“But you traveled across the galaxy. The galaxy.”

Lan picked up a bread stick.

“Yes. It was really scary,” she said with her mouth full.

“Tell me more?”

Lan nodded and swallowed. Then she began.

How to Survive an Interstellar War

More warships, more shouting. Don’t think you are special.

More fighting, more war, as if people’s very souls were falling away into disrepair. You are not special.

Another planet set on fire. This has happened before. Over and over. Leaders drawing new plans, finding new scapegoats.

A civilization coming to the end of its life.

So don’t think you are special. You are a digit, trying to dodge statistics. And, while you are still insignificant, leave now.

Find a planet. A planet with compatible biology. With no space technology, so you can be left alone. Look. Look harder.

You don’t need pretty. You don’t need powerful. You need ordinary. And far, far away.

Study. Study more. And then you smile.

Yes.

Never say you’re escaping. You just want to try something new.

Never mention politics. Say you were in the military, a scientist, so of course you’re loyal. Say it’s just business. It’s simply business.

Tell them you enjoyed your service. Talk to the bank. Present a business plan.

Tell them about the gamma ray burst.

Show them your calculations. Show a planetary system that will experience a gamma ray burst. A Level-Five Gamma Ray Burst.

Say when the burst hits, tourists will need a stargate to get there.

Say profit from the show. Say working with family means reduced overhead. Say return on investment. Be honest where you can. Let them find your lies. Let them see a little greed, which is easy, because who doesn’t want to get rich?

And then, take your permit, take your loan, pay too much money to buy a big ship with everything you need to start a life.

Let people laugh at you leaving for some distant nothing place.

When they laugh, think how their laughter means you fooled them all.

And then as soon as you get everything, just go.

Get the children. Look around for anyone else. No one is coming, of course, but you look anyway. But then, there’s Aunty, holding three too many bags and staring as silent as a ghost.

Be happy your children are not crying. Be happy that your daughter is brilliant. Be happy that your son, even now, can navigate a warp jump.

Be happy that Aunty brought steamed buns for the trip.

Point the ship away. Let the past fade like a dream.

Present your permit. Watch the Central Stargate open, then close.

And keep smiling. Keep smiling to make it seem fun for the kids.

Of course they must know. But they cannot know.

They cannot know how much you will miss everything you are leaving behind.

Lan stopped. Her eyes were focused somewhere far away.