Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are

But the thing is, we don't anymore. Wonder, that is. We haven't for a while because science has figured out all that there is to figure out. Mankind has come too far, too too far, crossed too many points-of-no-return and kept on barreling through till the last bits and pieces of wonder were shattered. People don't wonder anymore. People don't dream. People just know.

We know that there are 42, not 48, other civilizations in our galaxy; Douglas Adams must be so damn proud (and the Drake Equation was always more of a guestimate anyway, nowhere near as accurate as Science Fiction). Then again, reality has always been stranger than the mind has the capacity to imagine. Maybe that's why it stopped imagining. It got tired of being outdone.

"Jimin! C'mon! You're gonna miss the game!"

"Shut the **** your face, I'm coming!" Jimin takes the steps by bounds and leaps, jumping up to tap the wooden doorframe even as he zooms through it to crash onto the old, worn couch in front of a holographic projector. Jungkook is perched right next to it, chewing on his nails. Jimin swats at him.

"Stop that."

"You're not my mom."

Jimin quirks an eyebrow, fixing Jungkook with a look. "Really? You wanna go there?"

"Alright, alright, I'll stop. Wait, wait, it's starting--I swear to every single galaxy in the entire universe that if Russia takes another Championship I'm gonna stuff an entire shuttle up my ***."

Jimin lets out a bark of a laugh and elbow Jungkook in the side, "You sure you'd be able to fit that shuttle in? Your head's already taking up so much space in there."

Jungkook shoves Jimin's face through the hologram and it looks like the opening shot goes right through his forehead.

Zero-gravity football (soccer some people used to call it) is kind of outdated, but still a crowd favorite. Well, as much of a crowd as there is left. Most people have already left Earth and they can't get signals beyond Jupiter so there's literally nochance of the Higher Classes catching this game. Not that the Higher Classes still watch zero-grav football. They've probably come up with something classier and indefinitely more expensive by now.

"I used to want to be a football player," Jimin says, settling into the couch, reaching across Jungkook for a bag of fries.

"I thought you wanted to be a pilot." Jungkook doesn't even take his eyes off the game, but his fingers dig through the fry bag and he shoves a handful in his mouth. Jimin shrugs. They both hoot as Korea takes a shot.

"No you wanted to be a pilot," Jimin corrects. Jungkook pauses with another handful of fries halfway to his mouth, a tiny frown creasing his forehead.

"Oh, right, I did." Then he shoves the entire handful in his mouth and chews. Jimin is licking his fingers clean of the salt, smacking his lips.

"Goal!" Jungkook punches the air and Jimin crumples up the empty fry-bag and lops it over the hologram straight into the garbage disposal. It hisses as the bag disintegrates and lets out a small puff of oxygen mist.

In 22010, there isn't much that humans haven't achieved, not much that we have not conquered or destroyed. No lastfrontier of science because that was ages ago, literally. But one thing hasn't changed--things live, and things die. And well, if the Earth is a living body, then humans were the cancer that it couldn't find a cure for. And so, it's dying.

But not before the universe put up a pretty good fight. How do you fight cancer? Well, radiation of course.

When the first wave of gamma rays hit from Eta Carinae, people weren't ready, though they thought they were. Billions died, millions more were diagnosed with diseases that all culminated in fatalities. Plants withered, birds and animals littered the streets by the hundred thousands, what few scientists remained not so much as crossed off species from the list but ripped out entire pages and burned them. The world population was cut down by more than half, almost overnight, and the results were nothing short of devastating. In the years that followed, that half was once again halved by the aftershocks of the radiation, and then halved again by the fallout, reducing the world population to barely an eighth of what it used to be.

Everyone thought it was finally time for humans to go.

But cancer isn't that easily cured. And neither is humanity.

We might call it resilience, the world might call it pestilence. Either way, the people who did survive came up with plans, answers, ways, as we always have, and life carried on, under clothes made to deflect gamma rays. Mechanics and scientists even developed a way to turn that radiation into usable energy and civilization thrived again.

Up above the world so high.

And that was when we really started looking up towards the stars. That was when people started to realize that our time here really is coming to an end, and that if we don't get out, the world will die, and we would die right with it. Some people might call it a noble way to go but most people just wanted out, nobility go screw itself in the backseat.

So, the World Council came up with a plan, a desperate, crazy plan, but a plan nonetheless--send 42 ships off into space, towards the known civilizations in our galaxy and hope against hope and against hope that some of them make it. Of course, there are safer civilizations, the ones that people have made contact with, weak as the radio signals were, strange as the messages were, long as it took to decode, but contactwas made. And, given the significantly lowered population of the world, it wouldn't be a far shot from splitting what remained of the world into 42 different ships and sending them off. And that's exactly what happened.

Only, it’s more complicated than that. It's always more complicated than that. How do you decide who gets to go first? Who gets to go to the "safer" civilizations, and who gets sent on a joyride towards the edge of our galaxy without knowing if the ship will ever reach the civilization we've never made contact with?

Rewind 20 thousand years, give or take a century or so and a ship named the Titanic sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

And, while history doesn't repeat but it sure as hell does rhyme.

The rich and influential go first, go to the safest. The lesser fortunate go last. So it's been for all of humanity, and so it shall be till the end of the world's days. Literally. Oh the beauties of social hierarchy.

A ship goes out about every half year or so, because that's how long it takes to recharge the power plant with enough energy to launch a ship into space far enough for it to reach wherever it needs to go; the second to last ship left about six months ago.

"Three points! We're ahead by three points!" Jungkook is shaking Jimin by the shoulders. They're both jumping up and down on the sofa. It creaks and squeaks under their weight but it holds.

"Five more minutes and we'll end first quarter with a three point lead!" Jimin shouts back, and sure enough, five minutes later, the pair of them are tumbling off the sofa, laughing and shouting. It's the first time in two whole centuries that anyone other than Russia's gotten the World Championship.

"There's a party going on at Jackson's tonight," Jimin says as the game breaks for commercials. They're playing old reruns of ads for outdated things--teleporters, hovercrafts, etc.

"There's always a party at Jackson's." Jungkook is rummaging around the kitchen for more snacks and comes up empty. "We need to do some shopping."

Jimin snorts. "With what cash?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "Who needs that when you've got the five finger discount?"

Jimin heaves a sigh. Jungkook pauses in his last sweep of the kitchen and eyes Jimin.

"Oh, c'mon, it's not like we haven't been doing this for years. Thought you would have gotten used to it by now."

Jimin makes a noncommittal noise and slumps back into the sofa, "Call me old-fashioned but, I dunno, stealing just doesn't sit right with me."

"Do we have any other choice?" Jungkook makes his way back over to the sofa and leans his arms on the back, peering down at Jimin. His eyes are alight with something a little bit dangerous, a little bit devilish.

"Suppose not..." Jimin glances at him and right then, Jungkook drops an apple on his face.

"Ow! Shit--! That really--hey, where'd you get an apple from?" Jimin scrambles up, rubbing at his nose, the apple in his hand, hard and smooth and shiny.

"Guy down the street used to own an orchard--I've been taking care of a few things in there at night, you know the trees that are close enough to pull that gamma tarp over? And you said you missed fruits and stuff, so... yeah." He trails off at the end, scrunching his nose and scuffing his feet against the floor.

"How'd you learn how to garden?" Jimin asks, eyebrows in danger of disappearing into his hairline, even as he takes a large bite of the apple and almost groans out in satisfaction. It's sweet, and crunchy, and right now, it's just about the last good thing left on this whole damn Earth, except for Jungkook of course.

Jungkook waves a hand and jerks his head, motioning for Jimin to follow. They make their way through the long hallway of the abandoned house, down to the door leading to the basement. For the most part, they haven't been in there yet--it's only been a couple of weeks since they've moved in and stretching tarp over literally every inch of the roof is a tedious task, but completely necessary for ancient houses like these.

The basement is damp and dark. Jungkook clicks on his pocket fuse and the room lights up with a soft, blue glow.

"Whoa..." Jimin's eyes go wide.

"Right?" Jungkook says, grinning as he lifts the fuse higher to cast the light about. The basement is chalk full of books. Encased in Plexiglas and sealed tight into boxes of transparent alloy. Books, like the ones they've only seen in museums and in holographic projectors (back when they still snuck around into public schools for lessons). Hundreds upon hundreds of books, their titles in stacked letters, some of them recognizable, others in languages long lost to the ravages of time and the ruthless pace of change.

"This one here, is on gardening. I found it the other night when you woke me up from snoring too loudly," Jungkook says, bending down to push open the lid of a Plexiglas’s case, pulling out a tattered volume with a bright yellow and black striped cover--Gardening for Dummies.

"Dummies?" Jimin reads, smirking, but Jungkook makes to jab him in the side and he lowers his eyes back to the book. The pages smell like history, proper history, and stories. So, so many stories.

"Right here's the chapter on apple trees, and then over here... there are these fruits call 'cherries' before The First Wave. Y'know."

"They look yummy."

"Sure do," Jungkook says as he flips to another page, the pair of them settling down on the dust-covered basement floor, a pocket fuse between the two of them, huddled over the pages of a book that holds the stories of people from thousands of years ago.

They miss the entire football game and Jackson's party but neither of them can remember to care anymore.