Special Archive of the Human Diaspora

By Alexandra Durham

“Commision”

Curiosity is a strange and almost dangerous thing. It is not a desire we can fully understand or control, even though it feels intrinsic to our nature. What is it that compels us to seek knowledge, to go to such lengths to uncover secrets long buried by the passage of time? It must be more than mere impulse. Perhaps it is something rooted deep in our evolutionary biology, a survival mechanism in the form of intellectual hunger. Knowing more of our surroundings, of our past, of the mechanisms that govern our world, has undoubtedly been advantageous for our species. Curiosity may be, at its core, a tool for survival.

And yet, there are times when I wonder whether my pursuit of knowledge has become something else—something almost like an obsession. I have risked my life countless times, endured isolation and loss on a scale most cannot comprehend, all in the name of understanding the fate of the human diaspora. Sometimes, I do not even understand myself. What is it that keeps me moving, when most would have turned back long ago? Is it curiosity, or desperation?

These thoughts lingered in my mind the day I received an unexpected message—one that would lead me down a path that defied logic and rattled even my long-held assumptions.

The communication came from a small, seemingly insignificant planet nestled within a backwater system near the center of the galaxy—a Linear Standard Civilization. These types of societies, though numerous, rarely warrant my attention. They are predictable—unambitious and insular, generally uninterested in engaging with outsiders, much less a wanderer like me. I initially considered ignoring the message, assuming it was nothing more than a plea for resources or help.

But something about it intrigued me. It was different.

So I responded.

"Why have you contacted me?" I typed into my console, expecting silence or some banal request. But the reply came swiftly, its directness catching me off guard.

"Are you Alexandra Durham?"

The question startled me. My name was not widely known, even among the scattered remnants of humanity. Few still living knew of me, and fewer still would go out of their way to seek me out. I hesitated for a moment before typing back.

"Indeed I am. How do you know of me, and what do you want?"

A slight delay followed, as though the sender was carefully considering their next words. Then, the response appeared.

"I heard that you’ve seen more of the galaxy than any other human alive." The message read. "I heard that you’ve set foot on more worlds than are even listed on the star maps. Is this true?"

I stared at the console, my fingers hovering above the keys as I considered my answer. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t." I replied, not wanting to reveal too much just yet. "But you still haven’t answered my question. What do you want?"

There was another pause, brief but noticeable. Then, the next message appeared, and with it, a chill ran down my spine.

"I would like to make a deal."

A deal? I leaned forward, my curiosity piqued. There was a boldness in the tone, something unusual for someone from a planet so seemingly unremarkable. What could they possibly offer me?

"What kind of deal?" I asked, unsure where this conversation was headed.

"I’m from Earth."

I blinked, my heart suddenly pounding. Earth? That was impossible. Earth was nothing but a dead world now, its population scattered across the stars thousands of years ago. No living human could still claim Earth as their home. It had been reduced to a graveyard, a wasteland of long-forgotten history. I had seen it myself.

I considered ending the conversation there, convinced the man was lying. But something made me hesitate. I wanted to see where this would go. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," I replied, keeping my tone skeptical. "What is it you really want?"

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The response came, calm and unwavering. "I need you to find someone for me."

"Find someone?" I typed back, half-expecting the absurdity of the request to shatter the illusion. "I’m not in the business of tracking people down. And even if I were, you’d need to offer more than some fanciful story about being from Earth to convince me."

There was a longer pause this time, as if the man was weighing his next move. Then, his next message appeared, and the chill returned.

"I know you’ve visited Earth." He wrote. "I know you’ve seen the archives, the ones you thought no one else had access to. But here’s the thing... I’ve seen them, too."

My breath caught in my throat. How could he know? Earth had been a desolate wasteland when I found it, its archives locked away, accessible only to those with the right knowledge. No one else could have found what I did.

And yet, here this man was, claiming not only to know, but to have seen it himself.

"I was part of the Front Runner Initiative."

My heart skipped a beat. The Front Runner Initiative. Of course I knew the name. It was the first great human expedition designed to colonize the galaxy, launched from Mars over 90,000 years ago. But the mission had been lost, the vessels never heard from again. There were no surviving records of their fate—only speculation and myth.

"I departed Mars in 2356." The man continued, his words steady. "My assignment number was EX663478. You have access to the archives. Check for yourself."

I didn’t waste any time. Pulling up the ancient records stored in my vessel’s database, I quickly cross-referenced the number. To my shock, it matched. The assignment, the mission... everything checked out.

He wasn’t lying.

I stared at the console, my mind racing. This man—whoever he was—could indeed be telling the truth. The Front Runner fleets, long thought lost to the endless void, may not have been lost at all.

"How is this possible?" I muttered to myself. I quickly responded. "It’s true... but how are you still alive?" My fingers trembled slightly. "I have so many questions. Can I land on your world? Meet with you in person?"

The man’s next message was almost playful. "I figured you’d have questions. I’ll do you one better. If you find the man I’m looking for, I’ll transfer all of my memories to you. Every last one."

My pulse quickened. "All of your memories?"

"All of them." He confirmed. "You’ll have the unfiltered, untainted memories of a man who lived on Earth."

The offer was staggering, too good to pass up. To possess the memories of someone who had lived on Earth before its fall? It would be priceless—an unparalleled treasure of knowledge. But there were still too many unanswered questions.

"Alright." I replied cautiously. "You have my interest. But how do you expect me to find this person?"

His response was swift. "That part is easy. I already know where he is."

"Then why can’t you retrieve him yourself?" I typed, growing more suspicious by the minute.

"We don’t have cloaking technology." The man admitted. "But I assume you do. With your ship, you could get in and out without drawing attention."

I considered his words carefully. Cloaking technology wasn’t uncommon for someone like me, but it was curious that a man with access to such ancient knowledge couldn’t acquire it himself. Nevertheless, the offer was too tempting to ignore.

"Send me the details." I responded finally. "If everything checks out, I’ll see what I can do."

Within moments, the coordinates arrived. I glanced over them, noting the proximity—only five light years away. It was risky, but manageable. The prize was too valuable to pass up.

Setting the coordinates into my ship’s navigation, I began my journey toward the unknown, my mind awhirl with anticipation and doubt. Could this man truly be from Earth? And what secrets would his memories reveal?

I couldn’t shake the strange mixture of emotions brewing inside me. There was excitement, yes—how could there not be? The thought of unlocking memories from the original Earth was something I had never imagined possible. But there was also unease. This man, whoever he was, had been part of something far greater than he let on, something that had spanned millennia.

And yet, here I was, about to take a wild gamble on his word alone.

The stars streaked by, their cold light distant and indifferent to my thoughts. In a way, I envied them. No matter how much I sought after the stories and secrets of the human diaspora, the stars were always there—silent witnesses to the rise and fall of civilizations, untouched by time and the follies of sentient beings.

I thought briefly to myself about collective human memory—the stories of our past that ground us and connect us to the present. But what happens when those memories outlast the people who lived them? What happens when knowledge is passed down, untethered from its original source, until it becomes little more than myth?

I had always been the one chasing after lost knowledge, sifting through the ruins of forgotten worlds, trying to piece together the fragmented history of our species. And yet, for the first time, it felt as though I was the one being sought out—as though the knowledge was chasing me. It was a shift in perspective that I hadn’t fully prepared for.

The man had mentioned the Front Runner Initiative, an expedition so ancient it had been lost to time, swallowed by the vastness of space. I had studied its history—what little remained of it in the archives—but there had been no definitive answer as to what had happened to them all those 90,000 years ago. Until now.

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