The most important question of life defined: what will remain after one’s death. When they were taking off on the journey, they were already famous, but what of that fame if the moment they lay down in the cryo chambers and fall asleep, they’ll be waking up in a world without that fame? And even if they reminded in minds of the few who study the history of space exploration, what does it matter if they’ll be so far away? Socrates, while preparing himself for death said: “We grow closer to the truth only to the extent that we grow further away from life.” Will their names be remembered, will cadets hoping for pilot commission be forced to memorize the names for some of their tests? Is this what Tolstoy meant when talking about one’s legacy – a brief mention in college textbook for some youngster to memorize? If you consider that legacy on large enough scale of both space and time you run into trouble. At some point, stones of the pyramids turn to dust. Even stars die. There is something both uplifting and sad in man’s desire for immortality of his actions. One hopes for his memory to live in the minds of others. Over time that memory turns into a trivial factoid reducing one’s whole life into that of the important achievement as if nothing else of that person’s life mattered. That factoid soon loses its connection to reality and with that one’s true existence is erased. Soon the pages of history fill with achievements of others that in due time also turn into nothingness.

They were packed into the ship while the B-team entered an exact replica parked almost one hundred miles away from the launching station. The roar of the engines. Eyes looking over the instruments in hopes to spot abnormalities before they develop into a major accident. My thoughts jumped back to the B-team’s capsule – their dreams of our death in some accident so that they could take up our jobs… The destructive force behind hope. Further into the sky, day turns to night as stars fill the vizier of the ship facing away from Home. Space. Last stage of take off completed. We point our ship in direction of the Saturn – we’ll use its gravitational energy to sling shot us across the universe. Long before reaching this last Solar system waypoint, preparation for cryo sleep begins. We eat our last meal cheerfully – less because of its sterile taste and more because it marked the beginning of the end for the next 182 years of our existence. The last few statements recorded for posterity (and ourselves when we wake up). Uneasy looks to one another when getting into our cryo beds – everyone pretending that we knew what awaits us on the other side. He gets into the sleeping chamber and connect sensors to already predetermined places on his body. He puts on a breathing mask and eye goggles. The chamber fills with life-preserving liquid goo that’s meant to encompasses whole body. The computer asks to count to twenty. One, two… eyes start closing. Rush of memories flashing before his eyes: the hill beyond his apartment complex back on Earth – as a child he wondered what’s beyond the horizon, now it was time to find out. He closed his eyes – until the rebirth. Sleep. Gray. Gray turns to black. An abyss. The abyss dissolves into color of nothingness.