Three stood around the console, staring at lights and buttons, hoping they would have no need to do anything. If they had to do something it would almost certainly mean that things were beyond rescue, and with that, the fate of humanity would be sealed in a ship lost in the void. This was a massive part of the job they had signed up for: this was the job they were grateful to get. This was their ticket aboard the Ark, and their chance to survive what looked like the end of the world.

 

They stared at the digital display counting down the seconds and time itself seemed to slow down to almost a halt. In many ways, it had already done so for them, but that was an abstract idea really compared to this tense countdown. The display’s red numbers ticked down, three sets of eyes on the remaining three digits. It wasn’t a perfectly accurate read – it was at best accurate to ten to fifteen seconds. But that was all you could expect of a cheaply made display that the C.O. had taped to the console to stop them all constantly wondering how long remained. It hadn’t aided the anxiety, but what could have?

 

They edged closer to the point where deceleration needed to start. It passed nine minutes on the clock. At the speed they believed they were going meant perhaps another hundred million kilometers to travel before braking commenced. Then it should take nearly 3 days to slow down safely into an orbit. There was only so much that inertial dampeners could do while the six hundred re-colonists were all safely oblivious in their tubes. Who knew what could happen if g-forces increased more suddenly than this – the tech had never been tested under these circumstances. 

From the start everyone knew that this was an incredibly risky journey they were making. Everything had to go right for this to succeed, but they were all glad to accept the risks. This voyage was the best chance – the last real hope – to preserve humanity.

 

 The three of them knew that there was no backup plan for overshooting. A minute of delay in starting deceleration could mean missing their destination by up to two to three more AUs, depending on gravitational fields. It didn’t seem like a lot, but a minute late could mean a month or more travelling at more conventional speeds. Overshooting by anything more than that was unthinkable: deceleration would sap practically all their remaining energy sources. There might be enough energy in the cells left to stop in the void, maybe even enough to turn around, but it was unlikely that there would be enough left for propulsion to complete the journey. At least not in their lifetimes.

 

In contrast, if they started the process early they would certainly undershoot, but that might not be the worst thing. If they arrived a few hundred AUs short of the system, they could probably coast a good deal of the distance, though a lot of energy would be lost in course adjustment. But they knew that once facing the right direction, with any luck solar gravity would kick in before too long and help pull them back. It might take a year – maybe two, maybe doubling their journey, but would be the safest approach. They’d had the discussion many times over the months before. They had no reason to doubt the systems of the ship, but no one had ever attempted this before. Humans with nothing else to do would always find something to doubt.

 

The three crew members stood around the console waiting for the Ark’s intelligence to complete the various systems checks and to start the deceleration. With one minute left on the makeshift countdown timer, muscles tensed. Body monitors registered changes in breathing, heart rate and blood pressure. Since they had plunged into the depths of space, there were only two jobs – serve the tubes and monitor ship’s systems. This moment had loomed over everything, and now it was seconds away.

  

As the clock reached ten, the C.O. looked to the two beside her, and raised her hand over the manual override button, ready to hit it. They had all agreed that the C.O. would hit it ten seconds after the countdown ended and would hope for the best. Four seconds remaining, they felt a new system come online, a dull hum but no great change. A voice announced, "Deceleration has started." The droning of the inertial dampeners filled their ears. Far less dramatic than expected. It was a relief.

  

They looked forward to waking the re-colonists and having new faces to talk to, before eventually starting again on a clean new world. For the little crew of three, it had felt like a year with only two others as companions: they were bored, but not murderous by any means. For the re-colonists, it would feel like waking up from a drunken night’s sleep. For the galaxy outside, seventy thousand years had passed – long enough for the Earth to be renewed and revitalized – fit for them to return to. They were excited at the prospect of a virgin Earth.

 

As the Ark entered the Solar System, things seemed different. The sun wasn’t nearly as bright as they hoped.

 

Then they saw it. The re-colonists had left the Earth they’d leeched to the impoverished billions who couldn’t afford to leave. They expected its ultimate collapse and calculated it would take 70,000 years to be fit for them to inhabit again. They flew away and then back to pass the time.

 

But this was a different Earth than expected. A Dyson Swarm now dimmed the sun. Even more alarming, they were being hailed by the very planet they had abandoned so acrimoniously millennia before.