Intrepid

Before we all boarded, they told us that it would be several years before we got wherever we were going. Wherever we were supposed to start all over after frying this planet to a crisp.

We were going to be in cryo-sleep, they said. So, there was nothing to worry about. It would feel like taking a nap. Sure, we'd feel a bit groggy on the other side, but no worse than we would after a couple hours on the couch. So we boarded and thought of ourselves as intrepid.

That was a while ago. After we got in the pods, they stuck us with a few IV needles filled with stuff to keep us alive while the cryogenics keep us pretty. They clamped us inside to keep us from jostling around and hurting ourselves. Then the pods closed, and they went away.

A moment ago, the fiery red outside the blast window turned to inky black. The loud shaking has receded into the kind of quiet that seems to smother everything around it.

All the lights in the ship have gone out, and everyone around me is asleep, their faces touched off and on by blinking green light from the pods. Eyes closed. Peaceful. Intrepid.

I watch them for a few minutes before I start to wonder why my pod is taking so much longer than the others.