Residuum

Most of us believe - or hope - that at least some aspects of our lives and the world around us hold a degree of permanence. Though we exchange idioms such as "nothing is certain but death and taxes," we also say "the earth will keep turning," and put some faith in immutability - the love for our children, the phases of the moon, the certainty that the sun will predictably rise and set every morning. However, the universe also seems to tell us that absolutely nothing is unchangable, that nothing remains as it is forever. Hang around long enough, and the impossible is possible, forever is finite, the unmovable object vanishes.

Our best guesses at the fate of our world, solar system, and universe in the far future are based on what we have observed to date by looking "back in time" through powerful telescopes. Through them, we see the universe as it once was, countless years ago, and can extrapolate, with an unknown degree of certainty, the future.

The sun burns hydrogen; it has for a very long time, and will continue to do so for just about as long. That hydrogen is finite, however, and as it disappears, it is replaced by helium. When the hydrogen is expended, the sun switches to burning that helium, which will greatly increase the size and lumonisty of the sun. Oceans will evaporate, and our "pale blue dot" will become an inhospitable rock in space. Some believe the earth will be engulfed as the sun, now a red giant, expands; others believe the earth's orbit may shift and engulfment is not a certanity.

Regardless, after countless years in the red giant phase, the sun will slowly collapse upon itself, becoming a white dwarf. Incredibly heavy with nearly the mass of the current sun, it will shrink to the size of earth. It will still emit heat and light, but only in the form of leftover heat from the eons of nuclear fusion, like the heat from a potato when removed from the oven.

Though different stars have different terminal paths, eventually, stars will die out and leave behind these remains in an increasing cold and dim universe. Humanity, if it is to survive, will huddle around these dead and dying stars like small campfires in a vast, empty desert.

--

About six billion years from now...

The console by Captain Taylor beeped softly. Though it was only 0515, he was already awake, tossing and turning in an attempt to rest until his watch started at 0700. There was very little work to do, and the monotony was doubly intense when he was overtired. He sighed.

"Yes?" he said with a croak. He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

The computer spoke quietly, cognazant of the time of day. "The PPS detected a potentially suitable location approximately 1.5 light years off our present course. Recommend altering trajectory to intercept."

Taylor sat up so quickly, he briefly saw spots. "Yes, absolutely," he said. After a pause, he added, "Increase speed to maximum tolerance."

"Acknowledged," the computer said, and went silent. Taylor fell back to his pillow, lost in thought. The power reserves were quite low, but he thought they could make the trip expending extra fuel, assuming they could live on this planet.

This ship was a planet hopper, originally one of many that jumped from planet to planet orbiting stellar remnants. Now, no one knew how many ships were left; they deliberately took separate courses to increase their chances of finding sources of energy. Communication between them was frequent at first, a welcome diversion in the depths of space. For quite some time after that, they were still able to communicate, but with increasingly long delays in reciving transmissions, until the point where further communication was pointless.

For all Taylor and his crew of nearly 1,000 knew, they were the last of their species, alone in the universe. It was a chilling thought, and everyone did their best to divert their attention away from this existential dread.

A series of chimes interrupted Taylor's thoughts. "Come in, Aaron," he said, again sitting up and reaching for his pants.

Taylor's first officer walked in, his eyes wide. He didn't comment on Taylor's apparent clarivoyance; after so many years together, their behaviors and patterns were fairly easy to predict.

"I just got the update - is it really that close? How did we miss it?"

Taylor smiled. "Yes, apparently so. I don't know, probably because the energy readings are so low. It was likely obscured from our sensors by debris."

"But still, if there's anything at all, we can recharge and maybe even settle for a generation!" Aaron said, barely concealing his excitement. "At least for 10, maybe 20 years."

Well, why not, Taylor thought. Until now, they were facing the very real prospect of dying in space, adrift until the end of time. For years they lived off dead stars, grasping whatever energy they could to replenish their meager supplies, always hoping to find a star with more life, a chance to do more than barely survive. Hope could be a dangerous thing - years in space had taught him that - but it also was the reason they continued on, day after day.

--

Taylor stared intently at the viewscreen, as did his entire crew. Aaron sat to his left, bouncing his leg subconsciously until Taylor glanced at him.

"Do you think we came from this area of space?" Aaron asked.

Of course, no one knew exactly where they came from; all they knew was their lives as constant nomads. Everyone had different theories, none of which could be proven. People spoke quietly in the mess hall, huddled around tables by windows revealing nothing to see about the universe as it existed millenia ago, when there were so many stars, they practically lit the cosmos like floodlights. Taylor found these stories extremely dubious, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't consider it.

Yet, as far as anyone knew, this was how the universe always was, a constellation of rocks amidst tiny flickers of light, all going dim at their own pace. Death meant permanent darkness, and

On the viewscreen was a dim light, rapidly inreasing in size and intensity. Next to it, a small, dark planet also came into view.

"Sir?" Aaron said, his voice two octaves higher.

Taylor looked at him, his eyebrows raised.

"That planet is showing an atmosphere! Not much of one, but it's there."

Taylor said nothing, afraid the thumping of his heart would give him away. He knew he needed to project calmness for his crew, and he took a deep breath before responding.

"Breathable?" he said, afraid for the answer.

Aaron didn't speak, his eyes glued to his computer console, his mouth a tight line. He slowly nodded.

Taylor pressed a button. "Shuttle bay, prepare for a small pod departure."

--

Once they landed on the surface, completed the requisite safety checks, and stood on the barren rocks, Taylor was more convinced than ever that this was all a dream. This planet was a giant rock in space, barely more than that, but to him it seemed like Eden. They could breathe - barely - the limited oxygen available on this surface, which was a phenomeon his grandfather had told him about, but he never believed possible.

As he and his crew looked up, they stood mezmorized by the light of the sun. It shone faintly, but he found with immeasurable joy that looking at it hurt his eyes, like looking directly at a light fixture. Yet, he found it difficult to look away. When he finally did, he looked at each of his landing party in turn, and noticed with a start that they were all casting pale shadows against the craggy rocks.

They could survive, and even thrive here. The energy from this faint star would easily power their equipment, and they could develop techniques to harness and utilize every single photon of available light for generations to come. For the first time in his life, Taylor was home, on an unremarkable planet by a dim and dying sun, a paradise beyond his wildest imagination.