Beacon of Light

I don't know how long it took to become aware of where I was and what was happening, except that my first recalled thought was "Thank God, I'm out of that damn space sleep." It would take a longer period of time before I could also physically move with purpose, but that part didn't matter. At least my brain function was intact, and truth be told, that was more important to me because I was already mentally done with this job. With space travel. And all the detailed drudgery. I was ready to finally go home.

I stretched my neck and back, straightening every crooked angle in my body. I imagined my yoga practice and meditated quietly. Muting the senses. Decreasing activity and input. Stilling the mind. Separating oneself from suffering and anxiety. It was difficult, because I hated working for the corporation to the point of resentment.

The one thing I did love, and which drew me to this line of work in the first place, was the beauty of outer space. A dark bIue velvet blanket sprinkled with diamonds. Sharper and clearer, and more vast, than on any given country night. Oddly, it also reminded me, in a contrasting way, of Picasso's impressionistic painting "Starry Night" — with halo lights surrounded by purplish blue skies — absolutely magnificent.

It was with this passion that I sought out my favorite, familiar constellations. I made my way to the cockpit, reacquainting myself with all the controls and navigation equipment along the way. But when I finally sat down to view the ship's coordinates, I squirmed in my chair and frowned. I looked out the window and found myself in another solar system.

I was in orbit, outside a set of rings surrounding a pink planet. Like Saturn, the rings were made of ice and mineral rock. In the distant background, a yellow sun was rising up behind the planet and highlighting the planet's pastel color and crystalline rings. Despite being largely off course, I still took the opportunity to embrace the daybreak. Dawn on any planet, in any system, was truly a wondrous sight to see.

"Houston, we have a problem," I said aloud, returning to the reality of my plight. I needed to hear myself think. Whenever the silence of space unnerved me, I would listen to Mozart at high volume. At that very moment, I imagined Symphony 41 or "Jupiter." Jupiter was the Roman god of sky and thunder, but also of joy, which could have described Mozart's piece -- an expression of joy -- and what I should have been feeling, coming out of my deep sleep. Instead, I was confused.

"Siri, where am I?"

I had been drifting in outer space for God knows how long and how far. After completing my survey work at the Heliosphere of our solar system, I had set a course for home, and gone into a suspended sleep. But now, instead of enjoying my first days of freedom, I was irretrievably lost in space and woefully low on supplies. I had soared beyond the electrical currents of the Milky Way, even further away from home.

"How did this happen?" I asked myself.

The ship's operating system flashed a message over the command screen, notifying me of its change in flight status. Like a bad science fiction movie, I had been awakened by the ship's computer to investigate an unknown signal from outer space. It was not in my contract, and I did not want to stop for any rescue operation.

"Siri, is someone calling for help?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know that."

Although Human colonization efforts were expanding, there were no outposts in the Alpha Centuri system that I knew of. How do you cryptanalyze an alien signal?

All I knew was that the signal was a unique beacon of light, originating from somewhere nearby. From the shuttle's viewing panes, I could grossly see the light source with my naked eye — a tornado of flashing and twinkling, coming from the planet and its rings.

"Siri, does the signal repeat itself?"

"Computing... " Siri replied.

Quantum computing, to be exact. An answer finally came. Indeed, the light pattern had a repetitive scale to its production.

"... in expanding symmetry," Siri stated.

"Siri, show me the source of the light signal."

Immediately, a crude three-dimensional projection of the flashing beacon came into view.

"Magnify," I requested.

A closeup of the beacon appeared, coming from a particular section of the rings, illuminated by the rising sun behind it. The beacon moved slowly, shimmering with life, as it fired off intermittent rays, at the same time comprising the one larger beacon of light. Glorious in its brilliance, its hope and pathway home.

"Siri, can you tell me about this section of the rings?" I pointed.

"Clarify."

"What is the composition of this section of rings?"

"Analyzing."

It paused for a moment.

"Based on color, spectral emission and reflectivity, the composition is likely water, in the form of ice, and mineral rock, composed of an inordinate amount of metallic elements, including aluminum, silver, rhodium, copper and zinc."

My eyes widened.

"It's not a beacon at all. It's sunlight bouncing off the metal within the rings! Siri, why did you change course for this?"

"At your request."

"What request?"

"To view previously unidentified, naturally occurring, fractal patterns."

Fractals. Patterns of evolving symmetry in nature, providing an abstract visual wonder. The perfectly swirling beacon was a freak-of-nature. An expanding-in-scale fascination, created by sunlight shooting through a cluster of mirrors. The prettiest chandelier I'd ever seen in my life. So unique and rare in existence that I didn't want to miss something I couldn't even imagine. Consequently, I okayed an amendment to the ship's primary objective.

I smiled lightly.

All for the love of art and natural beauty in space. And my wish to stop journeying through space. How ironic was my opportunity now to see another fantastic beacon of light that would finally take me home.