Did the Sun go on Vacation?

Countdown Until The Long Darkness

April 24th, 2047 — 8:47 AM CST Location: Basement at the Solar Control Center in Houston, Texas.

Employee: Marcy Williams

After finishing my third cup of coffee of the morning, I looked over the data from the last hour of the Helios-9 solar observation probe — or McProberFace, as I liked to call it. Official names were boring. McProberFace had character. The probe orbited between Mercury and the Sun.

“Readings look good, same as the hour before,” I sighed.

Boredom crept in often during my shifts. It’s not that I wanted to see a major solar flare heading our way, but even the slightest change in the Sun’s CMEs would allow me a phone call to those upstairs. Any small change in the Sun’s normal behavior had to be reported immediately to Stan, who would then look over my reports and run his own scans from his computer upstairs.

It often felt like grunt work — sitting here for ten hours, consuming coffee, and never having a moment to step outside and feel the Sun on my skin. Well, at least I got to see it on paper.

My eyes rolled as I refilled my mug for the fourth time today.

“Ah, it is now 9:00 AM. Only six more hours to go, then home to watch reruns of the Estonian Bake Off show.”

Often I stayed an hour after my shift to review changes in the Sun’s output with Jerry. But if today kept going like this, there wouldn’t be much to report and I’d be heading out fast.

12:32 PM

Lunch time! Well… more like a cup of the finest seventy-two-cent ramen noodles with a dash of hot sauce and one of my favorite shows playing in the background.

“What is the Sun up to now?”

The noodles tasted better than usual, which oddly satisfied my taste buds. Then I heard a small beep and glanced up, wondering if it was the door alarm or another sensor. But the sound came from the computer.

In the bottom corner of the screen, a red button flashed. I opened it and the entire display flooded crimson.

Anomaly detected.

What does that even mean?

I grabbed the manual, but it read like a riddle. Giving up, I checked the data myself. A high-energy spike — possibly a new sunspot forming. Dangerous. Potentially catastrophic.

I logged the time and location before calling Lord Stan.

Stan had fifteen years of experience with classified technology. He designed protocols, validated algorithms, and held patents tied to our analysis systems. Nothing world-ending (at least that’s what I’d been told), but powerful enough to give the U.S. an edge over other space agencies.

Keep your new toys quiet.

I wasn’t sure why he left that world for Houston, but he kept his military demeanor.

That’s why I jokingly called him Lord Stan — in my head.

“Stan, it’s Marcy down in the basement. I’ve got a report coming your way. Possible sunspot formation.”

“Very good. Report back with further changes. Over and out.”

Click.

Highlight of my shift.

I watched the monitor lines rise and fall until everything stabilized again.

“Huh. Guess the fun’s over.”

My phone rang.

Mom.

“She’s just calling to see if I’m making it to dinner Saturday. I’ll call her after work.”

The woman could talk your ear off — and the replacement ear you got afterward — so I usually put her on speaker while cooking.

2:48 PM

Almost done. Ugh… Mom.

There had been a few alerts earlier and a couple of calls to Stan, but nothing major. Some days we had two people on shift. Those days went faster.

Beep.

Another spike. Nothing abnormal, but one last goodbye to Stan before clocking out.

“Hey, it’s me again. Another spike like earlier.”

“You must always identify yourself when calling.”

I groaned. “It’s Marcy. I sent the spike details , time and location.”

As he lectured me, the spikes multiplied and grew. The alarm couldn’t flash any redder.

“I hear the solar warning alarm,” Stan said urgently. “Why wasn’t this detected earlier?”

“It’s not just solar warnings. CME alerts, solar wind warnings, particle alerts — everything’s spiking. There was nothing abnormal before. Maybe a malfunction. I’ll shut everything down and run diagnostics. Can you monitor your end?”

“I’ve sent Art,” Stan replied. “And James has already been flagged.”

Of course he had.

James worked in field operations — the in-between layer no one ever talked about. He wasn’t stationed anywhere permanently because half the facilities tied to solar monitoring were always half-breaking. Power drops, corrupted feeds, system hiccups. James floated between sites, fixing whatever went dark before anyone upstairs even noticed.

“On my side, the data feed is blank,” Stan continued. “The probe signal is active, but no solar data is coming through. Check everything until Art arrives.”

He put me on hold.

Guess today wasn’t boring after all.

2:49 PM

As the printer hummed, I didn’t realize a countdown had begun.

2:51 PM

“Hello!” Jerry shouted from the entrance.

“Back here!”

He found me tangled in wires under the desk.

“What’s happening?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“You sure you know where those go?”

“Of course I do. Why else would I be down here?”

Jerry raised an eyebrow.

Before he could dial Stan, the phone clicked on.

“All agencies are on heavy alert,” Stan said. “Roscosmos and the European Space Agency are reporting anomalies too. Hang tight.”

Click

Could this be hackers? I wondered.

2:54 PM

“I should’ve started the timer.”

We were supposed to resolve issues faster than sunlight could reach Earth.

Jerry checked the logs. “First alert was 2:49.”

“Five minutes down. Three to go.”

“My spidey senses aren’t tingling,” Jerry said. “There’s a natural explanation.”

Comic book nerd. Eternal optimist. Extremely annoying.

2:55 PM

Silence.

Everything shut down.

“Is this the end of the world?” I laughed nervously.

“Doubt it. I’ll reset the breakers.”

“Please. Anything to avoid calling my mom.”

2:56 PM

Darkness.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then power returned.

A knock at the door.

“Fuck. That’s Art."

He stepped inside, eyeing the mess.

“I hope nothing’s broken.”

“All probes are offline,” I said. “No data anywhere.”

“I’ll check with Sarah.”

“I need air,” I said.

2:57:32 PM

Outside, the air was warm. Spring. Peaceful

Then the light dimmed.

I looked up.

The Sun faded… until only a black void remained.

“Am I hallucinating?”

Art stepped beside me.

“It’s dark. Why is it dark?”

I checked my phone. Three missed calls from Mom.

“You see it too… right?”

“Just stars,” he whispered. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. But it’s real.”

Inside, Jerry waited for the systems to reboot.

“Call Stan,” I said.

“What do I tell him?”

I swallowed.

"Tell him...the sun is gone."