The Jovian's

The air is always heavier when plagued by the weight of the world.

It was so thick; I felt like suffocating. Each breath felt like I was inhaling my own carbon dioxide- a stagnant, hot feeling. It swelled inside my lungs, poisoning every inch of my inner workings.

I stuck my head out the window to no avail. The dense feeling was hard to overlook, but I managed. Droplets of condensation had built up across the pane- an homage to the dramatic contrast of temperature inside my own room compared to that of the outside.

The consistent heat exhausted me, draining my body of life force and taking it as a spoil of war. I felt my eyelids growing heavy as I leaned through the open window, my upper half fitting completely through. I placed my arms against the precipitated frame, the ridges digging in harshly.

I sighed at the view before me- just as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and the day before: the Jovian's were no where in sight.

I knew we'd reach them eventually, but time seemed to drag for ages in the uniform "homes" we'd been placed in. Mom had tried to convince me it was due to their large size and distance that made them so difficult to track. Frankly, I didn't buy it. If we were advanced enough to travel this far, how are we not able to discern the location of the largest planets?

"Trust your Father, Nana. He hasn't lead us astray yet." She'd say when I asked.

Dad had been the head director for Project J-837 since I was three. I'm seventeen now. His ideology is that he will be the first to see the Jovian planets- Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. Only a handful of us were allowed to inhabit the craft that he manufactured sure to carry us to the Jovian's. Our family was one of the 30 chosen- in total, there were 97 of us.

Once or twice a week, Dad would come "home" in time for dinner speaking rapidly, excitement dripping from his face, "Nana, Nana! You should've seen it!" He'd exclaim, loudly. A smile wider than the galaxy dashing across his face.

I'd ask him what had happened and he go off, spurring an extravagant tale of wonder. Spewing tales of his explorations were his favorite of things to converse of, he never once spoke of anything else. He'd tell us how close we are to reaching the Jovian's, how we can already determine atmospheres and moons, how it was only a matter of time until they were within sight.

Every week, for the past six, seven, eight months- time was confusing here- he'd spew the same weightless words. The more he spoke of it, the more impatient and bored I grew. The anticipation that was once a mighty roar had dulled to nothing more than a quiet hum.

I could see where my father resided from my position on the window. The walls that lined his place of work were a thin, transparent lining. I could very faintly see him sitting on the highest level, the only one with a light still on. I could make out no discernible features but I knew it was my father, everyone else had gone home to their families... but not him.

"Still looking, mija?" My mother's distinctive voice spoke from behind me. I turned to look at her, a sad smile painted across her wizened face. I reciprocated the expression, before nodding my head.

"No planets yet, but he's still up there." I said, gesturing up to the far-away, single lit room that my father resided in. I could feel her growing closer as she moved by my side.

"Yup." She said with a small popping sound, "He phoned earlier and said he was swamped." I groaned under the implication: he wasn't coming home.

"Stop it, he works hard- you know that." She scolded.

"He's not even doing anything. I can see him, he's just sitting there, staring." I huffed, turning to sit on my bed, the only furniture within the forsaken room. Dad had said an overabundance of weight was unnecessary.

"He's excited, what's wrong with that?" She said, her voice scraping against her words as if she, herself, didn't believe what she was saying, "Y'know, he said that he was able to see two of Jupiter's moons from the Himalia group! It was-"

"Leda and Ersa." I say, "He told us that two months ago."

She frowns, "Please try to understand. I know it's difficult now, but, just imagine when we do end up seeing them. The first people to ever see the Jovian's in person! How cool is that?"

"It's not like there is any real point, though. We can't stand or walk or even showcase the fact that we did see them. We can't even get too close their atmosphere's; they'll crush us. We're going just to see them, wasting over a year to see something that I could've looked up on my phone."

"Stop it, Nana!" She exclaims, her voice extending to a high octave, "That kind of attitude is exactly what you need to avoid, I'm tired of hearing you complain day-in and day-out."

I huffed. I would never admit when my mother was right; today was no different. And honestly, I didn't feel as though she was right. I'd been feigning excitement and ignorance for the past months, but I knew the truth of what was going on, his extended workload, his repetition of facts and tidbits, his gradual strain when he spoke of our distance from the Jovian's.

We were lost in space.

I don't think Dad even had the faintest idea of where we were.

When this idea first arose in my head, I scolded myself for thinking so negatively. And yet, the longer we scoured aimlessly for planets ten times larger than our own... I can't imagine any other situation. This became clearer over time, the heat began to grow to an overwhelming temperature, the air becoming harder to intake.

I knew the longer we stayed out here, the smaller our window of opportunity to return home shrunk. Soon, things would become more difficult for us all. The heat would become unbearable, the air would be unbreathable. Food and water resources were already falling scarce, it was intensely noticeable in the skin that ran across our bodies. Our veins becoming more and more prominent as we went days on end with nothing more than a single bottle of water.

"Do you think..." I began suddenly before trailing off, realizing who I was talking to.

"Think what?" My mother asked, her attention diverted from my terrible attitude to whatever I wanted to talk about now.

I hadn't known how to word it in a way she'd understand. She belittle me no matter how softly I cushioned the question; it was inevitable and I knew that.

I bit the bullet.

"Do you think... Dad is one-hundred percent sure of where we are?" I asked, my words timid as though they were small child peeking out from its room.

Her eyebrows knit together, she frowned deeply, "What do you mean?"

"Well, like, does he know where we are?" I asked, slightly more confident in my tone- the question was out into the universe, there was no point in being afraid of the repercussions now.

"Like on the Craft?" She asked, referring to the floating machine that carried us through space, "Of course he knows where we are, he comes home all the time."

I mirrored her facial expression, frowning, "That's not what I meant."

She surprised me by nodding. The startling silver in her hair becoming ever the more prominent under the light of the universe that surrounded us- the scenery never changed and it was beginning to affect my sense of reality.

"I know." She whispered, "Frankly, I... I hope he does, but," She shrugged, "Who am I to know?"

That answer brought me no relief. Not only was this theory something she'd thought about, it was something she hadn't denied as well. That was truly terrifying.

The air inside the small room began to grow thicker and thicker, heavy with confusion and horror. If we were truly this far gone, was there any hope for redemption or survival?

My mother noticed my panic. She quickly dropped her mystified, saddened display and replaced it with a cheerful, positive one, "There's on reason to worry though, even if something were to have gone wrong, your father would've done anything in his power to fix it. I mean, look at him," She pointed up to the transparent fixture that held Dad, "He's still up there even though it's been well over three days. Have some faith."

She smiled once more before stand and moving to the open window, "Try to get some rest, okay?" She said for pulled the glass down onto the pane, shutting it tight.

She very well could've convinced me of her spectacle if she hadn't closed the window, for it revealed the truth within her charade. As her eyes fell sadly onto my father and her lower lip trembled: I knew the truth.

I'd likely die before I reached the age of 18.