02 — A Seat by the Window

Platform Zero lay behind a maintenance hatch that had always opened onto a cupboard. Tonight it opened onto snow. Not simulated snow, not coolant crystals, but the soft, imperfect kind Jun remembered from Earth.

A silver carriage waited beside a wooden bench. Its windows glowed with lamplight. A conductor in an old blue coat inspected Jun's ticket without asking where he had found it.

'Is this a rescue?' Jun asked.

'That depends on who you are looking for.'

Inside were six passengers, a sleeping dog, and a woman reading a newspaper dated thirty years in the future. Jun chose a seat beside the window. The glass reflected him as a child for a moment, then corrected itself.

The conductor rang a small bell. Jupiter slid away. Beyond the station, the stars arranged themselves into a track of blue light.

On the empty seat opposite Jun lay a second ticket. Its destination was the name of a town that no longer existed. Under passenger, someone had written: Whoever still remembers.