“Starship Liberty radio, coming to you live from Communications.” a smooth voice said in the man's ears, as he drifted in space. An immense expanse, shimmering with a multitude of pins of light. Just a few hundred yards away, a black shape loomed among the stars. Flickering guidance lights shone and slowly pulsed across its profile, giving warning to no ship in-particular. They were cruising just short of leaving interstellar space for the system of a singular star. Hanging in perpetual free fall, he was poised towards the anonymous star, one of billions, one of thousands close by. At the distance they were, beyond its reach its light was little stronger than that of its more distant counterparts, some alive, many possibly dead.

	The Starship Liberty - its long silhouetted mass a blight against the stars behind it - was by comparison to others, a medium sized ship. Some generations dated, but not without work having been done on it. It featured a forward-facing observations dock, a glorified dome of thick reinforced glass in several layers. The engine bays at the rear with the airdocks and great thrusters capable of swallowing comets pulsed a dull blue. Sandwiched between these two points, spun the rest of the ship. A long barrel that gently moved around a central axis. The guiding lights here moved with it, and to add more light a multitude of windows pressed against mountains and valleys of infrastructure were its windows, shining a pure silver glow.

	Before the drifting man, tethered by a long cable to the airdocks floated balls of ice. In their glimmer they caught and refracted the many sources of light. Pure iridescent crystals, broken only by a few bubbles of trapped air. But those imperfections did not mire the brilliance of the light captured, but enhanced it as through the many sources were bent and refracted in many different ways so the entire spectrum was represented. As the one before him drifted up between he and the starship it captured the difference between the dark shadows and the light of the windows and he could see the broken bands of blue on black, and red on white bands that formed between the margins of light and dark. With a unrelenting, and unrestricted smack the ball of ice was shot away through space, towards the distant nameless star, trailing behind it a tail of stars.

	The bat, stout and made of aluminum was gripped firmly in his gloved hand, double secured with a wound leather strap that wrapped around his suited wrist and bound tight. There would be no way it would leave his hands the same way there would be no way he would leave the Starship. Neither would be surrendered to the immense gulf of oppressive emptiness, where time and space both slowed and grew distant. But these balls of ice would go there. Like all the primordial matter, it would return to the harsh vacuum and someday – perhaps in a million years – mix themselves with some planet, some asteroid, some moon, or cloud of turbid matter. As the last one become a mere mote in the darkness, and disappeared from view he produced another.

	“I got lined up for you next hour of enjoyment another set of music. Nothing new has come up, though I have been told we are entering our new vacation's heliosphere. Marcus Xhu, I'd recommend you come back in.” the voice on the radio said, breaking the meditative state.

	The radio DJ silently flipped off and seamlessly passed onto music. In his ears Marcus heard the singing, torch-bearing lyrics of “Time is a Relevant”. He dumped the rest of his ice and let it all free into the interstellar medium. There was a control panel on his wrist, built into his suit. A white slab of metal and plastic with large buttons, spaced accessibly for the thick gloves of the space suit. Humming along to the upbeat ¾ signature song he reeled himself in.

	His boots connected first with the starship's airdock and with a magnetic clunk audible through his suit he connected. Without the luxury of gravity, there was little to ground him otherwise. Once in, the airlock door closed and the room was pressurized. Air rushed in first as a whisper, than a roar until he was told he could move ahead and remove his helmet. He did so, and breathed the subtle acrid smell of recycled air. Compared to what was in reserve for the suits, it was only slightly better. He discarded the space suit into its locker, where in its weightless environment it floated as a bright red ghost behind wire mesh. Freed from the magnetic boots, Marcus Xhu kicked off into the ship and floated effortlessly through.

	“How was your trip?” asked a crewman as they passed each other, headed different ways.

	“Fine.” Marcus called back, pulling himself over a corner marked by a bundle of cables.

	All the cavernous halls were wound with numerous pipes, wires, and vents. The air smelled slightly of ozone and all about regions of the wall were covered in a delicate looking reflective foil. All truth be told, there was no floor or no ceiling, all was wall in the weightlessness of engineering. Somewhere distant, the low hum of engines rumbled through all the walls. 

	Connecting into the main central axis, he found himself in an immense tubular structure. Grandiose, it stretched on for over a kilometer. Its length supported and reinforced by a system of beams, and the entire space had enough room to be a large high way. And in it teams of men, women, and aliens skirted up and down the long shaft, or across it. Either as a shortcut into one part of the ship from another, or to move large containers the size of trucks, in the relative weightlessness of the heart of the ship's gravitational production it was relatively easy to move anything heavy.

	Space regularly along it were large elevator shafts, large enough to be freight elevators. He joined in with a couple who were latching a small crate to a platform, and together they descended. The air was full of humming as the elevator moved. Holding onto the handrails Marcus felt the gravity return, he was slowly lowered the further they went until it became absolute and regular. His feet planted against the metal of the deck. The couple laughed awkwardly, it was a hard process to get used to.

	The freight elevator stopped, and the door opened to the inner chambers of the starship. The other two moved to hoist their crate onto a dolly, and Marcus stepped out into the hall.

	An impressive and spacious area greeted him. Several stories high, the vaulted ceiling of the Starship Liberty was a shifting panorama of a mural of space, of other worlds, or of the old Earth. He looked up to watch the spectacle of the invisible gasses of a nebula, as seen in the false imagining of scientific imaging turn and shift in patterns in the ceiling projection until it became a blue sky, complete with clouds. Birds, real, flittered along at the top of the ceiling and along with the commotion of life across all ranges and the radio music their bird song joined to create a complete orchestra for life.

	Hanging against the walls higher up, a series of walkways formed long balconies and verandas that made a high-street, which was bridged across to the other-side. Potted plants, survivors from Earth and Human colonies and of alien fauna compatible with them grew and hung from plant pots. There was a fresh spring-time smell in the air, the flowers were blooming, nurtured along by the lights, which served as replacement to the light of the sun and other stars.

	At ground floor, as with the upper balconies were computer terminals set into the wall. He approached one and idly searched the messages. There was a concert to be played in the next forty-minutes in the auditorium of Deck 10. The Painters League was to meet in the next thirty hours in the observation dock to render the alien worlds – if there were any – into paintings, any style they chose. An open debate was ongoing in the auditorium of Deck 12, which would be broadcast as well on Communications Channel 3, the topic: the present condition of the galactic political landscape.

	He scratched the side of his face and thought for a moment. “What is Sal up to?” he thought to himself, and leaned in.

	His fingers moved across the onscreen keyboard as he logged in. Submitting his request he waited, the screen went black and he looked at the reflection of himself.

	Tall, skinny, not the most handsome man; he was the sort who thought of himself as average. Not one to be upset with himself, or over confident. His nose he felt was too big, a misshapen door knob. His eyes were narrow, a sort of tell tale of his ancestors somewhere hundreds of generations down the line. His black hair was unkempt, a result of the helmet more than anything. He wore it long and it wrapped around his ears. He compulsively combed his fingers through it to straighten out his hair as the system confirmed his personal log in. Everything he needed or wanted from a computer appeared on screen.

[hr]

	The sign on the door said “Dreamer 12-3”. Pulling open the door, he stepped into a dimly lit chamber. Arranged in rows down a short alley sat banks of pods. Amber lights in the floors illuminated the pods. As the door shut behind Marcus the sound of the rest of the ship died away, leaving behind an empty sound, like the soft rustling of static or the constant breath of a soft breeze. Every so often there would be a muffled bubbling to break the silence, before returning again to the sepulcher silence.

	As he walked passed them he reached out his hands and gently touched each, feeling the pulsating lukewarmth radiating from within. Each pod was long and smooth, like a grain of rice. And printed at the tip of each was a number. 1. 2. 3. He stopped at eight and gently tapped his knuckles on it. He sat down to wait.

	He lay his head back against the pod and was about to close his eyes to rest when a noise disturbed the silence and he leaned forward and looked. A few feet down a pod had opened and in the darkened light a figure sat up. Tall, lanky, and covered in wet dripping fur. With clawed hands he worked on some straps around a head piece covering his eyes and ears and detached it, on a cable it was slowly wound back into the pod. Groaning the alien rubbed his eyes and looked around, removing a pair of gloves on his hands and saw Marcus. “Hey, Marcus” he intoned dryly. Wiping water from the bottom of his chin with a rag.

	“Daro.” Marcus said, “How's it going?”

	“Ah, another bloody day.” said Daro, getting out of the pod. He was mostly naked except for a pair of tightly fit trunks. Haunched over he went about drying off his back, “What I don't do fer art though.” he added, half-complaining and half laughing.

	“What is it? A new project?” Marcus asked.

	“Yeah, wouldn't'cha believe some damn cunts around here want a simulation on Earth's final moments?” Daro said, turning to face Marcus again and smiling with a mouth full of uneven teeth. “Blimey, tell me that ain't masochism.”

	“Maybe some people are just nostalgic?” Marcus asked. He felt his chest tighten. It had been centuries ago, so long it wasn't important. But he felt hurt that somewhere out there had  been a home especially for them, where they had come from, and against the backdrop of the university it had simply ceased to be. He was aware the star it orbited was still there, the system tacitly existed. But Earth itself wasn't.

	“That ain't no fuckin' nostalgia.” Daro sneered bitterly, perhaps sorrowfully. Marcus could empathize with him. “Ah well, all the same. It's got a bunch of us goin'. I was just testin' a new rendering algorith. It'll be a lot more data heavy than the others. Fuckin' humans, you're all a buncha dags though.”

	Marcus smiled and laughed. “Anyways, what'cha in for?” asked Daro.

	“Come to see what Sal's up to.” Marcus said, tapping the back of his head against the pod for emphasis.

	“Ah yes, I seens the Sallers come in and take a bench. She was going in to some concert thinger, event. Woodstock or some shit. But see: that's the thing people aughta like. None'a these homeworlds dying shit.”

	Marcus smiled, “Oh?”

	“Yeah.” replied Daro, “See what we got here,” he began, raising a long finger to point at the numerous pods, “He over there is at performance of some Beethoven fellow. She there just to Athens golden age. He to the landing on your old moon! She the first landing on Mars. There is much better to experience again, but why the loss of something so great?”

	“Maybe it'll be something like closure? To finally put an end to Earth's story.”

	Daro dismissively waved his hand. “Whatever.”

	Something moved behind Marcus' head and he turned and looked up. A hatch on the pod was opening, and he moved aside to get out of the way. With a hiss the door swung open. With a pop it sprung open all the way. “I'll have to fix that someday.” Daro said, whipping his hands on a towel as he turned and walked away. Sitting up from the pod, dressed in a bathing suit, was a woman. She detached the head set and crossed her arms over he knees.

	“Who'd you see?” Marcus asked.

	“Oh, a whole lot.” the woman said, with a smile, “Arlo Guthrie, Joan Baez, Jefferson Airplane, The Doors.”

	“You ever heard of them before?” he asked.

	She laughed and shook her head, “No, not really. But now I have.” she swung her legs out of the pod and asked, “How was your space walk? Hit a hole in one?”

	Marcus rolled his eyes, “It was fine.” he answered. “You hungry?”

	“I am, and I was wondering if you would ask.” she answered. She grabbed a towel from the ground nearby and wiped away the water, “Let me get something on and I'll follow you out. Lower station, the Starlit Cafe?”

	“Sounds good to me.” Marcus said, would be about as good as any.

	She gave him a smile and slid out of the pod, wrapping the towel around her. “I'll see you there.” she said.

[hr]

	The centerpiece of the cafe was a small tree, a lime tree. Its rich green fruits weighed heavy on the branches and every so often a woman dressed casually would reach up and pick one from the over hanging branches and take it to be juiced, sliced, or otherwise used for some dish. The Starlit Cafe featured a soft red coloring over all, with the edges of the counter or table trimmed in white chrome. Alongside the table Marcus had picked out an inclined window connected the floor with the wall and looked out at the expanse of space. The star lit backdrop panned slowly by as the airship's core made its rotations. The table was for two, and between them and the window was a railing, less for protection and more for convenience sake; it made something nice to lean on.

	On the table were the basket for the condiments, mustard, ketchup, and a variety of spicy alien pastes.  There were also an odd collection of real paper books scattered there, with a stack of paper-thin digital menus. Marcus was scanning through the list of things the Starlit Cafe offered as Sally took a seat across from him.

	Sally Voutis, taller than Marcus. Her black hair was almost always a nest of lively curled hair. She never wore it back in a bun, or a pony tail, or any way but as-was. Marcus found her smile infectious, and when she smile at him he smiled back. “I just wanted a sandwich or something, what are you thinking?” she asked.

	“I had my eyes on the lime shrimp. With rice.” Marcus said.

	“Oh, that's good.” she said. She looked up at him. Her eyes were a dark green that shone bright in the warm lighting of the cafe. A contrast to Marcus' dull brown-gray eyes.

	“You want tea?” asked Marcus.

	“That sounds wonderful.”

	“Then it's settled.” said Marcus, going through the menu and putting in the orders. He turned to look back outside. There were not-to-distant flashes of light just outside the thick plated windows. Smaller asteroids, comets, and the left over debris from a system's formation were sparking against the ship's shielding. This was the outer most rogue material. It wouldn't be more than a few moments until they passed through the heliopause.

	“So, what are you thinking?” Sally asked, leaning on the table. She too looked out the window.

	“Oh, nothing. Just waiting to see when we break through.” he responded.

	“Really? Is that all? How long did you spend out on your space walk? An hour? Two hours? Couldn't see it coming?” she teased.

	“And how long were you in that pod?” Marcus asked, “Wasn't that festival a few days long?”

	“They're called Dreamers for a reason.” she laughed, “Besides, it's not like I can jump between moments.”

	“Anyways, I was talking to Daro before you got up.” Marcus said, “Apparently he's trying to help out making something involving Earth's last moments.”

	“Really? That's spooky.” Sal said.

	“That's what I said to him, he's not fond of it at all but doing it because it's his art. Someone wants it done.”

	“It wouldn't hardly surprise me. There's some nasty moments in the library. But, this I take it is what happens when there's an endeavor to catalog and accurately reconstruct history. Earth is gone, the memories are all we got left. Short of rebuilding Earth one-to-one, virtual reality is the best I suppose we get for its history, and everything else.”

	“Isn't that all just escapist though?”

	“Escapist? You bring it up every time we talk about this.” Marcus laughed, “But really though, is playing base ball with whatever you have on hand in open space any different from what I do?” she asked.

	“I am though being a part of the universe.” Marcus said.

	“Oh please.” Sal laughed, “How about not now?” she added rolling her eyes.

	“OK then, so you thought about heading to Observation as we close in on the system?”

	“I'm not interested.” Sal said, “I'll certainly go and look when or if we find a planet to land on. But I'm not partial on being in free fall and watching. I was interested in the debate, but is that too late?”

	“I don't think so. Marcus said.”

	“Then later, I guess.” said Sal. It was her turn to stare out at the passage of space.

	After a long moment of silence, Marcus asked, “What are you thinking?”

	“Oh you, shut up!” Sal laughed.