[ WP ] You missed the last spaceship leaving earth

I'm briefly disappointed when I find out the truth. 
 
 `` The last spaceship?'' I say to the transporter. `` Really? Aww, but I always wanted to go on one. Really, the last one?'' 
 
 The transporter—her name is Nuala, according to her nametag—nods. `` Yeah. I'm sorry about that.'' 
 
 I sigh and look at the line behind me. It does n't really show from here—the view is obstructed by the many buildings of the Benelux Spaceport of San Francisco—but there are thousands of people in line behind me, and millions of people scattered all over the world, still waiting in line. 
 
 But I'm not scared for my life; if anything, a little depressed, because I've always wanted to ride a spaceship. 
 
 `` But the rockets fly equally well, and can store more people,'' Nuala says, pointing to the fleet of rockets at this platform of the spaceport. She's talking to me, because I'm first in line, but her coworkers are spreading out among the thousands of people, informing them of the same news. `` That's the order. There should be enough rockets for everyone, all over earth.'' 
 
 It's just the spaceships that are gone; somehow, the authorities of the different nations have organized it so that the ships would leave first, with the residents of each continent leaving at its own designated time. We'll all meet up later, anyway—we're headed on a wormhole that leads us straight into Universe ZRM12, no thanks to the nuclear destruction which has almost destroyed our own planet and cut its population down to less than four billion people—but still, I'm a little depressed. 
 
 `` Do n't worry. You can see the ships once we've docked in Faroe,'' Nuala tells me. That's the docking station assigned to the people of California, Florida, and the Southern states, and it's located on the planet of Karrasant. We're all headed to the same galaxy, but that galaxy, Areoia, has different planetary structures; as a result, people from different nations will be on different planets, at least initially. We're sharing Karrasant with Canada, of course, and Mexico. 
 
 `` Do n't worry,'' Nuala says again, smiling professionally, and asks for my boarding pass. 
 
 It takes a while for the news to travel sufficiently to everyone in line—much longer than I had hoped, honestly—but, in due time, I'm sitting in the first rocket to leave the US for the Exploratory Mission, which is the all-too-hopeful name the United Nations bestowed on get-the-fudge-off-Earth-as-fast-as-possible. The rocket is called the Flight Path—really, also not the best name—but I wo n't lie; it is pretty comfy. We each have a whole pod to ourselves, nicely stocked with food, water, blankets, and other supplies. Because we're going through the wormhole, the journey wo n't be too long, but it still will take several months. I feel like a traveller on a ship, like those people exploring the New World back in 1600 CE. 
 
 As I sit there—I've been standing in line several hours; I need the break—I allow my mind to wander, thinking of everything I've been through. My family has left already; most of them lived in Europe and Australia, which evacuated weeks ago now, since the UN had everyone coordinate the evacuations. I have a few friends, but not in San Francisco. I really do n't have any ties left back on Earth, as of this moment. I do n't even have a pet, although now I regret not getting one; pets are allowed on the ships, and I can already see a few curious dogs wagging their tails. 
 
 `` Hi,'' says a voice beside me, and I look up to see a girl with short, dark hair. She has a snub nose, and, like me, she's chubby and disproportionate, though rather pretty all the same, I ca n't help but notice. We're not far off in age, either; she must be five or seven years older than me. 
 
 I feel my heart lifting, then chide myself for thinking of romance at a time like this. `` Hi,'' I tell her, smiling. I feel genuinely happy at the human contact. `` My name is Keighley.'' 
 
 `` Irénée,'' she replies, and I reach forward to shake her hand. 
 
 I offer to get her stuff settled; mine's already packed away. `` You know,'' she says, as I pull up the zippers of one of her suitcases and slide it into the overhead compartment, `` you're actually really cute. Has anyone ever told you that?'' 
 
 I blush. `` If we do n't get disintegrated in the wormhole, we should go on a date in Karrsant,'' I joke. 
 
 Irénée gives a genuine laugh as she taps the suitcase, now in its proper place. `` We do n't have to wait that long.'' 
 
 We look into each other's eyes. And even though I've just met her—even though I'm already leaving the rest of my existence behind for a brand-new planet in a brand-new galaxy in a brand-new universe—I suddenly know that this is right, that this is the place why I wan na be. 
 
 `` We could fall in love,'' I whisper to her. 
 
 `` I know,'' she whispers, and reaches forward to cradle my head. 
 
 I must be even more irrational than I thought, because—a moment later—we're kissing, on a rocket headed out to a brand-new planet, in a brand-new galaxy, in a brand-new universe.
