The light was barely visible, but it was there. At first he thought it was just another star. There were thousands of them outside the cracked viewport, quiet and indifferent, scattered across the black like dust on velvet. But this one didn’t stay still. It flickered. He leaned closer, the harness creaking softly in the silence of the capsule. The navigation panel had died hours ago, and the oxygen gauge had frozen somewhere between numbers that no longer mattered. All he had left was the window and whatever drifted into view beyond it. The light blinked again. A rescue craft, maybe. Or debris catching the sun. Or his mind beginning to wander now that the air was thinning. He laughed once, the sound dull inside the helmet resting beside him. He thought about Earth then. About the way the oceans looked from orbit, impossibly blue. About the way clouds cast shadows that slowly crawled across continents. If that light was a ship, they would find him eventually. If it wasn’t, well, at least it was something to look at. His eyelids felt heavy. He floated back in the pilot’s seat and let his head rest against the padding. Outside, the light continued its quiet blinking in the distance. “I have a feeling that tonight I will dream about the future,” he said while closing his eyes.