A bull's-eye window

Out of the porthole, off the starboard side, land approaches.

Searching through that domed window, not for the first time, waiting for it all to be within reach. Watching it grow in the distance, the ancestral homeland. A wild environment, lush with exotic plants, beasts and humans. Where the sun burns the land and swollen rivers cut across countryside to the surrounding icy ocean depths.

Still can’t make out the dock, there’s cloud cover in the distance. The sun is just cresting the horizon of the port side, everything is still difficult to make out.

And yet arrival is imminent.

Leaving home was a decision she had been determined to make, for adventure but also for evidence, to document what had been taken from her, from her family. Behind she left the sandy dunes and cold dusty planes of the tundra. Left behind for high travel and adventure. This first visit will see a new land, well, new to her at least.

She can not wait to arrive to new experiences and be off this ship. It would be hard to contain herself, if this window hadn’t seen her reflection every spare minute of the past 11 months.

It will be 13 months until this adventurer returns to her simple life. A little more than a year left of travel, negotiating, learning and experiencing all she can of this place. Here, where her parents had left so suddenly, before their only daughter had been born.

She held the heart shaped locket her mother had given her. It contained pictures of her parents so she might show anyone who still remembered them, and so she would remember them.

Exiled, accused of dissent, no conviction, no courts. Her parents had been arrested by secret police. Sentenced to three years in the settlements. Her parents had arranged the protest over the lack of support they would receive, after their whole area had been destroyed by natural disaster. Three years labour, there was no return tickets and nor would they be provided by any means.

She had made it here by luck, and pure determination. A journalist, investigating what remained of her decimated homeland. She would need to be careful, she could still be persecuted here. Would the land be rebuilt? recovered? reclaimed?

The excitement of travel had worn thin, her travel journal mostly consisting of endless black nights and blinding sun shine to watch roll past the starboard portal. The monotony spreads quickly aboard a merchant ship, easily the largest in the fleet, that just like clockwork rolls out each year. If only she was allowed to bound along above the deck with the crew.

There are passengers aboard, but not many compared to the smaller cruise ships that leave port, floating off to various destinations. Many of these inhabitants are here just to make sure their precious cargo remains secure throughout the voyage. She had already inspected every nook, corner and article of cargo below deck, there was no story here.

Today is the day though. A surreal moment after so long of waiting.

All of a sudden the warning alarms and announcements are sounding. Jolting from her reprieve, she grasps at a grab rail for support. The bull’s-eye is left behind, as she aims for the cabins aft of ship and drifts off eager, yet apprehensively. Through the crew's living quarters, empty at the moment as the crew are going about their final sweeps making sure everything is secure. Most have practiced this a few times before.

In the aft-cabin, the smell of passengers reminds her it's been a long trip.

One of the assigned bunks displays her name, a quick check for any loose possessions not already stowed away and strapped in for landing. All passengers are expected to batten down their own stations. She has already been briefed along with other passengers on what to expect during the approach. This ship is run with military precision and no less would be accepted from it’s human cargo. Her travel journal documents the Captain’s discipline for any crew or cargo that stepped out of line along the trip. She had been lucky to escape such a fate.

At the briefing passengers had been informed, again, to keep out of the crew’s way and make sure they're prepared for what might be a rough docking. The broadcast reports low pressure atmospheric readings and choppy seas. Conditions aren’t ideal, but they can't afford to wait out the weather. All that is left to do is to give the old girl her heading and hold on.

About half an hour, waiting amongst the nervous chatter of other passengers, feeling oddly detached, alone with no one to share her apprehension. Calm knowing that there is nothing any of us can do that will affect the outcome of this journey. The whole time it had been up to the ship and a seasoned crew to bring it all in safely and they had already made it so far.

Take a deep calming breath and focus thoughts inwards. Clutching at her pendant, she is pressed into the bedding as the great hauler pitches.

Just think of the land you get to experience, all the people you’re about to meet. The importance of your mission.

Stomach racing to chest as the ship starts to fall, and fall. Thunderous noise crashes all around, bed shaking as fingers dig into cold metal.

Focus on breathing, as about 20 minutes in the lights go out and one of the passengers lets out an all too familiar scream.

The cargo hauler is bucking toward the dock. Yet it’s not long before the booming sounds of great engines struggle to slow the great approach. All that can be heard is the roar of those engines, as her body is wholly pressed into the bunk again, sensations overwhelming.

Then with a single solid thunk that reverberates every tooth and bone..

It is all over. A collective sigh of relief as the ship lands.

They have landed, they have arrived, they are safe.

The great engines power down, the pumps depressurised, the automated moorings attaching to the ship, a ship called home for the past 11 months.

Travelers aboard the great ship Pharaon have made it to Earth.

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