Journey Home
“Tony, keep that channel open.” 
Staying unobtrusively out of the way by the computer-paneled wall, Gerald Simmonds watched as Koenig crossed Command Center. The former Commissioner kept a somber face, but hope leaped inside him, for the first time in years it seemed. It was plain good fortune that found him in Command Center when this unbelievable message burst across the comm line, interrupting his conversation with Koenig. Simmonds’ lips tightened involuntarily. Another futile discussion about how the moonbase could be run more efficiently. Why he even bothered to continue to reason with the man he didn’t know, but he just couldn’t stay away from what amounted to the center of power.
“They’ve broken contact,” a soft, feminine and heavily accented voice reported.
Koenig glanced at Yasko, the communications tech on duty. “Well, get them back.”
Simmonds thought he sounded a mite snappish. Well, he had to agree. He also preferred when Benes was on duty. The section-head certainly had a better touch with the computer than her subordinate. And her accent was much easier to decipher.
“Tony, what’s this about neutrino transmissions?”
Simmonds watched as Koenig turned to face Verdeschi.
“When we left Earth, the first neutrino experiments had just begun.”
Well, what do you know, mused Simmonds. The Italian idiot might even be able to add two and two and get four.
“They can cover billions of miles in a matter of seconds,” a female voice added.
Simmonds refused to turn to see The Alien who had stepped up next to him. He had strongly advised Koenig to leave her behind with her demented father on their god-forsaken planet. As usual, Koenig had ignored his counsel. It annoyed him to no end that the creature would not acknowledge his authority. And to think rumor had it she and Verdeschi were, well, intimate. Simmonds sternly suppressed a shudder of revulsion and took a step back.
“But could they have perfected that system so soon?” Koenig looked about the room.
“Yeah, sure. We’ve been in space for months.” Verdeschi stood and crossed the room to stand by Koenig.
“Which in Earth terms is decades,” Koenig concluded.
“Right!” Verdeschi enthused as Simmonds cringed inwardly. It took so very little to amuse that cretin.
“Okay, okay. So it could be Earth.” Koenig spoke softly.
“Moonbase Alpha, Moonbase Alpha, respond.”
Simmonds turned with the rest to face the big central screen. The male voice sounded American. About to open his mouth, Simmonds felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He turned slightly to see Koenig shake his head at him and pull him back further away from the center of activity. The black-jacketed man then passed by without another look.
“This is Commander John Koenig of Moonbase Alpha.”
Simmonds seethed. Damn the man.
“Commander, this is Dr. Charles Logan, senior space scientist, Texas City. I think you will understand when I tell you that our year is twenty-one twenty A.D. Please listen carefully. In seventy-two hours a galactic eclipse will cut our communication channel to you. But in that time, if you can act quickly enough, we are capable of transferring you back to Earth. I repeat. A return to your own planet Earth is possible— if you put yourselves completely in our hands."
The ground just about dropped out beneath Simmonds’ feet. Could it be true?
“That’s fantastic!” Verdeschi looked as stunned as Simmonds felt. Well, for once, Simmonds agreed with the security chief.
“It could be. If that’s really a transmission from Earth.” Koenig answered, as always, waffling.
Simmonds watched with studied impassiveness as Koenig, Verdeschi and The Alien talked amongst themselves. He moved to join the conversation, but was displaced when Russell walked up to Koenig’s side. But of course, his vast experience was being overlooked, as usual. And by a medical doctor. Who, not so incidentally, was Koenigs’s lover.
Simmonds stared at the doctor’s profile as she joined the conversation. There was no question that Koenig had good taste in women. She was lovely. And intelligent, although her choice in men was poor. She would have been better off with Gorski, and rumor had it that Gorski had been very interested. That man’s career had been on an upward trajectory, until the Meta Probe, that was. Like Gorski, Koenig had failed to launch the Meta Probe, albeit he granted Koenig had an adequate excuse. Unlike Gorski, Koenig’s suit of Dr. Russell had been successful.
The nattering went on and on. The Alien checked her computers and declared the constellation eclipse a provable fact. Koenig played history professor. Who gave a bloody damn who won the American World Series in nineteen ninety-eight? Simmonds did not like where this conversation was going. If someone did not interfere, Koenig would talk them out of this chance to go home. Home!! He walked up behind Koenig as Logan talked about socks and birds.
“Uhm, John?”
“Not now, Simmonds.”
The gall of that man! Koenig hadn’t even the decency to look at him when he answered. This was too much. He needed fresh air and he needed it now. Simmonds stalked out of Command Center before his good manners left him all together and he laid hands on Koenig. A brisk walk down some empty corridors, and not so incidentally to the lavatory, and then he would return to talk sense into John before he lost them this chance also to return home.
Home.
Alright. He understood the need for caution. He understood the need for preliminary tests. He even understood the need Koenig felt to subject himself to the process first before risking his people. But why did that yes-man Australian loudmouth outrank him?? Lunar Commission Gerald Simmonds? Surely even Koenig could see the importance of having a diplomat along for first contact.
Simmonds paced the periphery of Command Center, attempting to look imposing and foreboding, and at the same time matching Verdeschi glare for glare. The young security chief loathed him, and the feeling was mutual. Simmonds paused behind the seat of The Alien and crossed his arms over his chest, stroking his beard meditatively. A wealth of incomprehensible information streamed past on the woman’s terminal. Could she really read the incoming data that fast?
Damn it all. He didn’t care what that Koenig said. This transmitter was the best chance they’d had to get home in years— well, the best chance since the Kaldoreans— and he wasn’t going to let Koenig screw it up. Especially not for him. Alright, so Koenig, Russell and Carter would go first. He would be in the next group, even if he had to issue certain unpleasant orders. The hidden stun gun under his tunic was a comfort.
In the confusion of getting Koenig’s team to the transmitter and in position, Simmonds concealed himself in a storage cupboard in the domed research facility. Through the slimmest crack in the sliding door, he watched and listened carefully as directions were explained on how to set the apparatus up. It appeared the control was on the Earth side of the equation, and the Alphan controls basically limited to ‘go’. It was so straight-forward, an idiot could do it. Simmonds bided his time as the room emptied and a green light enveloped the trio. They faded from view. Well then, that didn’t look so bad.
Here was his chance. The controls were set, and assuredly no one here on Alpha had had the chance to muck them up. The green light was still fading as he, very quickly, slipped from the cupboard and crossed the room, glancing to the main entrance once or twice. He studied the control panel. A button flashed green. Good. He pushed that button firmly and stepped inside the chamber. He was going home.
It was bright with sunlight. It was chill, and the air damp. It was most assuredly not Alpha. Simmonds pushed himself off the leafy bed he landed in. As long as it wasn’t poisonous, he was happy. He looked about at the dense woods and then up to the cloudy sky. The sounds of a stream nearby reminded him of his thirst.
This place certainly did not match the doom and gloom descriptions given by that Texas City woman. Maybe he had landed in a park preserve. Simmonds pushed himself up, brushed off the leaf litter, and headed toward the sounds of water. He’d have to keep an eye out for the others. A thought struck him and he laughed. Away from Alpha, Koenig had no authority. He could once again resume a rightful place of power and command. But before confronting Koenig with the new reality, he wanted more information.
“Helena? Helena? You alright? Alan?”
Simmonds froze. That was Koenig’s voice. And all too close. He crouched behind some bushes and waited. Sounds of leaves being crushed came from his left.
“Yeah, I’m alright.”
Of course the Australian would be fine. Anyone who made it a habit of routinely surviving Eagle crashes was certain to survive a small trans-galactic hop.
“What happened?” Well, there was the doctor accounted for.
“Dunno.”
Simmonds cringed at Koenig’s deplorable American pronunciation. The man should have taken diction classes in school.
“Where are we?” Russell again.
“Dunno. Pushed our luck too far and something went wrong.”
“Rain. Trees. Well, at least it’s an atmosphere we can breathe.”
Simmonds snorted. Chalk one up to the observational skills of Carter.
“But they said that everything between the cities was desert... was a wasteland.” Russell coughed.
“So, wherever we are, we’re not on Earth. It’s a wonder we’re alive.” Koenig’s conclusion gave Simmonds a moment’s pause. Not on Earth? He hadn’t considered that possibility. Best he’d keep these three in sight until things sorted themselves out a bit more. But one thing for certain... this place, wherever it was, was infinitely preferable to Alpha.
An hour passed, maybe two. Simmonds moved around the periphery of the small clearing holding his fellow Alphans for a location with a better view. Now that he could actually see them, he could see why the doctor was coughing. She appeared ill. Koenig covered her with his jacket and chivvied Carter along in his attempts to start a fire by rubbing sticks. The astronaut had quite obviously had never been a boy scout. Simmonds moved in closer to hear what the others were saying.
“If we’re not on Earth, where are we?” Carter gave up on trying to start a fire and looked over at Koenig.
“We could be anywhere in the Universe.” Facing away, Koenig’s voice was indistinct.
“We’ll never get back.” The doctor coughed, and added a sneeze for good measure.
“We’ll get back.” Koenig at his stubborn finest, thought Simmonds, as the man continued, “If you were Logan, what would you do?”
“I’d recreate the conditions that caused the error.”
“And pinpoint our location.” Koenig finished for the coughing woman.
“Yeah, well he’d better not drag his feet. That eclipse takes place in less than twenty-four hours.” Simmonds watched as Alan tossed down the still un-singed sticks. “Hey, I’ve got a suggestion. Let’s go find some shelter, huh?”
Just then the doctor went into another coughing spell. Koenig looked up and around, and Simmonds faded back some more into the brush.
“Alright. Come on.”
Simmonds watched as the two men helped the protesting doctor to her feet. The woman looked worse than she did even half an hour ago. They headed off across the clearing. Simmonds took a deep breath and prepared to follow. There were still too many unknowns to let the others get too far away as of yet.
Standing slowly, he cursed his stiff and achy knees. He was only forty-eight years old. Too young to be this creaky. Still half bent over, Simmonds saw movement off to his right, the direction opposite from the Alphans. Simmonds froze. It was a man. A bearded man wearing a shaggy pelt and carrying a very long sword. And there was another, just a meter or so beyond the first. The strangers exchanged a meaningful glance and headed silently out after the Alphans. Simmonds looked about, and after seeing no other signs of people, stood very quietly. Things were about to become interesting.
Simmonds holed up in a small alcove outside the cavern system that housed what apparently was a dungeon. He had watched as the shaggy barbarians ‘escorted’ Koenig, Carter and the obviously ill doctor inside. He considered a rescue attempt, but was at a loss at how to plan a successful one. A direct approach seemed rather doomed to failure give the odd against him.
Waiting for sunset, he managed to scavenge a meal of sorts from the open pit fire and wooden trestle table set nearby, selecting the most burned appearing meat on the basis it was likely to be the least contaminated by bacteria. The stealthy appearance of a huge wolfhound from under the table caused him no few palpitations, but the beast was called away before it alerted its handler. Now dark, Simmonds found himself drifting asleep when muffled footsteps crossed right outside his bolthole, whispered male voices belonging to Koenig and Carter just on the other side of the concealing bush.
Awake and waiting to see which direction Koenig would take, Simmonds heard heavy footsteps and rattling swords coming from inside the cavern. Koenig obviously heard them too. Picking up the doctor, he quickly followed Carter into the brush on the far side of the clearing. The six shaggy, bearded barbarians paused outside the cavern’s entrance, talking in loud whispers in a language Simmonds thought sounded vaguely familiar. He could use that philologist Anna what’s her name about now.
The leader pointed his pike in the direction Koenig had gone. Thinking quickly, Simmonds tossed the now-bare meat bone into the woods in the opposite direction. He pushed himself back into the alcove and waited for the hunting party to pass by. There, Koenig was now in his debt. Again. Glancing to make sure the barbarians were out of sight, and keeping to the deep shadows, Simmonds followed his errant travelers back into the countryside.
It was dark. One forgot how much ambient light there was back home in the UK. Finally, Simmonds all but stumbled across Koenig’s campfire. He stayed out of sight, crouching low, watching as the men ground some plant-like material between rocks and fed it to the doctor. Who was looking like death warmed over, to Simmonds’ alarm. He hoped he didn’t catch whatever she had.
Thunder rumbled overhead. Simmonds looked up. There was moonlight coming from behind deep cloud cover. It smelled like rain coming. But, even chill, hungry and damp, this still sure beat the hell out of returning to Alpha. And since the natives showed humans could survive here, and he had yet to die from the food and drink he had appropriated, there was no way he was returning to Alpha.
Koenig stood up and walked over to the doctor lying on the ground. Even in the poor light it was plain she was feverish and not long for this, or any, world. Although she was several meters away, the night air carried her voice, and Koenig’s, easily.
“What is it, Helena?”
“It’s the moon.”
“Helena, we’ve left the moon.”
“It’s the moon.”
“She’s delirious. Let’s give her some of that.” Koenig looked to Carter who took over more of whatever it was they were grinding. Koenig repositioned the doctor in his arms, cradling her head against his chest. He tried to feed her whatever it was.
“It’s the moon. John, it’s the moon.”
“Here, have some of this.”
“It’s the moon.”
“It’s a moon, Helena, but it’s not our moon. This planet could have six or seven moons.”
“It’s the moon.”
Simmonds watched as Alan looked up to the sky. “Hey, that crater could almost be Copernicus.”
Surprised, Simmonds looked up also. The astronaut was right. Then that meant...
“And the Mare Imbrium above it.” Both men stood. “It’s our moon, Alan.”
“If that’s the moon, then this is the Earth after all. The lifeforms we’ve seen don’t just coincidentally resemble us.”
“Right.”
“It can’t be.” Carter sounded almost panicky. “It broke away. The moon broke out of the Earth’s orbit.”
“In nineteen ninety-nine.”
“Then this is the Earth before the moon broke away.”
Simmonds shot the unsuspecting Carter a look of disgust. Bright boy. He’d already figured that out.
Koenig nodded. “We may be hundreds of years back in time.”
Simmonds sat down. He needed to think this through, and crouching was just too hard on his knees. This put a new light on things. This was Earth. Not the twenty-second century, but nonetheless, Earth.
Well.
Damn it all! Just when he resigned himself to joining Koenig and his little cabal, those shaggy primitives had arrived once again and taken them back in custody. Simmonds peered out of his small alcove, once again hiding outside the barbarian’s cavern.
The rain had finally arrived, but not before he followed the barbarian’s back to this place. Now, after an hour or so, the rain was slacking. Simmonds looked about as carefully as possibly in the dark. No one else was about. Even the guard with the wolfhound had gone inside the cavern. He decided to chance it. If he really were stuck back in the Middle Ages, he’d best do what he could to keep the doctor alive. Even Carter would be useful as muscle. He crept inside staying to the shadows as much as possible.
The generous cavern was smoky and crowded. The shrill voices of women and the coarse laughter of men made it all but impossible to hear the conversation at the far table where the Alphans sat. Carter’s red-jacketed back was closest, with Koenig and Russell facing him. Simmonds was relieved to see the doctor actually looking a bit better. A bearded man sat at the head of the table and appeared to be actually conversing with them.
Simmonds carefully kept peering around the entrance, trying to get a better feel for the place before he made his entrance. The floor was covered with rushes and bones. The wolfhound was nosing around the table, no doubt looking for food amongst the reeds. That was where everyone seemed to be tossing tablescraps. Behind the table on the walls were weapons Simmonds suspected were not simple decorations. He counted a cross-bow, at least three huge broadswords, and a round and much battered shield. At that was just what he could make out in the smoky haze.
The bearded man at the table stood and raised his cup in a toast. “Hamigold juslange renewel!”
The crowd faced the man and roared with approval as the man sat back down to continue his discussion with the Alphans.
Simmonds listened to the voices more attentively. The language did sound somewhat familiar. Just then the head barbarian stood again.
"Tuch tohogan de Robert Bruce an asplar altaronich. Robert Bruce and Bannockburn!"
The crowd whooped and shouted, "Aye!" and "Bannockburn!"
"Robert Bruce and Bannockburn!"
"Aye, aye, aye!"
Of course! Bannockburn! They were speaking Gaelic! They must be in Scotland, in, oh, the early or mid fourteenth century. Simmonds closed his eyes, rubbing them with the back his hand to help the tears clear the smoke. The fourteenth century. Not quite hell, but close. Still, it was better than Alpha.
There was a crashing noise from the table. Simmonds looked up in alarm. The bearded man was standing up, pointing his long knife at Koenig and the doctor. "I understand now. The lady has the plague. Gaver lurvage!"
A man near Simmonds lunged toward the table, pulling out his sword and shooting loudly, "Burn them!"
Screams echoed in the chamber as everyone tried to move around, heading nowhere but away from where they had been. Damnation! Someone might just stumble across him in this chaos!
The bearded man was now backing away from the table, his face a mixture of fear and regret, "Gaver lurvage! That's why you were wandering the forest. Turned out by some great lord to die. Gaver lurvage!"
The three Alphans were now surrounded by armed Scotsmen, being held at swordpoint and forced away from the women and children. The old hag was cackling loudly and with a perverse delight.
Standing now just around the corner from the cavern’s entrance, Simmonds drew his stun gun. Koenig and Carter were impossible, but they were fellow ILC members and, to be fair, had never placed his life in purposeful jeopardy. He’d stun the Scots with pikes and swords and then demand the Alphans release. He’d claim Helena was the wife that Koenig had stolen. That’s what the leader seemed to believe in any case. A tight smile creased his beard. That would put the cat among the pigeons, no doubt. And Koenig couldn’t protest until they’d won their freedom.
The air was thick with smoke, and quickly becoming more so as the faggots thrown at the Alphan’s feet caught fire and flamed high, Simmonds tensed, finger on the stun button. He’d have to move now before the others asphyxiated on all the smoke.
Carter’s cry of pain galvanized him into action, he ran into the room... and saw a green haze surround the Alphans. Just like on Alpha, they faded from view, the empty chains no longer holding their wrists ringing loudly against the stone wall as the flames leapt to the ceiling.
The Scots stood staring, their jaws hanging open. Several made superstitious signs against evil. No one noticed Simmons standing in the middle of the cavern, but along with the others, he had seen Koenig, Russell and that fool Carter dematerialize. With a bit of luck, they’d made it back to Texas City. Or maybe Alpha. He didn’t care. They were gone and he was still here. On Earth.
Damn. This required a change in plans. But, all good politicos always had a plan B. And if they didn’t, they could fake it. And he was a very good politician. Simmonds turned around to face The MacDonald. He glanced at the armed men at the barbarian’s side and stunned them. He quickly pivoted and dropped the two men attempting to sneak up on him and then turned to again to face the shocked leader. The expression of awe and fear on the man’s face was exceedingly therapeutic to an ego bruised over four years of being ignored and patronized. He stomped up to the MacDonald and found he topped the smelly man but a good ten centimeters. Glaring into the scared eyes meeting his, and with all the anger and humiliation stored up while on Alpha, he demanded loudly, “What have you done with my wife?”
One month later…
Simmonds didn’t particularly like horses, but he knew his way about them well enough. Courtesy of several summers of riding lessons as an adolescent, he knew the basic tenants of equine management, and could certainly stay on the back of one as along as it was reasonably well behaved. But before he could stay on a horse, he needed to be on one.
He walked up to the beast slowly, keeping his hands down and voice low. The mare raised her head and pricked her ears in his direction. She looked calmly at him as she chewed on some grass, bits of which fell messily to the ground around her loose and trailing reins. He needed to recall the trick of tying the reins to a branch when he needed to answer a call of nature. He couldn’t go chasing after his conveyance every time he needed to take a leak. He clucked and held a hand out to catch the trailing rein. The animal was obviously used to people. He moved slowly, slowly. He needed to get to the coast, and he was damned if he was going to walk there. He reached out his hand, pausing briefly when the mare backed up a step, and then reached out and seized the trailing reins. He had her.
The horse had been a gift from The MacDonald. That and the contemporary clothes he now wore, the sword and the bag of coins. All blood money to make up for the perceived loss of his ‘wife’ whilst in the custody of the Scots. Simmonds had blustered a fair amount and stunned a few more of the fools when they tried to accost him. He discovered the French he knew convinced the barbarians they were dealing with a mighty lord, for all he dressed peculiarly and wasn’t accompanied by a proper entourage. By the end of a fortnight, Simmonds had a rough bearing on where and when he was, and the political scene as it stood.
If his memories were correct, there was a decent sized city not too far off. Might just be a hamlet in this time, but he should be able to get directions to a major city. With his knowledge of history, he could make a difference. A real difference. Maybe even enough to prevent the Dark Ages. Imagine, the industrial revolution centuries early. Men on the moon when his ancestors had been battling American colonists. Ohhh… now there was a thought. The New World was an enigma in this time. He glanced at the new moon overhead, just visible in the dawning sky, and then studied the open trail in front of him. He clicked and poked his heels into the horse’s flanks. She moved out at a trot.
The mare was well trained. Or stupid. She didn’t seem bothered in the least that a stranger was on her back. Simmonds snorted slightly. Those Alphan fools would no doubt be surprised, but he always did have a way with animals. More so than people, to be honest. No doubt the Alphans would’ve been surprised to find the Scot’s fierce wolfhound with its head in Simmond’s lap begging for more scratches. And back home, just before Breakaway, his pet had been a little brown moggie he’d found in Florida near the Kennedy Space Center. Or rather, the cat had found him. He’d always fancied she’d had a particular sensitivity for the space program. It was almost as if the little thing had been psychic. Simmonds snorted at the foolishness of it, causing the mare to shy slightly.
Embie, short for Moonbase Alpha, or MB, and had always managed to let him know when those oh-so-condescending scientists were trying to pull the wool over his eyes. She would roll all over their falsified reports, leaving a choice hairball or two for the truly preposterous lie. Simmonds felt a moment of true sadness. Given time dilation, the little thing was dead now, but he hoped someone had adopted her and not left her to starve in his flat. The mare took advantage of his distraction and slowed enough to pull some choice leaves off a bush. Simmonds called her to attention and kicked her back into a trot. Then again, Embie hadn’t even been born on this side of the time line. He wished he knew what had happened to his little friend. It would be a comfort if he knew she had lived out a good life. Simmonds looked up at the moon overhead, a plan starting to stir.
One week later...
The mare and her tack had had brought a very good price, more than enough for his trip to the mainland and to fund his intended plans.
Simmonds buried the shattered and crushed pieces of his commlock under a rocky cairn overlooking the Atlantic, on the remote chance those Texas City scientists or Alphan fools attempted to locate him. He had made it back to Earth and wanted no possibility of being found.
He would spend a year or so on the Continent speculating in spices and fabric. He would become wealthy. Disgustingly so. All that reading he had done on Alpha to help pass the time would now pay off. Literally. And there was no reason he couldn’t ennoble himself, gifting himself a title from a far off land. Back to Paris or London then, to dabble in politics. He could gain the ear of the movers and shakers of this era. Entice them with riches from the New World... but on his terms. He would even take himself to the New World, being sure to make it there before the Black Plague arrived in Europe. That would be roughing it more than he wished, but hands on supervision would be necessary. At least at the onset during delicate negotiations. And he would make sure he did NOT introduce small pox, pestilence and other diseases this time.
And maybe he could take a cat or two for companionship.
Twenty-two years later...
The People were extensive and powerful. And healthy. Unlike his poor countrymen back in England. There, the Black Plague was ravaging the population and would leave seventy percent dead. Europe was faring better, but still would lose a third of her people. Here, in what one-day would be the breadbasket of North America, Simmonds had helped create a cohesive confederation of indigenous peoples. Well on their way to becoming strong enough to defend themselves against the inevitable invasion of Europeans.
With extensive wealth to draw upon and no small amount of luck, Simmonds had managed to land a small fleet ships on the coast of Virginia. He had deliberately selected settlers among those of mixed ethnic backgrounds, outcasts without hopes of advancement, from all around Europe and the Mediterranean. He chose those who would follow his lead, and then had bought wives for them from slave markets in the near Middle East. He had them learn farming, blacksmithing, healing and other needed skills. He had them all exposed to cow pox, and had even brought the cows over with him. That had been a true test of his leadership, but he had prevailed. And more importantly, by introducing dairy herds to the indigenous peoples, he had even managed a small miracle in exposing only a naturally weakened stain of cow pox that would help build up immunity and prevent the future of the small pox chemical warfare engaged in by European settlers.
He had not brought any of the European religious establishment with him. And his people tended not to be very religious by means of their upbringing. He had no intention to seeing any proselytizing done to the people already here on this continent. In fact, he wanted their believes to grow and flourish. That was very important, crucial in fact, to his plan.
His proudest accomplishment had been to establish a basis of commonality for the migratory hunter-gatherers of the north, the stationary mound builders in the east and south, and even the cliff dwellers of the southwest. He had re-introduced horses to the plains, and after a decade of intensive breeding, the young warriors took off in search of adventure. A primitive pony-express system of communication arose shortly thereafter. He had even laid the ground-work for a semi-permanent central capitol of sorts, located along what would have become the border between Canada and the States, just about in the center of the continent. But, if things evolved as Simmonds anticipated, there would be no Canada, no United States of America. There would be the affiliated tribes of native peoples standing strong and healthy, protecting and nurturing the environment they guarded.
Bt they would need allies. He planted the seeds that there were other peoples around the world who shared their beliefs in holding the land as sacred, and that these people could be nurtured as allies. Friends who would be important against those who would come in the future to try and take the land and use it to their ends.
As technology evolved, as it was sure to do, Simmonds wasn’t blind to that, he wanted a voice to speak out against nuclear research. Let them develop solar powered devices, wind powered engines and energy sources he could only imagine. And most of, let them hold the moon as a sacred land, owned by none, to be preserved in its pristine state.
There would be no nuclear waste disposal areas, no Moonbase Alpha, no Breakaway.
Simmonds picked up the small, purring creature weaving affectionately about his feet. There was more work to do, and he figured he had ten more good years left. He moved mostly behind the scenes now, acting through the recognized leaders of the affiliated tribes. Elders were accorded great respect amongst his new people, and he could still wield his influence to make things even better. He needed to encourage astronomy more. Mankind did need to reach for the stars. Yes, it was important to reach for the stars, nothing would stop that. But at least he could make sure Embie was safe.
Epilogue....
AP news for immediate release, 13 September, 1999, 17:53 hours GMT
It has been confirmed by both the ESA and NASA that the Jupiter moon Io has indeed been blasted out of its orbit. It is hurling away from the Solar System at incalculable speed. The cause of the disaster remains unclear at this time but is speculated to be related to the Ionian storage of byproducts of the Queller Drive, which include the unstable element Geraldium found in the upper reaches of the Jupiter cloud layers. The Global Council of Elders has long opposed the use of this element, as its properties do not conform to the accepted Principal of Environmental Preservation. As per the words of the senior Elder Galarrwuy Yunupingu, “The 311 scientists, astronauts and mystics on Ionian Base Symonds are presumed dead. No rescue attempt will be pursued. May the Creator watch over their spirits and return them home.“
October 2007
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