The water was a crisp, delicate blue. It stretched out before him for miles and miles. Finally it was infinity. The machine beneath him writhed and roared in its longing for dry land; wanting his wheels to have traction again. But it was too late. They were flying. And in that moment, Spaceman had never felt so alive. Peter Baker had always been a strange and quiet man. Never one to overstay his welcome or, truth be told, even acknowledge it most of the time. Suffice it to say, when it came to forming human bonds Peter was far from inept. As a boy, some even went so far as to suggest that he may have been touched on the head. Still others thought perhaps he was possessed. From what no one had ever been able to define. Surely some spirit or another, they said, and surely there was no good. But the truth was that Peter had not been touched in the head, as they had so eloquently said. Nor had he ever been possessed, at least as far as he knew. No, rather, Peter was simply uninterested in most of what this world had to offer. As far as Peter could see, everything worth doing around here had already been done. As a boy, Peter remembered the feeling he felt when he heard about Columbus, Cortez, and the other great explorers of the human race. How brave they must have been and how many difficulties they had to overcome to succeed. From these stories Pietro discovered that he had great lust. Desire for adventure. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay A longing for the unknown. Every Halloween, from when he first read about Lewis and Clark and their great expedition, until the day he decided he was too old for such things, Peter had gone out into town dressed as one of two young adventurers, always changing between the two, never sure who to choose. All his young life, all Peter wanted to do was be like them. To discover what was yet to be found, to brave the wilderness in search of the truth, to be an explorer and to assist in humanity's great achievement on this planet Earth. Imagine his disappointment, then, when Peter discovered that there was nothing left for him to do. The day the magic died for Peter was a day he would never forget. It was a Tuesday. The first Tuesday in March to be exact. It was on this day that the announcement came that someone had discovered a new tribe deep in the Amazon rainforest. At first, Peter's interest was piqued. A new tribe, how exciting! He remembered thinking. It was only the following day, after doing some research into the extraordinary discovery, that Peter finally learned the truth. Two point three percent. That's how much of the land remained to be seen. Two point three percent. And what's more, it wasn't even any good. Just a little ice around the poles and a few islands that no one had ever bothered to look for. And with this knowledge, Peter was destroyed. The dream was over and reality collapsed with all its force. The only thing Peter had ever lived for was the promise of adventure, the promise of the unknown. Every Christmas he had accumulated books on exploration from every relative, every birthday had been spent on some tour or in some museum, learning about the past and what he had hoped would one day become his future. And without this, he was lost. For years, after realizing he would never be Cortez, dating withswagger the South American coast, that he would never be Columbus, discovering more land in the name of his home and his country than anyone had ever done before him, Peter had simply floated. Throughout high school, Peter had remained anonymous. The History Club, where he might once have felt at home, now seemed nothing more than a mocking reminder, rubbing salt into his still fresh and open mental wounds. The few friends he had managed to make as a child gradually drifted away from him, realizing that something about him must be faulty, that something with Peter was simply not right. And they were right, of course. Nothing was right with Peter. He was an explorer and had nothing left to explore. A painter without a brush, a carver without a knife. Expressionless and alone, Peter suffered in silence. He always wanted something he knew he could never have. After graduation, Peter moved into a small studio apartment, alone. During the day he worked at the local thrift store and at night he watched movies. There was one thing that always managed to make him forget who he was for a while, one thing that allowed him to become someone new, to live another life, and that was movies. Peter lived inside the big screen. It was rare for him to see sunlight, and when he did it was almost always because he had an errand to run or an appointment he couldn't postpone. Peter didn't like daylight. He found it gratuitous, even excessive. The night suited him much better. Indeed, the darkness calmed Peter, because, like him, it was empty. And so, day after day, this is how it went for Peter. Working at the thrift store at night, watching movies all night, and sleeping all day. For a while Peter was content, though never happy. With nothing left to discover out there, he was pretty sure he never would be. Some items would come into the shop and he would resell them to others. A simple life, made of effort and misery. What more could he hope for? Every now and then something really interesting would come into the shop, an old letterman's jacket from the 1960s or a rotary telephone shaped like a Mickey Mouse head. And these things gave Peter a small sense of joy, but it was never enough to overcome what had always been there. The desperation of a crippled explorer brought to his knees not by his own ineptitude, but by the exceptional skill and diligence of those who had already preceded him. In his ineffectiveness, Peter wallowed, falling further and further into the hole dug before him by the greatest names in history. Peter was defeated. For a while he was sure he would never become what he wanted to become, to see what he knew he needed to see to finally find his own happiness. He was sure he would never become himself. But then it happened. And it happened in the strangest way. Early one Sunday morning, as the sun began to rise, Peter was finishing a documentary series on the lost civilization of Gobekli Tepe. The narrator had just surmised that maybe, just maybe, the answer to all the questions Gobekli Tepe asks about humanity's past could be answered with one thing. Aliens. Peter scoffed. Fucking aliens, yeah, right. But still, it had made him think. What if it was aliens, however unlikely that was? What if they were up there, watching him at this very moment? Somehow the idea seemed strangely comforting to him. Suddenly Peter felt he was actually being watched and acted accordingly. Sitting up a little straighter and brushing his hair to the side, Peter began to wonder. What if there was something out there that they had yet to find, something out there that he might be the first to see? And just like that, Peter was alive again. After that moment, things beganto happen quickly. Peter was sure they were there, watching him. Looking for him. At this point he wasn't sure who they were, the aliens who didn't exist, the men in black who were looking for them. Maybe it was even himself, watching from the future. All he knew is that whoever they were, they would show him what to do. For Peter, finally, the possibilities were endless. On Monday, Peter came into work ready to quit. He wouldn't have time to buy and sell that crap anyway, not now he had a plan. But just as he was about to tell Sally, his boss, the good news, he saw her. That was great. An extraordinarily bulbous helmet, almost a complete circle, sat pathetically on a low shelf near the front door. A place like this was no place for a beauty like the one in front of him, and so Peter took her and walked out the door. He had completely forgotten about Sally, or about work that day. Even his cries of warning fell on deaf ears. Peter was a man with a plan and now nothing could stop him. The helmet was a soft shade of eggshell white, with a dark button on the visor. Sturdy and clean. A beautiful color, indeed, and as soon as he arrived at the parking lot he understood which car he would have to travel with. The great beast kicked and roared under Peter's inexperienced thighs, but he continued to resist and, eventually, managed to tame the thing. The salesman holding the clipboard had looked terrified when Peter first put the car in gear, but after Peter's insistence that they were taking care of him and wouldn't let him get hurt, the man he finally gave in. As Peter pulled out of the parking lot, helmet strapped firmly on his head, his big beast of a machine roaring below, he felt elated. There was just one last piece he needed and he was ready to go. Over Peters' shoulder he could still see the salesman. He was talking hastily into the phone, staring wildly at Peter as he walked away from the parking lot. It doesn't matter, Peter thought. Nothing could stop him now. Running home, in his closet, he found it. It's funny how life turned out. This old jacket had been Peter's grandparents'. The man hadn't done well, and Peter had never had a meaningful connection with him, but he suddenly felt indebted to him. How kind of Grandpa to help me like this, Peter had thought. Peter wondered how he knew then what would happen. Maybe they had told him. Yes, it had to be that way, of course. They needed him and they knew it. Pietro was satisfied. He placed his dark gray jacket on the kitchen table, right next to where he had carefully placed his pristine, round helmet. Next to them were the keys to his new car. It was getting dark now, but for some reason Peter was tired. Yes, he thought, time to go to bed for the night. Peter hadn't slept through the night in years, not like this. And in his entire life, he had never slept so soundly. The bright California morning sun shone brightly as Peter walked out the door of his apartment for the last time. For the first time in his life, Peter found the sensation welcoming, even comforting. He smiled and closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in. Somehow, he had never noticed it before, but the crisp air was revitalizing. His helmet was already securely fastened to his head and his jacket was buttoned tightly. His car kicked off. Confident that they would let nothing distract him from his dream, Peter thought little of his lack of driving experience. Instead, he moved on. Peter zoomed down the street, toward the highway. Cars whizzed past him to his left, just like him..