A hundred years from tomorrow, Cristofer Banks will finish assembling the most powerful telescope yet. With child-like eagerness, he engages the rotator cuff and sets it into position. He hurries to the Observatory Bay and waits impatiently for the generators to warm up. The Earth will be so far below him that he will lose the satellite radio link from time to time, but it’s nothing he will worry about. As soon as the telescope is fully operational, he will stare eagerly into the monitor.

In the drawer beside him is a tedious manual. In it are specifications of the telescope’s machinery and a detailed breakdown of the quantum physics that make it all function, including the photon nanolens. Cristofer will never refer back to this manual, however, because he remembers exactly how he designed it, and of course because it works perfectly.

The magnification of the telescope operates by supercharging and speeding up the wavelengths of light, which travels at infinite speed — (proven by this experiment; Cristofer will win his second Nobel Prize for Physics) — and is affected only by core universal gravity — (which is how he won his first). A supercharged wave, of course, is not stopped by mass and can travel further based on how much energy you apply. This is why Cristofer will find himself zooming in as far as he can through everything, pushing the telescope as far as it can.

Something curious will catch his eye, though, and he will stop for a moment. He will not know what he’s looking at, not exactly, not while he’s dumbfounded and still.

He will raise one of his hands. And the figure in the Observatory Bay of the space station on the monitor will raise one of his hands too.

Cristofer will turn around, then laugh when he realizes that of course he could never see his own face. Of course he can only look out into the Universe in but one direction.