It was March 2018 on Earth when Agent 121 landed on my satellite for the first time.
We first made contact with each other when we were teenagers. I had been stationed on the satellite to study the effects of space on various living species. She was stationed on the coast of Japan, enlisted by her home country at the age of 13 to fight as a soldier in the New Pacific War.
My satellite, “IX”, orbited Earth over 40 times a day. It was designed to serve as a sanctuary in case the population of Earth was completely wiped out. Inside the satellite was a small biosphere of plants and animals, each chosen for their ability to adapt to the conditions of space. In that chamber, one could temporarily forget they were in outer space, physically separate from all life on Earth.
This was Noah’s Ark to my people. As such, my main priority in life had become my responsibilty to maintaining the Ark. I was 12 years old when I first arrived. Now I was a man nearing 27. Whoever I was on Earth, wherever I had lived – that was all long since forgotten.
Agent 121 was tasked with bringing new biological material to the Ark. She had worked hard to get out of her life as a soldier. I knew this because I knew her. Her real name was Sachiko. We first met through a private military chatroom when were both 17. While we had never met in person before, she was one of the few people I knew I could confide my darkest secrets to. I felt a certain kindred spirit in her. I often felt closer to her than many people who stayed with me on the Ark.
Deep in my memory, I could even remember loving her. But the reality of our distance had long since shut those dreams down. Her family was scattered along islands in the Pacific. My family soared in space with me above the world. Her home was warm and stable. They had weather. They had days and nights. My home constantly circled the Earth, cold and inorganic, like an all-seeing eye that never sleeps.
I could never ask anyone to give up their home, family and friends, just to share their life with me in space. Certainly not her.
Sachiko was not only bringing material for this lone scientist aboard the Ark. She also had some highly classified files about my own personal life that I asked her to find. I wanted to know who I was on Earth, and why I had been selected to train aboard the Ark. I wanted to know my purpose.
180 of Earth’s best and brightest youth were chosen to live on the colony – 90 males and 90 females. They spent most of their days in cryogenic slumber. I was not one of them. I was the odd one out. No one could explain why I had no companion, or why I lived separately from them.
Their 360 rooms circled the outer edge of the satellite. My quarters were nestled closer to the center. They were also larger and more luxurious. Why? No one had an answer.
I studied with the many astronauts and scientists who worked on board at the time, and they imparted their knowledge to me. Spacewalks became second nature as I became accustomed to fixing damages on the exterior. The study of living creatures gave me strange companions, and allowed me to fill the lonely hours.
I did not realize at the time that the more work I put into the Ark, the more I was becoming the Ark itself.
Over the years, less people worked aboard the Ark as they moved onto other satellites or back to Earth. Once I was able to maintain the ship on my own, there was no reason for many of them to stay. Still, I did not know why I had been selected to be on the satellite. For many years, I did not even know what my true purpose on the Ark was.
That was until the Nations of the New Pacific launched an attack on the Ark in 2010, and I discovered I was the only one who could work the satellite’s defense system. Our “defense system” was a giant, humanoid mech specifically designed for myself.
That was a harrowing day. I not only had to shoot down several missiles in a mech I had never piloted before – I also had to clean the exosphere afterwards using gravity bombs, to keep debris from falling back to Earth.
A satellite is not like a ship that sails the ocean. The Ark ran on autopilot, so there was no official captain. To the astronauts and the children, I was their protector since I could pilot a mech. From then on, I was the captain.
But still, I did not know who I was or why I had been chosen. That’s when Sachiko offered to search for answers on Earth. I knew she had risked her life to obtain this information. I was anxious to learn what she had found.
Even though I had known this woman for years, it felt like I was truly meeting her for the first time.
Though we spoke the same language, her accent was strange. I imagined mine was strange to her. She spoke in brief but quick bursts. I had trouble keeping up at times. I no longer had the luxury of studying her written words, and taking the time to write my own reply.
“So where am I from?”
“America. Here, let me show you.” She took the globe and pointed to North America’s western coast.
“Why was I chosen?”
“They believe you are the reincarnation of a man who is very dangerous to them.”
“So what is my name?”
“Michi. It's Japanese... like mine. It means ‘the way’ or ‘the path’.”
"What does yours mean, Sachiko?"
"Happiness." She replied.
Our words disappeared into the wind, and in time they would be forgotten. I wouldn’t be able to read back over them when she’s gone.
I could see her ship fading into the distance as she headed back to Earth. It was over. I knew I would never see her again.
I thought of all the years I could have spent speaking to her, instead of writing to her. If we had spoken, how might our relationship have changed? Would we really have been closer? Or farther apart? The messages she leaves me are precious treasures. I’m sure mine have some value to her. Was that the best I could give her? Just words?
Are any words in the world as powerful as a smile, an embrace, a holding of hands? Were my words ever strong enough to touch her heart? Or did I never have a chance to reach her?
We had never even exchanged laughter before today. How could I possibly compare the joy of her companionship with our letters? How could I even go back to that?
I sat down with the globe in my hands and looked at the Pacific Ocean. I looked at the distance between her home in Japan, and my home on the east coast of America.
Then I cradled the globe in my arms and openly wept. I wept about time, space, and distance. I wept about war and satellites. I wept about the young girl and boy who had their childhoods taken too soon. I wept about the fragility of our own memories. I wept about the love I always knew could never be reciprocated. And when my mind when blank, I wept about weeping itself.
I watched the tears drift away in microgravity. I felt bitter. I felt cold, like the satellite.
And then I felt nothing. I looked at the globe. I felt like I had cried enough to fill the Pacific Ocean. I smirked at the thought.
Once I was through crying, I placed the globe back where it belonged. I left my chamber and found a window.
The world was falling apart, and I had to keep watch over the Ark for my people, who had probably long since forgotten about me.
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