is only two years until we meet our star friends.

Some of us have taken to guessing how they’ll look like, others have taken to sending them a message as a way of saying that we are on our way.

Most of us, however, are just waiting patiently for our view of paradise and hoping that war has not ravaged our homes.

We will be signing off for now, our next log should be just before we reach paradise.

Godspeed. 

***

The television had been off for some time, but the anniversary of the launch called for a message from the President. Most did not watch, however, as the power was reserved for emergencies only. The idiot box still attracted idiots, however, and thus, the ancient President appeared.

“Greetings,” he said, “Two more years have gone by since paradise was promised to us, and yet, it has come to my attention that the tension is only rising. And thus, war is no doubt a possibility.”

He talked as if all was fine as if the war had not already broken out. As if bombs had not already been dropped. As if the casualties were just from civil unrest. At any rate, the fool kept talking, as the sirens rang for another time. The President gently grinned at the camera, his crooked teeth went from ear to ear.

“Though,” he continued, “We must not lose hope. We must not let our world be locked away by the high degree of political and religious dogma that controls today’s time. Therefore, we can only wait. Paradise. Is. Promised. We simply have to wait.”

The screen cut to black, and the usual silence resumed.

An explosion went off in the distance.

“Paradise is coming,” all thought, still yearning for that day, “Paradise is coming.”

***

It has been eight years since our initial launch date.

We are landing shortly.

At this point, we are conserving the power to collect whatever gifts lay below.

So far, no one has greeted us, but we have sent our messages.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Landing in Paradise.

***

Eight years after the initial launch, humanity was at war with itself, cities had been destroyed and blown to smithereens, countries had been obliterated off the face of the Earth. Yet, somehow, life still prevailed, and thus, the idiot box still turned on to viewers as the sounds of gunshots and bombs went off in the city.

An old man, with pale skin and dull eyes in the oval office.

“The time has come. The time of bullets and blood. The time of darkness. The war has commenced and it seems as if all is lost.”

The screen flickered, he had told them what they knew from the beginning.

“We must not lose hope, however. Our enemies know of our power. Our skies have been clad with bombs for long enough. The crew has landed, and paradise is coming. . .Paradise. Is. Coming.”

The screen cut.

The sound of a falling bomb rang through the city as the screens flashed a missile warning. The families all ran for cover and yet, paradise was still coming. They had hope, however. They knew that they were now manned by a certain type of force, notably death. Still, hope roamed.

***

Fifteen years later.

We apologize for our long response, but we had to conserve power.

It has been fifteen years, and since that time, we’ve arrived at our destination.

With no gifts.

No power.

No peace and no defense.

Needless to say, paradise was a lie, and we are on our way back.

The mission was a failure, the planet was empty, and our paradise was a bereft land, marked with nothing but the corpses of strangers.

We understood then that we spoke to spirits, to creatures long since dead.

And what could we do?

We ran.

Back to the probe, and set a destination for home.

The years feel like seconds, but Earth is near.

We apologize, but we have to sign off once more, power is crucial.

***

The idiot box turned on.

Humanity’s population had reduced to a little under a million, and in the face of war and environmental devastation, it stood decimated. Still, they all ran to the screen, hoping all had not been lost.

The President came on screen.

Emaciated, blind, and seemingly lifeless, with nothing to say.

The screen cut as soon as it turned on.

The harvest is barren, the water is tainted, but the hope of a promised paradise tantalizing in the heads of all is enough for them to persevere.

“Paradise is coming.”

The television turned off as the voice of a dead man still echoed. They saw themselves, for the first time in a long time, in the reflection of the black screen. They saw grotesque figures that were once humankind. They saw starving creatures with leather skin. They saw decades of filth stamped across their faces.

“Paradise is coming.” They still held on.

Something approached Jupiter.

“Paradise is coming.”

***

After all has been said and done, the probe once sent to reach paradise, was to join its Earth brethren again. With disappointment, yes, but also, with relief that it would see home again.

The probe had just passed the Moon when the voice of the pilot inside rang out.

“In all,” he said, “This journey may have been in vain. Maybe we were blind, searching for utopia while our world was sent into shambles. At the end of it all, however, we return with knowledge. We spent all our lives hoping for paradise, and in the end, we had to go to paradise ourselves. Of course, we were excited. Maybe we were even ready to start that new chapter. Despite it all, we now realize something we never realized before. . .”

All was gone, save for the last remaining screen on Earth, the fail-safe camera captured the probe.

The idiot box turned on to a scene of the probe landing.

“We realized our mistake.”

The probe edged closer to the surface.

“We realized the danger of our dreams.”

The screen cut to the probe landing in a singed wheat field. The sunset sky came in as the probe door slowly began to open.

The audio went to static and a familiar voice started playing. It was worn, of course, the audio had seen age.

“Of course, things weren’t always this simple. The world wasn’t always filled with weary strangers reminiscing of some far-off land, secluded in storybooks and guarded by mountain people. . .”

The pilot spoke again.

“Among the garden, nobody was found.”

“Paradise is coming.” The audio kept switching in and out, President and pilot.

“Not in the hydrangeas, the tulips, nor the roses.”

“We are now greeted by a foreign force.”

“Not in the rabbit fields, the apple trees, nor the vineyard.”

“Paradise. Is. Coming.” 

The door was halfway open. A foot could be seen as the first glimpse of the humans sent came into view.

“Not even in the great forest.”

“We have been chosen and we will survive.” 

“No, not a soul.”

“We must not lose hope.” 

The door stood open, the dying sun shed its light on the astronauts.

“And thus, the sun had set on the garden a final time.”

“The time has come.” 

“As it withered away-”

“The time of bullets and blood.”

“Mote.”

Within their suits did not stand flesh, mind, or heart. Simply bones remained, as with all of humanity. Orion came out once more and fared well the astronauts once more.

“The time of darkness.”

“By.”

“Paradise is coming.” 

“Mote.”

“Paradise. Is. Coming.” 

And the sun did set.

“Paradise. Is. Coming.”