Any sort of colour was a welcome sight to him. In his field, people grouped different subjects in terms of their colours – red, yellow, blue – and studied them. The different hues showed the maturity of each star, how close it was to its doomsday. They could blow up in a interstellar firework, or collapse to a black hole. Of course, the assumption was the star died to a natural cause.
To him, yellow was particularly alluring. It signified home, instilling a sense of belonging in him. The appearance of a small yellow speck on his navi-globe could have brought him to tears. That could mean the Sun, and in turn, Earth, his home.
He has been a space nomad for twenty years. Or that’s what his console’s screen showed him after the superluminal device broke down. You couldn’t really count days and years in space without a reference point. After all, the notion of year started as the time for Earth to revolve around the Sun for a complete round.
His space capsule was kept in a tumbling motion to create a micro-gravity environment, not unlike how a rollercoaster could keep the passengers on the seats. He once groaned at the reason when Mrs. Amy mentioned it in Physics class – “For God’s sake, there are seat belts!” No one could argue with the universal law of centrifugal force though, especially when you’re stranded in space without any seat belt.
He was on a mission from Aegean: to be a herald of inevitable doom from Marathon. And he’s afraid he was too late. Mrs. Amy and all the people he knew might have perished, and everything he knew turned into dust.