by David Salvi
When walking through a dense forest of trees, the air felt different. Persistent humidity was no longer there, and their skin cracked and whitened, causing them to itch. They were assured this would pass. A human body is a resilient and adaptable vessel. Their overwhelming excitement helped Aurora’s passengers forget these minor ailments.
A sign was erected on the path. It read: Dominium.
“We call these cities, not colonies. Colonies are for ants and bacteria,” said in a playful tone by one of the natives. He was a tall, wiry man with a fully formed and manicured beard that had streaks of blond and red hair. Veins accentuated in his forearms as he carried two briefcases from the landing site.
“I hear that right, Mr. Menas? You thought about heading through the eye of a hurricane? Wow!” said another native. He was a teenage boy with shaggy hair and a patchy black beard. He carried two bags of supplies.
“Had to,” Chris said.
“Yeah, but still! The courage to do that! Wow!”
“You wouldn’t be a Menas if you’d didn’t try something totally crazy,” Justin joked. He cocked his eyebrow to his son and smiled.
Walking into the city, an array of concrete structures populated the area, making the scene gray and clean. At the corners of buildings, and as window and door frames, were wooden planks. Not krakona wood. Something lighter and more pleasant.
Several citizens walked about their day. They were mainly dressed in earthtones like green, reflecting Motus brethren, but with longer sleeves and pants, some with robes. Most of the men had beards. Most women had long darker hair, either brunette or jet black. Seeing the newcomers, they waved and smiled, often saying “hello” with friendly gestures.
Chris stood at a center point and scanned the city. Each building had a wood sign in front of it in blocked script.
Hospital.
School.
Security.
Agriculture.
Space. The most massive of all the buildings.
Then they arrived at the Dominium Center structure, a more ornate edifice amid the mildly bland structures. Administrative folks shuffled in and out of a glass door.
Their group walked into the administration building, a well-lit, oval-sized atrium with stone floors and glass walls to separate the rooms. They found a conference room to talk.
Chris, Riley, and Lavik sat around a table while Jason took the head chair. He told them he wanted to talk about the past and the present with glimpses into the future. The rest of the passengers left and acclimated themselves to the new world with the other human beings roaming about the land.
Riley leaned forward in her chair with her hands on her open mouth. Lavik drooped in a paralytic awe. Chris folded his hands on the table and darted his head between his father and Riley and Lavik.
“Shortly after Stargazer left, the world crumbled as Oscar Marian predicted. But he underestimated the human species ability to survive. A cure for the plague, the one Oscar Marian tried to hide, circulated in North America and Europe. Then into Asia. By then the world’s population was wiped out, though. Slowly more died off because people did not know how to cope and survive. Our reliance on machines and technology handicapped our species,” Jason explained.
“How many are left?” Chris asked.
“Maybe a few hundred thousand people. Every civilization stays local.”
Riley, fascinated by Jason’s every word, asked, “How did this all come about then?” as she motioned at her surroundings.
“I’ve been here for two decades. But the rest of these people are ancestors of survivors,” he explained. “They told the tales of young people, not yet thirty years of age, taking up the fight for survival. Like you kids. Everything changed. How we lived. How we used resources. How we interacted with each other. Throwing out the bad, taking in the good. What was supposed to be our extinction, turned into an opportunity for a blossoming of humanity.”
“We gave a damn again,” Chris said.
“That’s right. Also, Earth repaired itself. Damaging emissions and resource drains had stopped. Global climate regulated again. Wild winds, rains, ice, and storms lessened. There’s still plenty of work to clean up the mess..”
“Like what?” Lavik asked.
“The oceans. Wildlife. Things still need time. But we can help that timetable by acting.”
Riley said, “Looks like a lot of effort into the space program.”
“Yes, it’s absolutely critical to the planet. Satellites, patrol ships, and space stations have helped deflect threats. Most of the research and data was in tact after the Grand Exodus. And it has since been built upon. In a hundred years of space activity, humanity was able to travel four light-years. Since then it’s been centuries. Imagine if we had our feet under us instead of fighting to survive,” Jason said as he shook his head. Wouldas, couldas, and shouldas bothered him.
“It’s impressive,” Riley said. Still this area was foreign to her. She sat back as if satisfied with Jason’s answer.
“What about the others?” Chris asked.
“Which others?” Jason asked back with a bewildered face.
“Motus. Canaan.”
“What about them?”
“We can’t just forget about them.”
“Their memory lives on. It’s a shame.”
“That’s not a good enough answer.”
Jason leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “I don’t know what you want me to say, son. We have our life here to maintain and make better so we can come together again and improve our lives, and improve the lives in the future.”
“Oscar Marian made the mistake of leaving behind his people.”
Lavik and Riley watched the verbal ping pong between father and son. They marveled at how much they looked like each other. Same cheekbones. Same mannerisms. Same inflection.
“That was different.”
“No. We shouldn’t make the same mistake.”
“What are you trying to say?” Jason said.
Chris stood up and watched as people walked the lobby and rooms of the administrative building. Then he turned directly to his father and said, “We have to go back.” A pause. He saw Riley’s face light up with a smile.
He said it again. “We have to go back to Canaan.”
The End
CHRIS’S FINAL POEM
Where is home, but where your heart is, as they say.
Every day you search and search for what calms your day
Looking over a lake to a mountain,
Or alone at night with the one you love
As the stars twinkle above
But finding your place in it all
May be the greatest test of who and what is to be of you
Never give up the journey of searching
Never give up the fight, no matter the odds.
It’s what we do
It’s who we are
From the middle to edges of the earth
Across continents into shores
The great western journey is what we did
And into the stars we went
Only to show who we truly are
Wanders, travellers, adventurers, and hunters
For the greatests greats in this universe
And that’s good enough for me
For it’s worth it, all of it.
To find where your soul belongs,
What greater purpose for this life is there?
There is none.
Because it is everything.
Acknowledgements
The journey to Canaan was made possible by some very important people in my life. First and foremost, my love (and honest first reader) Elena. Thank you for keeping me on task and believing in me and the project. Your support holds me upright mentally and emotionally. My creative cohorts: Chris Sattel, David Osipowicz, Dan Tomaszewski, and Jeff Zimmerman. Without you, my creative pursuits would feel empty and lame. A major thanks to readers and friends who help edit this hunk of junk: B
rittany Sattel, Scott Butler, and John Markham. You are true friends to lend your precious time on my dreams. And thank you, readers, for joining us on this science-fiction journey. I love every one of you, even if I don’t know you by name. Stay tuned for more.