Tellus | ONC 2020

091:04:23:08:52:48

Inside the concrete walls of the Space Center, the spacious Main Plaza has been cleared of exhibitions to host our pretentious gala. The music is playful, and the hall fills with growing electricity in the air, as the buzzing hoard of guests and press make their way back inside and resumes the festivities that we interrupted with our arrival. The celebrations are in honor of the Tellus XII mission, and this is the first time we officially meet the public. I already dislike it – a lot. We have of course been announced for almost a year, but since this is the first manned mission into deep space, StratComs decided it would be good if we started building up a momentum of public support during our training. Springer keeps reminding us of our upcoming fame, but nothing has really changed inside the walls of the Johnson Center, and if this is what awaits me in the outside world, I suddenly feel even more ready to leave this Earth. I feel like I'm at my debutant ball, hundreds of eyes looking at me with a sudden fascination or strange hunger, like I am a rare animal behind a fence or just an unexpected opportunity for someone to make a lot of money. Or both.

My gaze rises above the crowd to find the ceiling veiled by a misty cloud, in which dancing lights cast by laser projectors perform what will probably be the closest I'll ever be to experience the northern lights. Through the smoky mixture, my eyes settle on a series of numbers that are printed on the wall in black, each figure about as tall as me – and that's including these heels. 17 02 2101. The date of our scheduled departure. A swarm of butterflies unsettle in my stomach and a secretive smile subtly appears on my lips. To us, our lives will finally be starting, but to them, our lives on Earth are ending when we launch in two years. We will go into cryo sleep and they won't hear from us for nearly a century. We probably won't make it back. At least not in this century or the next.

We don't make it more than a few yards inside the building, before a newshawk cuts Sánchez off from the trail of Davis with a drone camera that almost cuts a strand of his hair. He performs a controlled halt and a rehearsed smile takes residence on his face.

"Commander Sánchez, how do you feel about your mission crew?" the woman sharply asks, her breath wheezy as if she had to fight the crowd to get to us. Which she probably did.

"My apologies, you are?" our commander awaits her answer with his eyebrows slightly raised.

"Charlie Fox from the Tomorrow Magazine," she points to the mike that she aims at him as dedicatedly as if it was a gun.

"Miss Gray–," a man not much taller than me calls out for my attention, and I turn around to find his young face pop out of the mass, looking just as nervous as me, "It is miss and not Mrs., right?"

"Uh, yes," I reply, startled. I did not even see this guy coming.

"Do you think your father wished for you to be on this mission?" He points a small recorder towards me, and I open my mouth, but the words struggle to organize themselves in a sensible order.

"My father– I," surprised to have my father brought up tonight, I am about to verbally slap him for not leaving me alone, but then I recall Nari's advice earlier, "I mean. My father lived to make the Tellus program reality. This mission would not have been possible without him. Me being here is both his dream and mine."

I am actually quite surprised that such judicious words are capable of coming out of this mouth. The journalist in front of me smiles softly.

"Sebastian Gray was a great man of science. His research and sacrifice changed everything."

"Thank you," I say in a small voice. Talking about my father has caused a small knot to form inside me, and I turn back to Nari, anxious to move on, but our path is still obstructed by Sánchez and the eager Tomorrow journalist.