Samuel looked out his port window into the endless cosmos speckled with innumerable stars. His small quarters were dark; he had turned out his lights to take in the scene outside the interstellar cruiser, the Hawkings. Despite the distance between him and the fiery orbs, he could still make out their intense colors, painting their ages in shades of red, white, green, and blue. And even though he was months out in their journey, it still took his breath away, making him feel inconsequential in the vast, immortal universe.

They had such an important mission—the most important one ever—but had so far to go before reaching their final, permanent destination. The ship was headed to a newly discovered habitable planet—an oasis outside their dying solar system—where they would establish a new and unique civilization, leaving behind the suicidal practices of the old world.

Planet Unitas would be the new Eden, if you will. Of course, this time, humanity’s story would start without the nonsense of religious superstition. There was quite enough of that back home, thank you. The Muslim-Christian War of 2050 had decimated the planet, especially after Iran had released their weapons of nuclear destruction on Israel and England. America and France retaliated immediately, of course, and the Earth finally came to know the total annihilation of nuclear war.

It wasn't so much how many people died (especially since there were too many dead to count and no one to count them if they could); it was the lingering presence of radioactive, decaying disease that would never go away. How could they clean up and rebuild when even the cockroaches were dying? Therefore, when the clandestine international scientists came together to discuss escape from the faithful-yet-murderous, all agreed that this voyage would only take atheists to Unitas.

The divinely delusional could stay behind to reap their “rewards,” those ignorant bastards. The team of scientists would live a life free of fantasy, bigotry, and violence. This was the first international exercise of tolerance and friendship. No Americans, Chinese, Indians, or Kenyans on this voyage. No Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, or Pagans, either—just clear-headed scientists with the will to survive, and the rationality to make it work out right this time.

They had gathered up one hundred of the finest young academic minds left in the world, from every country that was still in existence after the war. Everyone had a PhD in the Science or the Arts, although they made sure to not take any historians trained at a religious university—only secular schools and secular students were recruited. A careful screening process had weeded out the subversive and devious spiritually minded who hoped to sneak aboard the Hawkings. Brilliant minds and well-built bodies were the minimum requirement for this mission.

With great foresight, Samuel believed, they also made sure that they had more women than men. If some (or all) of the men died, the women could still use artificial insemination to become pregnant, but if all the women died, the mission was over. Coupling was encouraged and not required; the men and women were required to take daily contraceptives to prevent unwanted pregnancies on the journey over, but it was assumed that once that made it to Unitas that the baby-making would commence.

Samuel enjoyed the sexual freedom and involvement that he and his girlfriend, Kendall, shared. It was nice to feel loved and wanted and touched; however, they had both agreed in the beginning of the voyage that they were not married; they could end their relationship anytime if it wasn't working out. This was the life, Samuel mused. He had a purpose, he had comforts, and he had a companion. Some 50,000 light years from Earth, and he had never felt so happy and contented. He thought (or at least hoped) that Kendall felt the same way.

He breathed in the air of freedom and exhaled out peacefulness. They had escaped Armageddon, and he felt like an inter-terrestrial god on a pleasure cruise through the Carina Nebula. He took a sip of his white chocolate mint tea and smiled, smugly, as he looked out toward their celestial destination.

His serenity burned away in an instant when the stars around them flashed hotter than they had in thirteen billion years. He shielded his eyes, but the intensity of the blazing light bored through his hand into his skull. Dropping the teacup to the floor, he screamed out, “Jesus! Jesus! Stop!” and one millisecond later, the stars went black.

Through tears of pain, Samuel stumbled to his window and looked out, seeing nothing—no stars, no lights, just emptiness. “What the hell?” he cried out, his mind swirling with questions. First, he thought he’d gone blind, but looking around, he could see inside the room, clearly. Outside, though, there was only blackness and void.

Every thought was swept aside when an archaic scripture that his crazy grandmother forced him to memorize as a boy just popped into his brain. His throat grew tight as he recollected the passage. How did it go? “The sun turned black like sackcloth . . . the stars in the sky fell to earth . . . and the heavens receded like a scroll.”

He sunk to his knees, feeling the broken teacup pieces dig into his flesh, and groaned, “Oh my God. Where did they all go?” He slumped to the floor, knowing that without the stars—those heavenly lights—they had lost their way and had no place to hide anymore.