Mission Year 4126:
The old man sat gazing into the crackling campfire. His face was weathered and wrinkled, a rarity on Chiron with all the technology available. A man or woman could live practically forever, and appear to be any age they wished. Few ever chose old age, but Gordon had always been comfortable with it. He smiled as the image of his parents floated into his mind. They both looked in their middle thirties, making him appear old enough to be their father. His smile grew. They always told him he had an old soul.
“Professor Baxter, would you….tell us another story.” One of his charges said, breaking him gently out of his reverie.
He looked around, as if seeing them for the first time. Six children….young adults really, ranging in ages from fourteen to nineteen, off on a Philosphico-Botanical field trip to study the fungus and gain a deeper understanding of it. Gordon Baxter’s Botany class was the most popular at U.N. Information Agency, and not because the children of that place had an unusually high level of interest in Botany.
It was the stories.
Gordon cleared his throat and his eyes searched the night sky for nothing in particular. “A story you say? And what would you have me tell you?”
None of his students answered. It was all part of the game. The stories would come on their own.
“Some would say that the air we now breath is a function of our mastery of this place….our tireless efforts at terraforming which have created a more highly oxygenated atmosphere.” He met each one of their gazes. “Some would say that.”
For a moment, the stillness of the night spoke for him.
“Others would say that we have the Gaians to thank for this gift….that our science would have taken millennia to do what they have been able to accomplish much more quickly.”
“But the Gaians vanished more than a thousand years ago.” One of the older students said quietly.
“Aye. They did indeed, but their legacy will be with us always….and we are only now coming to a complete understanding of their wisdom.”
“But if they were so wise, why did they disappear? And where did they go?”
The old man smiled and shook his head. “Much of what we knew of the Gaians was lost in the great Datacore Meltdown of 3522. That event set us back centuries, and some would say that we are only just now beginning to recover….but the stories remain. Stories passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth, in the old traditions of Earth.”
He smiled knowingly at each of them in turn. “Close your eyes, my young students….close your eyes and hear the tale of the City of Hope. The shining citadel of the ancient Gaian civilization…..theirs is a tale of hope and love, treachery and betrayal, of adventure and intrigue….it is in short, the stuff of Legend.”
He looked around the campfire. All eyes were closed. His students leaning forward as if straining to hear. Not wanting to miss so much as a single syllable.
He smiled, and began weaving out his tale, and as he did so, the world seemed to fall away….out of focus for a time, and then into a different focus entirely. So vivid were Gordon Baxter’s words that his students could practically see the ancient world materializing right before their eyes.
His voice was little more than a raspy whisper as he began: “And every good Legend needs a dastardly villain and a place of beginning….”
&&&
The old man sat gazing into the crackling campfire. His face was weathered and wrinkled, a rarity on Chiron with all the technology available. A man or woman could live practically forever, and appear to be any age they wished. Few ever chose old age, but Gordon had always been comfortable with it. He smiled as the image of his parents floated into his mind. They both looked in their middle thirties, making him appear old enough to be their father. His smile grew. They always told him he had an old soul.
“Professor Baxter, would you….tell us another story.” One of his charges said, breaking him gently out of his reverie.
He looked around, as if seeing them for the first time. Six children….young adults really, ranging in ages from fourteen to nineteen, off on a Philosphico-Botanical field trip to study the fungus and gain a deeper understanding of it. Gordon Baxter’s Botany class was the most popular at U.N. Information Agency, and not because the children of that place had an unusually high level of interest in Botany.
It was the stories.
Gordon cleared his throat and his eyes searched the night sky for nothing in particular. “A story you say? And what would you have me tell you?”
None of his students answered. It was all part of the game. The stories would come on their own.
“Some would say that the air we now breath is a function of our mastery of this place….our tireless efforts at terraforming which have created a more highly oxygenated atmosphere.” He met each one of their gazes. “Some would say that.”
For a moment, the stillness of the night spoke for him.
“Others would say that we have the Gaians to thank for this gift….that our science would have taken millennia to do what they have been able to accomplish much more quickly.”
“But the Gaians vanished more than a thousand years ago.” One of the older students said quietly.
“Aye. They did indeed, but their legacy will be with us always….and we are only now coming to a complete understanding of their wisdom.”
“But if they were so wise, why did they disappear? And where did they go?”
The old man smiled and shook his head. “Much of what we knew of the Gaians was lost in the great Datacore Meltdown of 3522. That event set us back centuries, and some would say that we are only just now beginning to recover….but the stories remain. Stories passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth, in the old traditions of Earth.”
He smiled knowingly at each of them in turn. “Close your eyes, my young students….close your eyes and hear the tale of the City of Hope. The shining citadel of the ancient Gaian civilization…..theirs is a tale of hope and love, treachery and betrayal, of adventure and intrigue….it is in short, the stuff of Legend.”
He looked around the campfire. All eyes were closed. His students leaning forward as if straining to hear. Not wanting to miss so much as a single syllable.
He smiled, and began weaving out his tale, and as he did so, the world seemed to fall away….out of focus for a time, and then into a different focus entirely. So vivid were Gordon Baxter’s words that his students could practically see the ancient world materializing right before their eyes.
His voice was little more than a raspy whisper as he began: “And every good Legend needs a dastardly villain and a place of beginning….”
&&&
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