Better Late Than Never

Mornings were always the hardest, but I could never decide why. Maybe it was the blue-white tint of the sunrise, a far cry from the red-gold I remembered from my childhood. Or perhaps it was the dread of facing another day as Professor Dylan, the only job I was qualified to perform.

Either way, coffee was the only thing that got me through the day. Well, a dark coffee-like substance. It had almost the right color and aroma, but like so many other things here, it wasn’t quite the same. Usually, a healthy pour of whiskey in it was enough to make me forget the differences. At least the whiskey tasted just as I remembered.

From beside the sink, I grabbed my mug, one of the few possessions I still retained from my old life. Block gold letters covered the black ceramic. With a practiced gesture, I turned the mug and traced each character with a finger.

The clock on the wall beeped twice, intruding on my contemplation of the mug. Damn it. I'm late again. No time for the coffee-like substance this morning. I poured a dose of whiskey into the mug and downed it, ignoring the familiar burn in my throat. The bottle and mug went in my bag as I went out the door – It was likely I would need both before the end of the day.

The classroom was full when I arrived, a full five minutes after the bell. From somewhere in the back, I heard a faint, hated murmur.

“Better late than never.”

Those damned words followed me everywhere. Ignoring the voice, I dropped my bag next to the podium and winced at the telltale clink of bottle against mug within.

“Let’s get started,” I said to the class. “Who remembers where we left off yesterday?” Blank stares assaulted me. My esteemed students. Empty-headed, spoiled brats. They didn’t know hopelessness, what it was like not to know where you fit anymore. To lose everything. They had been born with their nice, neat place in the world assured.

I hated them.

“Anyone?” I said.

“We were talking about the early colonization of the outer planets, Professor Dylan,” said a girl in the front row.

“Yes,” I said. One of them had decided to show a brain today. Lucky me. “As early as 2028, humans had established a handful of outposts in the Solar System. The Moon. Mars. Rygher Station around Jupiter. But as we discussed yesterday, none of these were viable long term solutions. They were merely bubbles of humanity in a hostile environment, where even the smallest failure meant death. After the failure of Marineris Station on Mars in 2043, there were calls to end the colonization programs completely.”      

A quick tap on the podium brought the screen behind me to life. “But as you can see, by 2050 it didn’t matter. We’d found new habitable planets, perfect for humanity. After over a decade of preparation, the first ships launched in 2063. It was a long trip. To survive it, they froze the crew of each ship.” I chuckled. “Like a TV dinner.”

“A what?” the brainy girl asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Way before your time. Moving on. Everything changed in 2067. Do any of you remember what happened?”

In the front row, a dark-haired boy’s hand shot up. “The Marsh-Ross field was discovered.”  

I smiled. One of them had actually learned something. For a fleeting moment, I almost felt like a real professor.

“Very good,” I said. “And in less than a decade after the field’s discovery, we’d developed a workable model for faster-than-light travel. Trips that would have taken decades or centuries could be made in weeks or months.

“Is that why they called all of those old ships back?” the same student asked.

I nodded. “Yes. In 2078, less than fifteen years after their departure, they sent out the call to bring the ships home. The original colonists woke up back on Earth. All of their risk and sacrifice for nothing.” I grabbed the podium to steady myself. “Thirty years gone in the blink of an eye.”

I looked out across the classroom. Not a flicker of emotion. They didn’t understand, or they didn't care. I wasn't sure which was worse. I loathed them more than ever.

“What about the last ship? The one that was in the news when it showed up here a few years ago?” The dark-haired boy’s question pulled me back to the present.         

Breathe.

“The Sky Venture,” I said.

“Yeah. That one. Why didn’t it go back to Earth with the others?”

“Something went wrong,” I said. “No one was exactly sure why, but the ship never received the message to return. And right on schedule, it arrived at its original destination. Here.”

“My parents told me they had it easy,” the dark-haired boy said. “Showing up after the hard work was already done. That they should all be grateful we let them stay and freeload.”

The little bastard had the audacity to smirk.

“Grateful?” I roared. “The people on that ship have given up more than you can ever imagine!” I pointed to the back of the room, my entire body shaking with anger. “Get out. All of you!”

As one, they went.

Alone in the empty classroom, my rage fled. No doubt, my students were already spreading even more stories about crazy Professor Dylan. I shoved the podium aside to retrieve my bag and pulled out the mug and bottle. My hands shook as I poured, little drops of whiskey spilling across the golden letters I knew by heart, inscribed on the mug. Sky Venture.

We had arrived to colonize a world exactly one hundred and fourteen years too late. The hated words I’d heard on repeat since arrival echoed in my mind.

Better. Late. Than. Never.

It was the best joke in the universe. Whiskey forgotten in my hand, I leaned against the podium and laughed and laughed. Until at last, my laughter turned to tears.