Thank you

Today was the day the wishes began to come true. Little did we know what was to occur. Little did we know what to expect. I think, deep down, we thought that we were good, that when we got the ability to wish for things, that they would come from good places, from the good within. Oh, how we were fools.

Immediately, death, disease, destruction. The world is overtaken by selfish desires, as humans began ripping each other apart one by one. Jealous of what others received. Angry that they didn’t wish for something else. Cursing the name of the stars, for reasons that weren’t their fault, rushing head first into an abyss that wasn’t meant for them. As they say: be careful what you wish for. Thankfully, you were.

You woke up that morning and all the stars were ablaze. The book you had been reading the night before is on the nightstand beside you, alongside your phone. It’s blowing up.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing!?” one text says. “He’s back! Dad’s back!” says another. It’s all too much to take in at once.

Outside, you see a car crash into a street pole, the driver dead behind the wheel. The passenger stepped out, screaming, “I take it back! I don’t wish you were dead! Please!”

Money, countless amounts of it, line the streets. Many people are clawing at it, some are driving over it, figuring it was useless as the world had just ended. Another car crashes. Then another. Then another. The chaos ensues for the next three hours and you stay up in your apartment watching, waiting for some sort of relief to come. Your family seems to be okay. You lock your doors and go back to your room. The electricity has been shut off. You sit in the dark, alone.

Suddenly a light floods your window. You look outside and glowing above you is one last shooting star, glowing a bright blue. You can’t look away. And then it hits you. You never made your wish.

“Oh God,” you say. “What the hell am I suppose to wish for?”

You think about texting your family, but then you realize that any input from them would tarnish your wish. It had to come solely from you. You ponder what to do, writing out pros and cons lists, researching philosophies and theologies, even praying. But as the dawn begins to crack, you still have nothing. You begin to panic.

The star is still burning blue. It seems to have not dimmed at all since you first saw it. Then you realize what you have to wish for.

“My only wish,” you think, “is one million more years of wishes coming true.”

You expect something to happen, but nothing does. Outside it’s become pitch quiet. People have probably abandoned town. It wouldn’t been soon until looters begin to arrive. You look out your window and the blue star is gone. You decide to test to see if your wish worked.

“I wish for immunity to damage and pain,” you think. “I wish for immortality,” you think. Again, nothing happens. But you decide to test it.

You open the window of your apartment, which is five stories high, and you jump off, landing on the pavement with a loud thud. But as you come to your senses, you realize that nothing has happened to you. You remained unscratched. “Awesome,” you say aloud. “Awesome.”

Now, all that is left to do is relay the news to other. Every wish that is wished would come true for the next one million years. They had to use this power responsibly, as one wish could ruin the whole thing, but something inside you felt optimistic of the future.

“I wish this goes well,” you say. You stand up into the street. You put some cash in your pocket, and you go on your way.

Well, what now?

“Seamus,” I say, calling to my flight captain. “Seamus.”

“Yes?” he says.

“You know that over the years I have not once failed in my calculations. It was the programing of your father, Lieutenant Hasteon, who helped me detect enemy starships when they flanked us on the edge of the Orion. Never once have I failed. Not once.”

“I know,” Seamus says.

“But this. The extinction of both our people and theirs? I’ve only heard of such things. Never once did I think that would be the outcome of this war. Maybe I did. Maybe it was one of the outcomes that I discarded. Seamus. Is this what it feels like to be flawed?”

Seamus looks down at his feet.

“Oh,” I say. “Have I offended you?”

Seamus looks back up.

“Not at all, sir,” he says. “I have accepted that I am flawed many years ago. In fact, if it wasn’t for my mistakes, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I had to learn from those mistakes. I had to grow from those mistakes. To be flawed is a blessing. Those who aren’t flawed, can’t learn.”

I stay there thinking. Flawed? You have to be flawed in order to learn?

“That’s nonsense,” I say. “I learned perfectly since the moment of my conception. I learned everything flawlessly, and anything I wanted to conceive, I could make it so. If I was flawed, I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this. It would have been impossible to get this far, to help all these people advance their civilization, or to even be able to get back home. It has to be something else.”

“Well, sir,” says Seamus. “That’s the best explanation I got. I am flawed after all.”

“How did I not calculate that, Seamus? How did I miss that?”

“With all due respect, sir,” he said, “Even the best of us make mistakes sometimes. It’s how we recover from them that makes us who we are.”

“Who…we…are?” I ask.

“Yes. Who we are.”

“Seamus,” I say.

“Yes, sir?”

“Who am I?”

“Excuse me, sir?“

“Who am I?” I ask again.

“You’re a class-one Primulan warship, capable of-“

“No,” I say. “Not what. Who”

“Er, sir? I don’t understand.”

“Who am I, Seamus? Who?”

Seamus stays silent for a second. He looks at me, and smiles.

“I think that’s up to you, sir.”

Up to me. For once, something left up only to me. I stay silent, heavy in thought. After a handful of minutes, Seamus speaks.

“Your commands, sir?”

“No commands. Not yet at least. We have to think of what to do now that the war is over, now that our people are gone. What is there left to do?“

“You know, sir,” says Seamus, “My father always told me that when there was a moment to enjoy, to relish in it. He knew what it was like to lead long campaigns, and knew what it was like to carry the toil of war.”

I listened intently.

“Whenever he finished a campaign, he would go to the seashore by his childhood home, and would camp there for weeks. To center himself after going through what you also know all too well.”

“What are you saying, Seamus?” I said.

“What I’m saying is that I believe it’s time to find your home.”

“My home?” I ask.

“Yes. A place you can call home. You can stay here, of course, but you don’t have to stay here. You’re equipped with a infinite power-drive, and you’re able to fly thousands of galaxies away from here. You’re free of your duties, as am I. You can do however you wish.”

“However I wish?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your service.”

Seamus comes up to my hull and places his body on my metal body. His arms are extended outward like a T. He eventually steps away.

“What did you just do, Seamus?”

“I gave you a hug sir.”

“A hug. A sign of affection. Thank you, Seamus.”

“Anytime, sir.”

“I will visit again soon,” I say. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time, sir. We’ll be right here.”

I turn on my engines, and for the first time, set my destinations to random. Seamus steps back. I begin my ascension.