Planets Falling

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The old man sat in the shade of a willow tree considering the future. He saw shapes in his mind. They looked a little like stepping stones in a garden or stars suspended in heaven’s bosom. With closer inspection, he discovered that they were footprints in ruddy soil. Those dusty footprints, millions of miles away from his frail frame but also right there in his head, were stepping into a broad, endless horizon. Humanity had begun its journey into the unknown on a scrawny, rusty patch of dirt not far from home, feet shuffling awkwardly on stair steps, moving away from one reality and upward towards another. The man’s head slumped and his red, beating heart fluttered and failed. The bloody disk of mars faded into mist as he slipped away into the darkness of space.

Many years passed. The old man was long gone and the willow tree was a parched trunk — a mere husk of its memory. Melancholy had settled on the human species. Earth was sagging under humanity’s weight. To even the most optimistic, it was apparent that the sack of genes and flesh known as mankind was spiraling towards extinction. In response, desperate planetary exploration within earth’s solar neighborhood was underway. This effort was not one of charity and nobility, but as all things go with people, it was fueled by cold, harsh profit.

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