Weekend Worlds: Directions to Earth, Part I

Dear Readers,

  For your weekends, I like to provide you with a long, luxuriant story that examines life in a time stream that my Department studies.  This series is called "Weekend Worlds," and all of its posts are two parts, the first on Saturday, the second on Sunday.

  This week's edition refers to a time stream where the Earth will be abandoned by humans at some point in the future.  The story specifically tells what we know about the day when they finally return to their erstwhile home, when they rediscover where it is located.

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

   Elements of consciousness slammed back into Jan's mind like arrows into a target.  First, wakefulness.  Then sight--darkness--hearing--piercing alarm--touch--cold metal--smell--medical, sterile--taste--blood.

   Then her awareness came back.  She yelled it aloud, as if compelled by ancient instinct, "LIEUTENANT JAN OLSEN, SERIAL NUMBER 3-6-5-9-2-8-2-9."

Image via Wikipedia

   Her voice dropped, "Posting: Navigator and Mission Specialist, United Human Vessel Le Sacre du Printemps."

  The ritualistic part of Jan's trained response over, the hatch that sealed her in slowly turned transparent, allowing her eyes to adjust after their time closed in protective stasis.  Now, she remembered who she was and her purpose in being here.  The taste of blood seemed like one of the things the doctors warned her about, but Jan could not remember.  She considered it might also be the result of a violent collision.  That would also have woken her up.

  She heard over the PA, "Navigator, status report!"



  She realized that this meant her, "Sir!  Just came back awake.  Either we're at Earth or we've hit something.  I'm hoping Earth."

  "All right.  Keep it serious, Nav," she heard in reply.

  Time to get up.  She propped herself up with her elbows and felt the scant leather backrest give way a little under the pressure.  The hatch unsealed and opened on its own.

  The ship's original designer saw no reason to waste space on divided personal and professional areas, and so the moment Jan's bed opened, her navigation console came into view.  She pulled the screen towards her, and the cantilever arm from the ceiling complied.  She blinked twice.

  Under her breath, she muttered, "Eight planets, maybe nine.  Yellow star.  Large density of asteroids between fourth and fifth planets...and third planet, habitable.  Perfect habitability score, actually.  That's not supposed to happen.  Unless, of course, this is really it."

  Jan realized the meaning of what she just said and her hands raced to key on the PA, "THIS IS REALLY IT!" She screamed.  She did not care if the Captain chewed her out for excitement.  They found Earth.

  Ten other cheers came back over the PA to her.  She thought she could make out Sol and Mick from the rest of the voices.  She would have to meet with the other mission specialists before they landed, and then go out to assess safety conditions when they finally hit soil.

  She felt a lurch in her stomach.  Karl, the pilot, started their descenders, no doubt.  She stood up from bed, and keyed in the PA one more time, "Ensigns Breen and Pulaski, report to meeting room one for pre-touchdown briefing."

  She flew down the hallway.  They would have only minutes before touchdown, somewhere on the largest continent.

  Sol and Mick walked in at the same time.  Good men.

  She smiled, "All right guys.  Are you ready?"

  Sol grinned back and saluted, "My parents named me for this mission, Lieutenant."

  Mick just nodded, as per his usual.  Good to have someone who would stay calm and keep his eyes open.

  "All right.  Mick, I need you to scan every communications frequency that you can think of the moment we get there.  I want to know if anyone is still alive and kicking on our old planet, and I want to know if any squatters have stopped by since we left.  I would not want to finally find Earth only to realize that it is covered in giant talking muskrats."

  Sol laughed.  No doubt the return to consciousness left him a little giddy.

  She scolded him, but in a light way, "And you, keep it straight.  This is a big deal.  Your mission when we land is to gauge environment toxicity.  Check for everything, pathogens, chems, nuclear, the works.  If it's out there I want to know about it.  Remember, our records are spotty on why we left this place.  There could be anything out there."

  His smile remained, but he nodded nonetheless.

  She felt the ship lurch to the ground.  "Showtime," Mick said, in his monotone.

  Jan smiled, turned around, and cocked her head to indicate that they should follow.  Showtime indeed.

  She brought them to the airlock.  Preliminary environmentals said that outside they would find breathable air.  Sol's equipment would do the rest.  She opened the hatch.

  In rushed a blast of cold, crisp air.  In front of her, Jan saw buildings.  Many of them.  She thought back to a few of her classes about the Information Age and the Dark Age that followed.  She knew the building in front of her, she could just about put a name to it.  Jan recognized the bulbs at the top of its many spires, and the crosses on them.  "Cathedral Square!  We're in Moscow!" She practically jumped.  Earth for sure.

  She stepped onto fresh earth for the first time in her life.  It gave way, but only a little, under her step.  Still too cold, perhaps.  Jan waved for Sol and Mick to fan out and begin their scan.  She beamed while she took out her cartography unit.  Soon, they would know their exact position.  She looked at the sky and the buildings while she waited.  It felt like a dream, like her first chance at a cake made by angels, like...


   A tap on her shoulder pulled her from this reverie.  She turned around, annoyed, "What is it?"

  Mick frowned, one earphone in, his gaze fixed on his screen, "Sir, you might want to listen to this."

  She took the other earphone and listened to the translation, "Kremlin attacked and destroyed.  This is an automated message.  Launch all assets at designated targets.  Automatic launch systems will power up in 15 minutes if you do not comply.  Repeat.  Kremlin Attacked in Decapitation Strike.  Launch all nuclear assets."

  Cold, crisp air now snapped like a whip into her panicked lungs.  "This," she gasped, "is not good at all."

Part II on your Sunday.