BABE’S BLOG

PIONEER ONE . . .

“I wasn’t sure you’d be back.”

“How could I not be back? It’s my dream.”

“But I wasn’t sure you’d want to find me again.”

“Were you here last night?”

“Yes, but . . . out of the way.”

“I wanted to find you. I waited all day to find you. But I couldn’t.”

We’re in a plain room with concrete walls, sitting in two folding metal chairs which face each other. There’s nothing in the way of decoration—just a hanging exposed light bulb and a bare cement floor.

“I’m here now, so we can talk.” Our voices echo slightly, boomeranging against the hard edges of the room. “I’m ready to answer all your questions.” He doesn’t make any movement to connect us physically the way he’s done in the past. “There’s much you need to know.”

“Who were you the last time? I mean, what happened to make you look like that?”

“Were you scared when you saw me?”

“A little at first. But I got over it.”

“What you saw was my true self, Babe. It’s how I look when I . . . when I don’t alter my appearance to fit with your standards.”

“So, who are you? I thought you said you were from Earth.”

I nervously look around the room for a distraction, something to minimize the seriousness of the situation. But it’s nearly empty. Did Zat lead me there on purpose? I know this place—a storage room my family rented for a few months one of the last times we moved.

“I come from a future so far removed from your life, you’d have trouble even trying to imagine it. My Earth, our Earth, it’s not the same planet you take for granted. It’s as bare and stark as this room. It’s hostile to life. The sun is so hot that humans had to adapt in order to survive. The way I looked the last time you saw me—that’s how your descendants will look. I’m the norm, Babe. I’m considered to be physically pleasing.”

“Are you alive now, or dead?”

“I live here now, but only through your grace and only in your dreams. Our species is dying. Millions each day.”

“How did you get here?”

“Do you want the technical answer or the simple one?”

I think for a moment. He’s thousands of years older than me, maybe millions. There’s no way I’d understand his technical answer.

“The simple one.”

“We’ve known how to travel back in time for a while. But only when the rate of deaths escalated and the end of our species was certain, only then did it become available to anyone who could afford it. Before that, it was restricted to a subclass of scientists, your equivalent of astronauts.”

“Is your family rich?”

“No. Everything my family had was spent on getting us all out. I chose to go back in time, although most people left in search of new habitable planets beyond our solar system. My family left, but I chose this way. I wanted to see the Earth the way it was. A magical blue orb. Such a wonder.”

“Your family left without you?”

“It’s always been my choice. Most people lost confidence in this method, but I never did. It was worth the risk. You were worth the risk. My family tried to convince me to go with them but they knew in the end . . . I’d always been a dreamer, even though people don’t dream in my time. Some, like my uncle, either refused to leave or couldn’t afford it. Certain death in a world they understood was less frightening to them than the unknown. But I’m an Earthling and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. When I was growing up I devoured the books and stories of how the Earth used to be. I wanted to see it for myself, even at my own peril. I’m sorry, yes, even at your own peril.”

“So, why me? Why my dreams?”

“For years I planned my destination—I apologize for using that word when I talk about you, but I want to be honest. All the information from the past is implanted in us at birth. We can access it at will. Like you can access information on your computer about what happened in the era of dinosaurs. But ours is instantaneous. It’s part of our thought process.”

“But you haven’t answered—why me?”

“This area had already been programmed—considered desirable because of its proximity to the sea. Others had tried to come here before me. You were here.”

“So, that’s it? I just happened to be here?”

“No, that’s not the whole story. The truth is I selected you. I fell in love with your mind, your spirit, your strength. Your red hair. Once I got here, I couldn’t imagine life without you. I considered thousands of others but something about you spoke to me and I could never get you out of my mind.”

I desperately want to believe him because I’ve reached the point where I can’t imagine life without Zat.

“What’s going to happen to us in the future, since you already know everything?”

“But I don’t . . . know . . . that. And I probably shouldn’t have told you this much. Any information you have now about the future will alter it in unpredictable ways, maybe even in more devastating ways than what I’ve just told you.”

“What could be more devastating than the end of life on Earth?”

“It’s so far into the future. There could be more immediate consequences.”

“Then why tell me anything?”

“I can’t keep using you—hijacking your dreams—without explaining everything. Without having your consent.”

“And the only way for you to live is in my dreams?”

“It’s an awful burden for you. If it’s too much, I’ll go.”

“Go where?”

“I can become so inconspicuous that you’ll never find me. Or I can remove myself entirely.”

“How can you remove yourself?”

“It’s like . . . it’s the same as if you wanted to remove yourself.”

“You mean suicide?”

“That’s the word which comes closest. I can’t explain it in a way you’d understand.”

I feel sick to my stomach. I want nothing more than to spend time getting to know Zat even better. And yet, being one hundred percent responsible for someone’s entire existence . . . he’s right, it is an awful burden. Still, suicide, or whatever its equivalent is to him, is unthinkable.

“There was talk,” he continues, “before I left, before we had time to get any proof, some people thought there have been successful transitions to corporealism. But no one actually knows. There’s nothing beyond vague signals that it’s anything more than theoretical. The signals could be anything—even random radio waves. And the transition was viewed as too dangerous to attempt. Certain death is what most experts said.”

“Corporealism?”

“The transition to having a material state, like you. Instead of existing solely in your dreams.”

“What kind of vague signals? Who do you think sent them?”

“The man who innovated time travel was given our greatest honor. He was known as Pioneer One. He was also the first one to travel like this, and those of us who followed him did it only on faith and hope. We trusted his vision and his science but we had no idea what to expect when we got there. If we got there.”

“You mean he was the first to travel back in time?”

“That’s right. Some people think he sent signals forward to let everyone know he’d made the journey safely and successfully. To encourage others to follow him and save themselves.”

Zat looks at me almost apologetically. Of course I know this life isn’t a real life in any sense of the word. I also know he struggles to convey his gratitude to me while at the same time expressing his fears and frustrations. I am, after all, his host.

“Anyway, he was willing to try—willing to die if it came to that.” I can tell by the strong emotion in Zat’s voice that Pioneer One is a man he places above all others. “His example gave me the courage to leave my family. But a lot of people called it fairy tale stuff, something to give us false hope. To avoid mass panic. They didn’t believe that signals had been received from Pioneer One after he left. They didn’t even believe that traveling back was possible. Even I didn’t completely believe it myself until the first time I saw you. Only those who left Earth were given the title of Pioneer. The ones who stayed . . . they have the honor of being the last of the Earthlings.”

“Do you believe Pioneer One made it?” I ask. “To corporealism?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Zat says. “But he was right about time travel. I know that now. I just wish there was a way for me to let my family know I made it.” He pauses. “There’s something else. Another reason I came to this place.”

“And what’s that?”

“The signals which were received—if they were really signals and not just a lie the government spread to placate us—they came from here.”

“From here?”

“From what you call Sugar Dunes, Florida.”

“I’ve only been here less than a month. How did you know I’d be at the same place where the signals originated?”

But I already know the answer.

“I knew everything that happened. I knew you’d be coming here, Babe, long before you knew it yourself. Now do you understand why I said I chose you, but you didn’t choose me?”

Comments:

Sweetness: wow, just wow. if ur making this up u have one helluva imagination.

Babe: I’ve finally come to the conclusion I’m not crazy and all this stuff is real.

Mai: hi Babe. I got caught up on the blog and yes, you have my permission to use my real name and this is totally the most interesting thing to happen in Sugar Dunes in my lifetime, although I’m obviously not as convinced as you are.

Babe: ☺

DreamMe: If Pioneer One died transitioning to corporealism, he wouldn’t have been able to send signals to the future.

Babe: Good question.

DreamMe: That was a statement, not a question.