See Ya Later

“See ya later,” I say to Nuha as I lug the heavy duffel bag over my shoulder. “Be good to your mom for me, okay?” Nuha nods her head, and I give her one last hug before she runs over to Fay. 

“Can we go now?” she asks Fay. “It’s so boring here.” I smile. The dimly lit corridor is pretty boring. For an organization that prides itself on employee satisfaction, STAG sure doesn’t have a lively atmosphere. “We can pick baba up later.” My smile wavers. She isn’t grasping how long I’m gonna be gone. For her, this is just a regular ol’ trip. When will the realization hit that I’m not coming back for a long time? One week? Two weeks?

Fay looks at Nuha with a solemn expression that’s not apparent in her tone of voice. “Definitely! Let’s go.” They turn in the other direction and start walking hand in hand. Fay glances at me and gives me the look. The ‘you better know what you’re doing’ look. She doesn’t approve of what I’m doing and she hasn’t kept quiet about it. But I know what I’m doing is the right thing, how many people it’ll help. To keep some of her concerns at bay, I do the only thing I can: lip-sync to the titular line of a pop song from fifteen years ago. She shakes her head and chuckles before turning away. 

∗∗∗

The spacecraft is a bulky thing with barely any leg-room. It’s the shape of a giant hamster wheel, which looks kind of stupid. I lie flat on my back as the countdown begins. The gargantuan ceiling opens up, revealing a beautiful blue sky with a few clouds dotting the canvas. It took forty-five years to get to this day. The guy who discovered that traveling at the speed of light was possible is among the legion of engineers, scientists, and other important people, now eighty-six. They are all watching over a mile away at STAG headquarters where Fay and Nuha are, as well as the press trying to get decent coverage of the event. The goal is simple: Travel to Mars and be the first person to ever step foot on the planet. Show people that living there, if things ever get to the point where we have to, wouldn’t be impossible. 

As the countdown reaches its final few seconds, the nerves really start to eat away at me. 

5…

Once I’m in orbit there will be no way to contact me. 

4…

I could die.

3…

Or I could literally save all of humanity.

2…

I might never see my daughter again.

1…

Fay is gonna be so pissed at me if I die. 

0…

Not even a millisecond after the countdown reaches zero, I lose consciousness. 

∗∗∗

I don’t know how much time has passed since the spacecraft crash-landed wherever I am. I wake up to find out that I’m still breathing even though the oxygen tanks are dead. Groggily, I step outside the flight deck without my helmet on. I’m completely fine to my bewilderment and look around. A thick forest surrounds me. It’s the dead of night and a moon dimly shines luminescent light upon me.

Definitely not Mars.

Deciding that I must somehow still be on Earth, I grab my duffel bag from the cargo bay and start walking. “I’m probably in the Amazon or some other dense jungle,” I say aloud. The strange part is that everything is silent. No sign of animal or human life in sight. The idea that this isn’t Earth crosses my mind, but I quickly dismiss it. It’s too out there of a theory.

I try to find a vantage point that I could use to potentially figure out where I am, but I am surrounded by nothing but trees, trees, and more trees. Lush greenery that I cannot properly admire in my current situation. If only I had some means of communication. Anything would do.

After what feels like about an hour of walking, I find what I’m looking for. It’s a cliff, higher than any of the trees in the area. And climbable too. So I get to work. Years of training have prepared me for this. I’m confident in my physical strength and coordination. Things are going well until something sharp pricks my palms. I can’t tell what it is in the darkness but it makes me falter and nearly fall. I’m able to hang on out of sheer luck and make it to the top.

I scan my surroundings. All I can see is forest. It stretches for miles upon miles, as far as the eye can see. I take out a handheld telescope from the duffel bag and start looking for anything unusual. It takes me a few minutes to finally notice, but when I do, a sinking feeling settles in. 

I’m not quite sure what it is, but it’s unlike anything on Earth. A squid-like creature the size of a Jeep, its skin the same hue as inky darkness. With its razor-sharp teeth, it feasts on a much smaller creature that appears to be of the same species. 

I hold my breath until the thing finishes its meal and scurries away, out of sight. The second it does, I collapse. My mind is racing and I take deep breaths to prevent myself from throwing up. As someone who’s never really struggled with dealing with stress under pressure, I can confidently say that this is the worst feeling I’ve ever experienced. 

When the panic dies down a little, the existential dread settles in. I’m not on Earth. Or Mars. Or any other planet in the solar system. I could be anywhere in the universe for all I know. And even though this planet is more than inhabitable, it serves no purpose to the good of humanity if I can’t get back to Earth.

If I can’t get back, which is logistically very likely, I’ll be forever be seen as the guy who was lost to space in a tragic accident.

To my colleagues, to the media, and to the two most important people in my life.