Return to Earth

It was the same dream every time I sleep. I see the Earth break in two and implode. We were just past the Moon when it happened. Then, I see the time move from 0 years to 300 years. I look back up to see the Earth there, intact.

We have been traveling through interstellar space for 200 years now. We were heading to the closest star to our Sun, Proxima Centauri.

Is the Earth really intact as I saw in my dream? Should we at least go back and take a look to confirm?

There are three of us in charge — Captain, Navigator, and Nerd. The Navigator’s job is the most boring because the ship mostly runs on its own once the course is set. The Nerd keeps the computer and the game running. The 200 souls on board the ship are kept engaged by playing a massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) called Escape.

On the bridge, I am in the section just behind the nose cone of our ship, Earth Escape. This is where the ship and the game are controlled from. I stand near the control. The Navigator sits in a chair behind a bevy of screens that help monitor the ship. The Nerd is at the back of the bridge, looking at two screens and typing something furiously into the augmented reality keyboard suspended in space.

I tell my Navigator, “I think we should turn back.”

She does not take me seriously. Her expression does not even change. She keeps her eye on the engine readouts.

“I am serious,” I say once again.

She looks up from her readouts. She smiles weakly and then returns to her readouts again. I don’t understand what fascinates her about these readouts. How is that more interesting than what I am saying?

“Is there any issue with the engine?” I ask.
She only shakes her head to denote no. But she is still focused on the readout.

I look at the controls. It’s not that complicated. It has the same layout as Escape’s controls. The most frequently used button on Escape is the back button. I have pressed the back button on my game controls numerous times. This one seemed hardly used. I press it.

She pounces on me and has me on the floor. But she is too late.

There is a slight jerk but the ship stays the course. Even the engine seems to think that I am joking. There seems to have been no reaction to my action.

But, unlike the Navigator, the ship is a machine. It is bound to listen to the commands of its master. It seemed like the ship remembered that now. It breaks and begins to slow down. After a while, the ship reaches a near-complete halt.

The computer screen demands — Destination.

I get up.

“Origin,” I say. Then type in 0,0,0,0 to denote Earth.

The engine shudders back to life.