Light Delay · Episode 1
Message One
June 2088. The last message from the starship Tamsin reaches Earth, sent from another star twenty-two years ago. Theo Hale, 56, decides to play all of his father's messages in order, starting with the night his father left, when Theo was nine.
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A kitchen at night, rain on the window, a refrigerator hum.
Theo My father sent me four hundred and twelve messages. I kept every one of them.
Theo I've never played them in order. I'm fifty-six years old, and tonight, I'm going to start at the beginning.
A soft playback chime.
Theo Message one. The ninth of March, twenty forty-one. Forty minutes after launch.
The ship, a low steady hum.
Michael Okay. Is it... the light's green. It's going. Hey, buddy.
Michael So. I'm up. I'm really up. Nobody threw up, which I'm told is some kind of record. And the window, Theo. I wish you could see this window. The Earth is enormous. You're down there somewhere under a cloud over Ohio, and I can't see you, but I know exactly where you are.
Michael Right now the delay is less than a second. That's how long my voice takes to get to you. Not even one Mississippi. That's nothing. That's less time than it takes you to decide not to brush your teeth.
Michael But it's going to get longer, fast. You know that. We talked about it. Tonight, when the big engine starts, it'll be a minute. By next week, an hour. And by the time you're eleven, you'll ask me something, and I won't hear it for a year.
Michael So here's the deal. Here's our deal. You ask me anything, any time, and I will answer it. It might take a while. But I will always answer. Okay?
Michael Okay. Your mom is saying something about bedtime. Tell her... never mind. Go to bed. I love you. Over and out. Is that what we say? I'm saying it. Over and out.
The message ends with a soft click.
Back in the kitchen.
Theo I asked him a question that night. I was nine.
Theo It took me forty-seven years to understand his answer.
The series theme, with the title card over it.
Announcer Light Delay, presented by the VoiceFrequency Network. Episode one: Message One.
Early morning in the kitchen, birds outside, a coffee maker finishing.
Theo It came in at four-twelve this morning. I know the time because I've had the alert set for three years, ever since the braking messages started.
Theo Perihelion's big dish in Chile picked it up the way it picked up all of them, and sent it on to us the way it sent all of them. Sealed, with the family key. Only us.
Theo Message four hundred and twelve. The ship had arrived.
Theo Twenty-two years ago, that is. That's the part nobody ever gets used to. The Tamsin reached Halcyon in the summer of twenty sixty-six, and the news has been on its way here ever since.
A television news broadcast comes up mid-sentence.
Anchor ...confirming this morning that the Tamsin, launched in March of twenty forty-one, has reached the star its crew named Halcyon, nearly twenty-two light-years from Earth. Perihelion, the company that built and flew the mission, says the first data are being studied, and it expects to make a statement later this week. The four crew members aboard were...
The television switched off.
Theo I turned it off before it got to the names.
Theo At six, Perihelion called. A very polite woman asked me not to open the message until we'd had a chance to talk. I said I hadn't opened it, which was true. She said she'd like to come by. I said it was Sunday. She said she knew.
Theo At seven, my mother called.
A phone rings once and is answered.
Grace You've seen it.
Theo I've seen it.
Grace Have you played it?
Theo No.
Grace Good. Don't.
Theo Mom.
Grace Don't play the last one first, Theo. Whatever you do. Start at the beginning.
Theo I've heard the beginning. I've heard all of them.
Grace You heard them one at a time, over forty-seven years. That isn't the same thing. You were nine for some of them, and fifteen for some, and angry for most of your twenties. Hear them the way he sent them. In order. Then play the last one.
Theo Do you know what's in it?
Grace I don't know what's in it. I knew your father. He did things in order for a reason.
Theo That's not an answer.
Grace It's the one you're getting. Call me when you get to the end. Not before.
The call ends.
Theo My mother is eighty-three. She has never once in her life told me anything before she was ready to.
A car door outside, then the front door opens and closes.
Theo Mikey drove down from Ann Arbor without telling me. He's twenty-four. He's doing a doctorate in something to do with fluids that I've stopped pretending to understand. He walked in at four in the afternoon carrying groceries, as if somebody had asked him to.
Mikey You're not answering your phone.
Theo I'm answering some of it.
Mikey It's everywhere, Dad. A guy at the gas station was explaining it to the cashier. He had all the numbers wrong.
Theo What did he say?
Mikey He said they got there this morning.
Theo They got there when you were two.
Mikey Yeah. I know. I told him that.
Mikey Did you play it?
Theo No.
Mikey Are you going to?
Theo I'm going to play all of them. In order. From the first one.
Mikey All four hundred?
Theo Four hundred and twelve.
Mikey How long is that?
Theo I don't know. Some of them are thirty seconds. Some are an hour. I've never added it up.
Mikey Can I listen?
Mikey I've only ever heard him in the clips. The ones they play on the news. The launch, and the one where he says hello to the Pacific.
Theo Those are the worst ones.
Mikey I know. That's why I want the rest.
Theo He'd have liked you. He'd have explained fluids to you for an hour and gotten all of it wrong.
Mikey So, yes?
Theo Yes. But not the last one. Not until we get there.
Mikey Grandma called you?
Theo Seven a.m.
Mikey She called me at seven-oh-five.
A cardboard box set down on a table, and its lid lifted off.
Theo The messages came on a player Perihelion gave every family. Gray, about the size of a paperback, one button and a little screen. Mine still works. I've replaced the battery eleven times. I know I could put the files on anything. I teach physics. But they came out of this, so they come out of this.
Mikey It's tiny.
Theo I was nine. It was huge.
The kitchen at night again, rain on the window.
Mikey You started without me.
Theo I played one. It's two minutes long.
Mikey Play it again.
Theo No. In order, once each. That's the rule.
Mikey Okay. So what happened after that one?
Theo We got one more phone call. A real one. The delay was still nothing, a fraction of a second, so it was just a phone call. My father on the ship, and me on the stairs with my mother's tablet.
Theo Twenty minutes. He told me the toilet was terrifying. And at the very end, when my mother was already reaching for the tablet, I asked him.
Theo I asked him if he'd still be my dad when I was older than him.
Mikey You knew that? At nine?
Theo Everybody knew. It was on the news every night. The clocks on the ship run slow. My teacher drew it on the board. I'd done the math on the back of a cereal box. By the time I heard him say he'd got there, I'd be fifty-six, and he'd be fifty.
Mikey You did that on a cereal box.
Theo It was a big cereal box.
Mikey And what did he say?
Theo Nothing. My mother took the tablet. He answered in the next one.
A soft playback chime.
Theo Message two. The ninth of March, twenty forty-one. Eight-thirty p.m.
The ship, a low steady hum.
Michael Hey. So, you asked me something right at the end there, and then your mom took the... and I didn't get to... so. I'm going to do it properly.
Michael You asked if I'll still be your dad when you're older than me.
Michael And I know why you asked, because I know you did the math. Because you're you. You did it on the cereal box. Your mother sent me a picture.
Michael So here's the math back. When I get there, I'll be fifty. When you hear me say I got there, you'll be fifty-six. You'll be six years older than me. You'll probably have gray hair. Sorry. That one's from my side of the family.
Michael But Theo. Buddy. Being your dad isn't a number. It's not something I am because I'm older. It's something I do. And I'm going to do it every day out here, the same as I would at home. Older, younger, it doesn't matter. I'll be your dad when you're a hundred.
Michael That's the answer. Okay? Hold on to it. It might not make sense for a while.
The message ends with a soft click.
Back in the kitchen.
Mikey He knew it wouldn't make sense.
Theo I thought it made perfect sense. I was nine. I thought it meant he'd be fine.
A soft playback chime.
Theo Message three. Same night. Nine o'clock.
The ship, a low steady hum.
Michael Okay, supper report. Supper is a pouch. They tell me it's chicken. It's floating. Everything's floating. Anika, say hi.
Anika Hello, Theo. Your father has lost a spoon.
Michael I haven't lost it. I know exactly where it is. It's up there somewhere.
Tomas It's behind you.
Michael It's behind me. That's Tomas. He flies the ship. Don't tell him he's funny, he'll only get worse.
Tomas Hello, Theo.
Michael And Lena's already asleep. She's twenty-six, she can sleep anywhere. So that's everybody. That's the whole crew. Four people.
Michael At nine-forty, the big engine starts, and then the floating stops. It pushes us exactly as hard as the Earth pulls on you. One g. So the whole way there, it'll feel like standing in our kitchen. Even when we're going faster than anything has ever gone.
Michael Except the spoon. The spoon is going to hit the back wall really hard.
The message ends with a soft click.
Back in the kitchen.
Theo My mother laughed at that one. It was the first time I'd heard her laugh in a month.
Mikey He was funny.
Theo He thought he was funny. Sometimes he was right.
A soft playback chime.
Theo Message four. Nine-thirty p.m. Ten minutes before the burn.
The ship, a low steady hum.
Michael Hey. It's me again. Everybody's strapped in. They said I could have ten minutes.
Michael I just wanted to tell you that the next time you hear me, I'll be moving. Really moving. Every message after this one is going to take a little longer to get to you than the one before. That's how it goes now. Every single one.
Michael So go outside at nine-forty. Your mom knows where to look. Southwest, low, over the Petersons' garage. You'll see a new star. That's me. Wave. I won't be able to see you, but wave anyway.
Michael Okay. They're calling. I love you. I love your mom. Over and out.
The message ends with a soft click.
Back in the kitchen.
Theo We went out in the yard. It was cold, and the Petersons' dog was barking, and at nine-forty, a point of light came on over their garage. Brighter than anything in the sky except the moon.
Theo And it moved. Slowly. You couldn't watch it move, but if you looked away and back, it had.
Theo I waved until my mother made me come inside. Then I went up to my room, opened the window, and kept waving.
Mikey How long could you see it?
Theo Eight nights. The last two, with binoculars.
Mikey Same time tomorrow?
Theo Same time.
Mikey Night, Dad.
Footsteps going up a wooden staircase.
The kitchen, the rain easing off.
Theo After he went up, I looked at the list on the little screen. Four hundred and twelve, at the bottom, where it's been since four-twelve this morning. Just the number, and the date it left. Sealed.
Theo He said I could ask him anything, any time, and he'd answer.
Theo So I did. I asked him things my whole life. At nine, and at fifteen. At thirty-two, in a hospital corridor, the night Mikey was born. I kept asking long after I knew he couldn't possibly hear me in time. I never stopped.
Theo And he never stopped answering. That's the part I didn't understand. He was always answering a question from years before, a boy's question. And I was always somewhere else by the time the answer came.
Theo Message five, tomorrow.
The closing theme, the piano under the announcer.
Announcer You've been listening to episode one of Light Delay, on the VoiceFrequency Network.
Announcer In our next episode: two o'clock in the morning, four hours into the burn. A nine-year-old boy, his father, and the last phone call they will ever have.