Published: 2025-09-13

The first rocket of the Space Tourism Program left Earth on May 22nd, 2052. Twelve civilians were aboard the vessel, eight of them were men and the other four were women. The ship was scheduled to leave from a GoRockets launchpad in Indiana, and the trip would last four days. The ship was equipped with enough fuel and provisions for the crew and passengers to live fourteen days if necessary. It’s been seven days since the rocket left planet Earth.

John Carpenter, the commander of the ship, started the day by ordering the pilot to check if systems were operational. The pilot was Edward Mercado, a young, gifted engineer. Edward checked his instruments in the cockpit, “All systems are operational, sir.” He said. John wrote in his log: “May 29th, 2052. Morning. All systems are operational as verified by engineer Edward Mercado.” He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Try contacting the command center.” Edward leaned forward and spoke into the microphone, “Command center, here flight STP-001. Do you copy?” He waited a couple of seconds before broadcasting his message once again. No response whatsoever. “Try using the emergency frequency to contact NASA.” John said. Edward changed to emergency frequency and spoke into the microphone. “This is private flight STP-001 from GoRokects. NASA, do you copy?” No response. John sighed, “We shall check on our instruments again. The emergency frequency should get us through no matter what. There must be something wrong that we are overlooking. Please look into it, Mr. Mercado.” Edward nodded, and John left the room.

Edward has checked the instruments every day since May 22nd. His engineer instincts told him there was nothing wrong with the communication devices, nor with any of the other instruments, but logic told him otherwise. If the communication devices were operational, they should be able to reach the GoRockets command center. Even if there was something wrong with the command center, they should be able to reach NASA through the emergency frequency. Either they were overlooking something, or there was something logic-defying happening.

John headed for the communal area where the passengers gathered every morning. As the ship’s commander, he was responsible for the well-being of all people aboard the ship; thus, he faced them every morning. When John entered the communal area, the passengers were already there, sitting, fidgeting with their hands, tapping their feet; some of them held hands with each other. The passengers fixed their eyes on John as they waited for him to report on the situation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. This morning, we tried making contact with the GoRockets command center; unfortunately, we had no luck. We then tried to contact NASA via emergency frequency and could not do it either. This suggests there’s a problem with our communication device, and our expert engineer is looking into it as we speak. I ask you to be patient while we try to solve the problem.”

Silence became chattering. People looked at each other, confused, frustrated, and depressed.

“That’s what you told us yesterday! Word by word, even the pauses, the tone. It’s just yesterday’s excuse.” Said a passenger.
“Sir, I ask you to remain calm. We are looking at the problem.”
“I don’t care for your looking. I want you to fix it, now! Don’t you know who I am?”
“No, sir. I do not know who you are, and honestly, I don’t care. You may be the king of England back on Earth, but in this ship, I am the authority. Now, get back to your seat, please.”

The man stared at John but ultimately got back to his seat.

“I know some of you may be afraid. This is a new experience for all of you, but rest assured, I and the rest of the crew have taken part in dozens of flights. We know what we are doing. You must be patient. In the meantime, feel free to use our recreation area. We have food and energy for a whole other week. Enjoy your stay; we’ll take care of the technical work.”

John’s words made the passengers feel secure. He was gifted in the art of conversation; his voice was soothing, like that of a loving father, and his expression was graceful, like that of an old friend. He chatted with the passengers for a while and then left.

In the commanding room, Edward checked on the instruments. John entered the room.

“How are the instruments?” He asked.
“Everything seems to be in order, sir.”
“Huh. I figured that would be the case.”
“How are the passengers, sir?”
“They’re a pain in the ass. What did we ever do to end up sitting a dozen bourgeois pricks?”
“I ask myself the same question, sir.”

John pressed the palm of his right hand into his face.

“Start preparing for plan F. If we have no communication by June 2nd, then we must proceed with it before our energy and food run out.” He said.
“I must protest, sir. Plan F is a huge risk.”
“Then start praying, because that’s our only hope.”

There was no communication the next day or the day after. The instruments operated with normally, but neither the GoRockets command center nor NASA responded. They tried day after day with no luck. The passengers grew impatient, and John started fearing a riot. “The rise of the bourgeoisie.” John mockingly called it.

It was June 2nd. The fuel and food would run out any minute. They had no choice; they had to resort to plan F.

“Coordinates, time, and date, ready?” John asked.
“Ready, sir.”
“May God help us then.”

The spaceship started moving; they were heading back to Earth.

“Sir, I think we can land near the launchpad. The error factor is ten kilometers.”
“Make it five, damn it! I ain’t herding his majesty and his royal consorts through the desert for ten kilometers.”
“Yes, sir!”

The ship landed.

“Determine coordinates.” John said.
“Yes, sir.”

Edward checked his instruments.

“Good news, sir, we are 2.7 kilometers to the north-east of the launchpad.”
“Good job, Mr. Mercado. We all owe our lives to you.”

The crew and the passengers got out of the ship. The passengers hugged each other; some knelt and thanked God. John was the last one to get out. His eyes became as big as plates when his feet touched the ground.

“Mr. Mercado, something terrible has happened here.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“The horizon, Mr. Mercado. Look at it! The city. I can't see the city on the horizon. It’s gone.”

THE END.