Byron's Last Ride

“Never fails to take your breath away, does it?”

Byron’s father spoke of the stunning view of Earth from the panoramic viewing window in the orbital dwelling they called home.

“No,” Byron answered.

Two hundred and fifty miles below, Planet Earth sailed along regally in space. Byron’s finger tapped idly on the slender glass in his hand as he watched the passing continents and oceans. Thirty years of living had not dulled his appreciation for the sight.

He listened to the sounds of laughter, conversation and clinking glasses emanating from the reception being held in his honor. Pleasant music from a corner stereo filled up any remaining pockets of silence.

“How do you feel?” his father asked.

“Good. I really feel good,” It was an honest answer.

“What did the doctor say?”

"I have about a week before things get really bad."

His father quaffed the rest of his drink. “Any symptoms yet?”

“Minor ones. Nothing debilitating. Not yet.”

“I see.”

“How’s Mom?”

Byron’s father glanced behind to the gathering of people in the elegantly decorated apartment. He caught sight of Byron’s beautiful mother making the rounds, visiting and thanking people for coming.

“She’s fine. Disappointed, of course, but fine. No parent ever expects their child to take the ride before they do.”

“I know.”

The two men resumed their silent gaze of Earth.

“Do you ever regret not growing up on Earth?” his father asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Me, too. Where would you have chosen to live?”

Byron thought for a moment. “Africa.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I fell in love with it during our vacation there. That would have been my home.”

“Interesting.”

“Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like to walk on its soil or swim in its rivers and lakes. Just once, I wish I could have done all that under my own power, without those cursed machines.”

Their orbital home rotated at a velocity that provided gravity at two-thirds that of Earth. While it gave space-dwellers prolonged life by sparing them the harmful effects of Earth gravity, it robbed their bodies of the ability to withstand Earth’s gravitational pull, and they were forced to move about on Earth with the aid of walking machines. It was the price space-dwellers paid for their longer lives.

A man in a gray and blue bodysuit wove through the crowd toward Byron. Heads turned and people whispered as he went by. He stood next to Byron, gave a slight nod of the head and left as briskly as he arrived. Byron turned to his father.

“It’s time,” Byron said. “It's ready.”

His father turned and faced the gathering.

“My friends! May I have your attention please?”

The dull chattering died down.

“Thank you all for coming. As you know, we are here to say farewell to our friend and son, Byron.”

Polite applause swept through the room.

“I’m sure most of us thought we would see the Great Beyond long before Byron. Byron always was the impatient one. Born premature, graduated early . . . I guess this is the proper order of things.”

Muted laughter followed as Byron smiled.

“I could go on, but I suppose that wouldn’t be appropriate. I’m afraid that bittersweet hour is upon us. I ask you all to say your quick goodbye as you make your way home. Thank you again.”

People set their glasses down and quickly formed a line to shake Byron’s hand or give him a hug as they left the reception. There no tears, only smiles, well wishes and a few expressions of jealousy. In a matter of minutes, Byron and his parents were alone in the apartment he had called home most of his life. The official returned.

Byron took one last look around the apartment, remembering holidays, conversations and other random memories that leapt out, demanding to be considered one last time.

Byron turned to take in one more look at Earth. The ride would leave with the planet at his back, so this was his last opportunity. Africa slowly made its way across the viewing window. He studied the brown terrain, trying to pinpoint an area he might have called his own. He focused on a green area near a lake. That would have been the place.

He turned away and left with his parents to follow the official. They walked down a quiet, carpeted hallway. The group stopped before an unmarked door. The official tapped a code into a keypad, and the door whisked open. The official led Byron and his parents into a small foyer. He opened a second door and turned to Byron.

“I’ll be in here when you’re ready.”

He stepped through the doorway, leaving them alone. Byron shifted his weight, wondering what to say.

“How long do you think you’ll wait?” his father asked. His mother looked curious.

“Well . . . I don’t know. To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“You ought to at least wait until you’ve passed the Moon,” his mother said.

“Oh, yes!” his father said. “I’ve heard it’s a grand sight as you fly over. They always salute the pods flying by.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely, they give you a ‘Fare Thee Well’ with strobe lights and spotlights as you pass over. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I don’t think I will.”

They stood in silence. Byron’s father extended his hand, and Byron took it. Byron’s smile faded to a look of nostalgic sadness.

“Goodbye, son,” his father said with more of a croak in his voice than he was comfortable with.

“Goodbye, dad.”

His mother hugged him tightly around the neck. “We’re so proud of you. We’ll miss you!”

“I’ll miss you, too, Mom.”

They stood facing each other.

“Well, then,” his father said, standing up straight. “We’d best be going.”

“Okay,” Byron said. “I’ll see you on the other side?”

“You can count on it,” his father said.

His mother smiled, and Bryon felt relief that he detected only the slightest bit of sadness behind it.

They turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Byron entered the next room and saw the one-person pod sitting in the center of a small hangar. The official stood outside the tiny spacecraft typing instructions into a computer housed in a side panel. The pod stood about ten feet high, and widened to about twelve feet wide at the center.

“Ah, hello, Byron,” the official said as he closed the lid that protected the computer. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Right this way.”

The official led Byron to the entrance of the pod. Byron mounted three steps and entered a small cockpit. He saw computers and machines similar to the ones in his apartment.

“All the amenities are here. Food processors here, toilet facilities through that hatch on the left. If you’ll just go through that opening to your right . . .”

Byron went through the opening and settled into the chair in the cockpit. The official leaned in and strapped Byron to the chair. He tugged at the restraints, making sure they were snug.

“Comfortable?”

“Oh, yes. Very comfortable.”

“This will be where you spend most of your time,” the official said. “The chair reclines for you to sleep.”

“Okay.”

“Everything is automated, navigation included. We will not initiate contact under any circumstances.”

“I understand.”

“If you need to contact us for any reason, just use voice command on the computer.”

“Got it.”

“If you want to read a book or view a film on the display screen, just speak the commands like you would at home, and the computer will do the rest. There’s a food and drink console to your right. The only thing you have to activate manually is the sleep button.”

The official pointed to a red, plastic-capped button to his right. That was the button that would end the ride. Byron stifled a chuckle at the term “sleep button.”

“When you feel that it’s time, take this key—“ he held up a small brass key on a chain, “and unlock the cap. Your thumbprint is coded into the computer. You must hold your thumb on the button for five seconds.” He placed the key ring around Byron’s neck.

“What happens then?”

“You won’t feel anything. The sleep air is colorless and odorless. After you press the button, you’ll fall asleep.”

“Then what?”

“When the pod’s computers no longer detect vital signs, it will self-destruct.”

“I see.”

“Any more questions?”

“Just one. How long do people wait before they . . . “

“It’s always different. Some wait hours, some wait days. Some have even waited years.”

“Really?”

“It depends on the individual and their ailment. If you’re asking my advice, I’d say hold out until your symptoms begin to cause you discomfort. It’s quite a view.”

“So I’m told.”

“Anything else?”

Byron sighed heavily, excited and nervous at the same time. “No. I don’t think so.”

“In that case, I’ll seal you in.”

“Thank you.”

The Official shook Byron’s hand. “Sail on, my friend. And remember, a man’s life is his own.”

“Thank you.”

The Official ducked out of the pod and shut and sealed the hatch. Byron watched with fascination as the hangar doors slowly slid open, revealing the Moon framed by a glittering carpet of stars. It did not quite match the splendor of the view he had of Earth, but it would certainly do.

The pod eased forward as the small engines gained power. When the pod floated free from the hangar, the engines activated, and the pod darted away. Although the pod’s propulsion started with moderate power, it slowly gained momentum until the craft bulleted through space toward the Moon.

A gentle wave of contentment settled over Byron as he contemplated the view before him. Although the Moon slowly grew larger, the stars didn’t change. He wished he had the time to approach the nearest star.

He looked down to the computer screen, situated below the viewing window. The word COMMAND? flashed on the blue square.

“Open Library,” he said.

“Complying. Book or article?”

“Book.”

“Fiction or non-fiction?”

“Fiction.”

“Please state desired author or title. Or begin general search.”

Byron thought for a moment. He wanted to hear something old. Something before space travel and space living was a way of life for humanity. Something written when the concept of humans traveling in space was a silly idea. For that, he would have to go back centuries. But how many? He could ask the computer, but he wanted to try to remember on his own. When did humans first fly into space? If his knowledge of history served him, he estimated it was the middle of the twentieth century. The computer patiently waited for his command.

“Scan first half of twentieth century, recommend titles alluding to space travel . . .”

He looked up at the glowing white sphere.

“ . . . the Moon in particular.”

Moments later, the computer spoke. “Recommended title: First Men on the Moon, author, Herbert George Wells.”

Byron nodded in satisfaction. “Accepted. Begin reading.”

A pleasant female voice began to read the tale as Byron settled back to watch the Moon get larger.

“As I sit down to write here amidst the shadows . . . “

As the narration continued, he passed over the Moon.

His father had been right. The passage over the moon was spectacular. The docking stations and tall buildings greeted his passage with a dazzling array of flashing lights.

The voice continued to read. It had read the same title five times, but Byron had yet to tire of it. The more he listened, the more exciting his journey became. Feeling like a fool, but not really caring, he waved to the inhabitants of the moon colonies. He was certain that somewhere down there, people were waving to him. The pod quickly passed over the Moon, and the sparkling light display was suddenly over. He leaned back into his chair, and he heard the voice reciting what he now knew to be the last few paragraphs.

The Moon was gone from the dark, sparkling canvas ahead, and the interior of his pod grew dark. He smiled contentedly as he listened to the story. It was said—although Byron had no idea how anyone would know—that those on their last Ride always knew when it was time. It did not matter, Byron supposed. They were right.

He removed the key chain from around his head and inserted the key into the plastic cap covering the Sleep Button. He turned the key, and the cap fell away. His thumb hovered over the button as he wondered what his last thoughts should be. He thought of old friends. He thought of Africa. When he thought of Mom and Dad, his thumb settled on the button. He heard a soft hiss as the air began to change. He settled back into his chair and immediately began to feel drowsy. He could not help but marvel at the speed with which it worked. He felt so tired. His eyelids grew irresistibly heavy, and he drifted into sleep.

The voice continued to read his selected book as a second voice spoke over it.

“Life signals no longer detected. Disintegration sequence initiated.”

The pod began to rumble and shake as it began the process of destroying itself. Just before it completed its final duty, before the craft and its occupant became part of the universe, the first engaging voice concluded its narration.

“ . . . out of all speech or sign of his fellows, for evermore into the Unknown—into the dark, into that silence that has no end.”