“We made it Caleb, finally, here we are. The trip we endured, the solace. Now is when it pays off, son. Everything we worked for, the experiments, we are at the tip of the horizon. The ships computer no longer understands time, we are no longer within a normal conception of the thing. Ahead, it is only dark now, yet that is what we see from afar, here, we can see there are colours, Hawking’s son. It is real, we have proven it.” His father staired at a screen as he spoke, almost as if he was a recording. A shell of the man he once knew Caleb noted to himself. Lean, sunken eyes. The ship fed him nutrients and correct lighting, but it could not give him the rest he should have.

“Well done father… Is this the point that we return?”, Caleb enquired, hesitation in his voice for would he know the sound of another person one day?

Something that had struck him as a dear thought on his most lonely nights. Other people. What a thought.