Circling Proxima

         Our chariot glows with blue-green energy as we ascend. Father holds my sister and mother close, and I alone am pressed against the transparent shield of our craft watching Earth fade quickly below.

         Wisps of ionized gas mark our ascent; they trail us like the intermittent tail of a comet.  Those left behind, Aunt Deedra and others, came to wave us goodbye.

         I look to the velocity indicators, then to Father. We smile at each other. He understands my excitement, but of his mood I am uncertain. He and Mother seem remote and sad in some way. He has labored hard to bring our family to the stars, yet he seems less than proud.

         They call it “'Earth's Tail,” but it's so much more. One hundred miles of carbon-carbon fibers woven on the loom of science; metalized nanocomposites formed and perfected on imagination's lathe. A space elevator is all, some say, but it's so much more.

         I alone look down as Earth fades. I imagine the electromagnetic superconductors that are energized by the thousand fusion reactors powering our ascent. And I imagine riding a steed born from man's dreams, skyward, clinging to its mane of exotic energy.

         Positional thrusters maneuver our craft to a trajectory toward Proxima Centauri as we break free of our earthbound tether. I watch breathless as hundreds of other craft break free as we do, and glide into space. I'm reminded of a video I watched in class on ejaculation.

From my vantage point high above the planet, it appears much the same as I watch our craft and those of others erupt from the end of the hundred-mile-long elevator. Tiny proto-life, bursting into the dark womb of space and then racing headlong toward the mother egg.

         Father speaks, encouraging my mother and sister to unbuckle their harnesses and prepare our meal.  They pass the packets to everyone and after we eat, Father tells us that we will have three full hours to enjoy the view before we sleep.

         He tells us how lucky we are—how beautiful our last hours will be compared to those who stayed behind, those who chose to end their days on the planet where they were born. Father says we're the lucky ones as he points to the spreading fires that begin to cross the once beautiful blue planet below our craft. Father and I alone watch until I grow too tired to hold my eyes open to the spectacle.