The human race was always destined to inherit the world. Through more than a billion years of life on our blue planet, we alone stood as those who looked up towards the stars and saw more room for our human arms to spread, endless possibilities unfurling before our eyes. So we pressed upwards, desperate to fly, to know what exactly was out there, fueled by fires of our own making.
Sooner or later though, we would be brought back down to the ground, the sparks extinguished, as the great human dynasty crumpled like trees in an earthquake.
To keep that fire alive though, mountains were ground to dust in the vain hope that one more speck of metal might be discovered, the forests consumed to feed an empty, bottomless stomach, the rivers dyed brown and red, choked with the decaying waste of a dying civilization, fishes flopping belly up on the surface.
Like the dinosaurs before it, The age of man had passed, but its remnants refused to go along with the march of time. Overpopulation was global, teetering apartments stacked up so high that collapses were commonplace, thousands buried under rubble that was built over two days later.
Our factories started to sputter out and die, then, we began to look up at the stars, at the many celestial bodies so that they might fuel our push forward. The experts from around the world pooled together their resources and thinking power to fast-track the path to outer-space colonization.
But they realized something, that by the time the machines finished harvesting and shipping back crucial elements, the lights would fade and a new dark age would emerge. So instead, the focus turned to what was below us. The funny thing about the oceans was that despite the human urge to know the unknown, nobody wanted to explore the depths. For good reason too, the ocean’s depths were just as hostile to life as space was, with crushing pressure among a myriad of things.
But there was only one way forward in those people’s minds. We began to drill into the Pacific plate at first, and when nothing blew up, we began to drill everywhere. A boom in human society followed because, for the first time in centuries, there was finally an excess.
Our home began to prosper. For so long, space travel was stunted by, well, the sheer amount of space between planets and galaxies. Then, a scientist in America discovered that directed plasma energy will distort the distance between two separate points. At first, it was a novelty, a way to limit the time took to travel for rich people only. Then a Chinese scientist applied it first to a satellite heading into orbit. That’s when the possibility truly opened up, with every new spacecraft containing the technology to SGT or shortened gap transport.
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Before we could finally, finally take that step beyond our world, the bust came, or more specifically an extinction-level event. All of our drilling had destabilized the tectonic plates. Could you even imagine it? The ground trembled and split before your feet, as geysers of scorching magma clogged the air, mountains of soot and smoke blotting out all the light you have ever known. Your lungs begin to gasp and choke as your eyes reflexively begin to water, everything you have built crumpling in a matter of seconds.
From the videos I have seen, it looked like a toddler had taken red and black crayons and had drawn across the Earth, haphazardly slashing and tearing the canvas until the blue and green gentle giant so familiar was now a spitting, inhospitable ball of red magma and black ash.
Despite all that, there was hope, for some. The rich and the powerful escaped to space, leaving Earth and everyone on it to melt on a lava planet.
The space stations prospered for a little while, but eventually, they too sputtered and winked out. Solar panels meant to support ten found themselves under the stress of a hundred souls. Humanity had neglected to develop its space programs to the point of self-sufficiency. I guess they didn’t see the point in leaving home, not when during a golden era.
Not us though. We were powered by a fusion generator. If I could ask the long-dead engineers who crafted the great beast how it worked I would, but they died a long time ago, so I don’t particularly know how it works.
The Vista was the name of our humble ark. It was long, around the size of a stadium, which made sense given it was to transport a colony of Earth’s finest. It honestly didn’t look that impressive, like a needle with a button in the middle of it. But outfitted with the best tech money could and couldn’t buy, it was our haven.
Artificial gravity mimicked Earth’s through centrifugal rotation. Scanners and transponders that communicated with satellite missions scattered all over the known universe to seek out the correct conditions for a place to call home. Stored MREs meant to feed entire armies would sustain the crew until they located a habitable planet or returned to Earth, with hydroponics supplementing that supply. The water reclaimers recycled pockets of ice collected by mining expeditions.
But it never wasn’t designed to be permanent.
Eventually, we consumed more than we produced. So most of the crew set off towards the horizon, desperate for a habitable planet. If they came back with good news, then all was well. If not then, the food wouldn’t be an issue as fewer mouths to feed meant more food for those left.
My mom was pregnant with me, so she stayed behind. Did you know that nearly 60% of childbirth resulted in death before modern medicine?
The start of my own life was a sad quiet affair, punctuated by a soothing mechanical beep and the faint cries of a confused child.