There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

- Carl Sagan, The Pale Blue Dot


The pale blue dot.

She was dimly aware of some sort of hissing by her side, muted, muffled, as if she was inside something, the sound coming from outside.

The pale blue dot.

Chikyū. Home. She grew up there, most of it in Tōkyō and Nyūyōku. Then why this feeling that something was off, that she would never see Earth again?

The pale blue dot.

A tightness in her chest, as if iron bands were wrapped around her torso, squeezing; she tried to inhale deeply, found that she couldn't. Tried moving her hand; it merely twitched.

The pale blue dot.

She blinked, her vision blurry. Opened her mouth, lips peeling apart, dry, slightly painful. A rasp was all she managed to make, her throat parched.

The pale blue dot -

- stayed static in her vision, on a background of ink-black space dotted with stars. She blinked again, wondering at what she was seeing, before it all came back to her in a rush, her eyes widening in realisation.

The Andromeda Initiative.

She would never see Earth again, because she was onboard the Nexus, on a journey that would take her two-point-six million lightyears away, to the Andromeda Galaxy…

The pale blue dot, a static image, printed on a card and stuck to the inside of her cryo pod -

- to remind me -

- if I'm awake, then -

- we made it?

As if to answer her question, there came a louder hiss, and suddenly, the pale blue dot was moving away from her, the front of the cryo pod opening up.

She emerged slowly, cautiously, from the cryo pod, squinting and blinking, her eyes adjusting after being shut for six hundred years. Stumbling a little, her legs still wobbly from being frozen stiff, she took tentative steps, memories coming back to her, filling in the holes. Shaky breaths gradually became regular, her fingers curling with strength as she steadied herself against the console in front of the cryo pod.

An orange outline of a handprint on the smooth, black surface pulsed gently - she pressed her right hand to it. The tablescreen came to life, infographs skidding into place.

Identity confirmed. Greetings, Director Garson. I am AVINA, your virtual intelligence onboard the Nexus. The current shipboard time is zero-six-thirty-four hours. I am pleased to inform you that the journey from the Milky Way has been completed earlier today at zero-three-fifty-eight hours. Essential life support systems have already been brought online, and core Nexus personnel are being awakened.

Jien Garson exhaled, long and slow. She could feel the the pulsations in her fingertips, the tablescreen cool under her palms, solid, real. Each breath - in, out - tickled the back of her throat, felt real. Every blink of her eyes, the blurriness completely gone now, taking in the room around her, and the data displayed before her - it all felt real.

She could feel vibrations underfoot through the soles of her boots, the heartbeat of the behemoth that was the Nexus. The sleeves of her jumpsuit rustled as she held her hands up, examining them as if for the first time.

She wasn't dreaming. She licked her lips, tasting a mild tinge of salt on them.

This is real. This is actually happening. We're in Andromeda, we…

'W-we made it,' she managed to voice aloud.

The tablescreen gave her all the facts, a summary of the statistics of the long voyage. Reaching out, Garson swiped at infographs, absorbing information.

'Avina, what's… the current year?'

The VI helpfully pulled the mission clock to the centre of the tablescreen. According to the human Gregorian calendar, Director Garson, the current year would be twenty eight eighteen. Total transit time was two hundred and thirty one thousand, two hundred and twenty four days, or approximately six hundred and thirty three years. Would you like a full report of the voyage?

Garson smiled, then chuckled at the idea of reading the fifty-page report now of all times, the mirth she felt all but dispelling her doubts that she was dreaming. The chuckle quickly mutated into a a coughing fit as her throat tightened, the Director of the Andromeda Initiative doubling over, then turning watery eyes to the console.

'Avina? A… ahem… glass of water would be nice.'