Let me tell you about Gliese 221b. It’s not your typical hot spot; in fact, it isn't hot at all. It's freezing most of the time, with craters as deep as your life's regrets. But it’s where I—Riley—spend my days mining for minerals that pay just enough to keep me rooted here indefinitely.
Each day flows into the next, marked only by the humming of machinery and the occasional garbled message from Earth HQ. Interaction with other humans? Forget it. My closest neighbor's a smattering of semi-intelligent bots, and even their glitchy conversations seem preferable over the silent vacuum of space.
It all started with a mundane scan. Well, they all feel that way in the beginning until something nudges you off the beaten path. My scanners caught something weird deep down in the Upper Sub Fissure—an anomaly, said the report. Curiosity got the better of me, so there I was, hauling up a chunk of space rock twenty times my weight, half wishing it was just another hunk of iron.
But it wasn’t.
Instead of ore, I found a polished relic. A spherical, almost translucent sphere shimmering slightly in the light of my headlamp.
I touched it without thinking. Big mistake—or maybe the best move of my life, I still can’t figure it out.
The moment my fingers brushed the orb, the darkness around me zipped away like a bad dream. I was standing in an open field on Earth—a beautiful green expanse stretching to the horizon, bathed in the warm glow of the mid-morning sun.
And there was my father.
You see, he'd passed a good fifteen years earlier. Seeing him again, I got lost in the memories. But somehow, these weren’t memories. They felt real, replayed with technicolor clarity, complete with smells, sounds, the warmth, and his laughter—the kind that’d fill a room, even if you were clinging to silence.
He smiled, acknowledging my shock. "Looks like you’ve grown, Rye," he said, arms outspread.
My fingers trembled with the want to reach out. But a jolt pulled me back. Reality, ever the slacker, checked in late. The cavern returned, leaving me clutching the orb and gasping at my escape.
Days passed as I wrestled with the old memory in stasis. My universe had cracked open. Every once in a while, I'd grasp the relic again, and it'd catapult me somewhere else—mom’s old shop, my childhood home, my prom night (in embarrassing crystalline clarity). But one day, it showed me something new and strange—a future, one where Earth teetered on ruin and my isolation paled before its emptiness.
Suddenly, Gliese's bleakness loomed comforting. Until, of course, I remembered it was just echoing something deep down—me.
Between jobs, I'd clutch the artifact, seeking solace in the past, affirmations of what I missed or never dared acknowledge. Who am I? That orb had the answers. I felt its draw stronger than before, and frankly, the relief it provided bathed the lifeless realm with fresh vitality. Each interaction etched the questions deeper: Is this who I'm meant to be? Who did the artifact intend me to be?
One tired morning, machinery humming a dreary lullaby, I resolved the hazy conclusion. The artifact, for all its magic and wonderment, could only coil me in nostalgia. It’s a canvas for possibility. A trick of time.
I typed my thoughts into a message for Earth. Sent a proposal for sustainable life—an experimental project I'd stored away for when boredom curdled into wild ambition.
"Gliese Echo: a Home."
The powers-that-be liked it. Sent back a go-ahead. My dreary, predictable rhythms reshaping into a new melody—life echoing hope, purpose sung within stone walls—each day a step beyond, and back up, ready to claim the future they had yet to construct.
Because sometimes, the place that holds you can’t compare with the reflection waiting just outside—a sanctuary always nearby yet never truly seen.
Turns out, I wasn’t alone after all.