“Try not to geek out too hard,” Vex tells me as our ship settles onto what used to be Central Park. “It’s unprofessional.”
“Says the person who literally squealed when we broke atmosphere,” I reply, checking my temporal radiation badge for the hundredth time. Still green. For now.
The floating cities of Old Earth hover above us like massive theater backdrops, their lights frozen mid-twinkle for the past century. Temporal stasis is a hell of a preservative. The history books don’t mention the color though — that ethereal turquoise that makes everything look like we’re underwater. It’s a trick of the eye, something you don’t grasp unless you’re inside the field.
“Dr. Chen,” Vex says, adjusting their hood against the static charge in the air, “you’re doing the thing with your face again. The one that means you’re composing lecture notes in your head.”
“I am not.” I totally am. My students would lose their minds over this view. “And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Mai?”
“At least once more… Dr. Chen.”
We approach the nearest stasis generator, a hulking piece of machinery that looks like someone dropped it here from the late twentieth century. It’s something right out of those classic sci-fi movies my dad loved to watch.
The warning light on its display panel is blinking red, which is… not great.
“Hey Vex? Remember in training when they said these lights should always be blue?”
They peer at the panel, their usual smirk fading. “Well, shit.”
Above us, one city flickers like a dying lightbulb.
I pull out my tablet, fingers trembling as I swipe through the maintenance protocols that might as well be written in ancient Sanskrit. “Maybe if we just —”
“Mai.” Vex puts their hand over my screen. “You know we can’t fix this.”
“But there has to be something!” My voice echoes off the frozen buildings. “We can’t just let them fall. Do you know how many artifacts are up there? How much history?”
Another city flickers, and this time I swear I hear something crack. Like ice breaking on a pond that’s not quite frozen enough for skating.
“The engineers who built these…” Vex waves at the generators, their voice soft. “They knew this would happen eventually. Nothing lasts forever. Not even memories.”
“That’s very philosophical of you.” I aim for sarcasm but land somewhere closer to tears. “Did you get that from a fortune cookie?”
They laugh, but it’s gentle. Understanding. “Actually, I got it from your thesis on temporal entropy. Page 247, if I remember correctly.”
I want to be annoyed that they’re quoting me to me, but they’re right. I wrote those words. I just never thought I’d have to live them.
Above us, the cities begin to fade like old photographs left in the sun. First the edges go transparent, then the lights dim one by one. It’s beautiful, in a heartbreaking way. Like watching the last sunset on Earth.
Which, I suppose, in a way, we are.
“Should we document this?” Vex asks, already knowing my answer.
I raise my tablet. “History deserves witnesses.”
Image made with Midjourney.
Prompt provided by NoGENver, GoOnWrite.
Flash Fiction written by S. J. Pajonas with assistance from Claude 3.5 Sonnet.
Listen to this story on YouTube at https://youtu.be/iZdh0AaIKo0
