I am new to this forum and would like to introduce myself to the members\readers of BSFS. I am currently finishing a collection of 11 short stories entitled “When on Terra…” and am finally unveiling bits and pieces to the public. Here is the first draft of the prologue from the volume that ties the stories into a unified whole. I welcome any and all comments.
PROLOGUE
A halo encircles the blue sphere; swirling white patterns and silhouettes of green and brown dapple its surface. Old Earth emerges from a curved horizon full of stars.
We decelerate. We descend into the iridescent light.
A woman steps past me, the lace and crystal-bead embroidery of her dress flickers as she walks toward a man standing before the forward viewing glass. Her sensuous gait is enhanced by a mechanistic shudder, the carrier’s field generator shifts to acclimatize us to earth’s gravity. Spinning around, the man returns the woman’s smile, and together they soak in the object of our journey.
Bluish light streams into the concierge, drowning out any frivolity and muting the conversations of the multitude gathered on deck. Terrae from all parts of the Fellowship, Na-Terrae of all shapes and sizes, Althumans, Mixegens, and other species both exotic and piercing in appearance - one by one they stop and look. The room feels silent; many are stunned by the reality of seeing earth for the very first time.
(None of us Terrae can imagine what life was like for our primeval ancestors who lived underneath gravity’s boot, who died without ever seeing their homeworld as it truly is in the heavens. And yet, we are witnesses of what ancient stargazers, megalomaniacs, martyrs and imperialists only dreamt of).
I too, am overcome by the slow-motion vista before me.
The opalescent halo darkens, becoming turquoise, dark blue, then violet, and finally pitch-black. We’ve crossed over the terminator line. The concierge-deck is plunged into anonymity as we pass from daylight into inky night. Conversations resume, and the meaning of the words spoken have become indistinguishable again. Radiant stars of all different sizes and colors, the great white milky-way, and the circling moon stare at us from the dark.
The earth’s cities, each separated by nocturnal space, rise in electric beauty to greet us. The dazzling shafts of light reveal street patterns of all shapes and length. Some cities are covered with a vague backlit haze, while smaller points of light are immersed in the opacity of storm-clouds. In the distance, bright flashes of orange then blue-white lightning arc from one cloud to another, illuminating terrain devoid of habitation.
Does every Terran on deck see the same planet as me? Do they feel the same sense of awe that I do? We hail from so many different worlds of life. (Each of us has an agenda as to why we have come here).
A voice directs us to take our seats… the rich tone of the command snatches me away from my reverie.
The creation before me is as much a tangible place as it is a tabula rasa. The images that float inside our skulls, rife with the conceits and personal experiences of their creators, acclimatize our collective gaze upon this dazzling world. My curiosity and hopes are intertwined with these fabricated images. By design, the wanderlust beating within my heart is captivated by the imagery.
In my mind’s eye, earth is associated with pristine scenery, cities of unusual appeal and historic sites and idiosyncratic enclaves. Every type of architecture, entertainment and taste-bud tingling cuisine one could possibly dream of finds its literal translation here. The innumerable attractions and sightseeing opportunities are near limitless. It’s a living, breathing paradise that offers something for everyone.
Earth denotes much more than an ancient homeland – it signifies tolerance, a free-spirit ambience, an atmosphere of peaceful coexistence. It is a magical place that celebrates diversity. Of course, only the flavor of a blinding array of cultures and lifestyles can be presented on such a small scale. But, it’s a tourist’s dream, the proof I need to know that all Terrae belong to a single community based on a shared descent from earth.
Reality has set in… I must find a way of alienating my eyes from my preconceptions.
The changing colors outside the carrier are stunning… black to various shades of gray, dark blue, then light blue followed by a thin white line; finally orange and yellow blending to red at the horizon line. The moon sets like a succubus beckoning her prey. We pass over the terminator line again, emerging from darkness into the light.
The carrier descends through the atmosphere. A bright light that exudes a wraithlike euphoria floods the concierge-deck. We flow over a panorama of clouds, brilliant deep blue oceans, phytoplankton blooms and islands; brilliant colonies of blue green coral strut their sinuous forms before our eyes. (A group of Terraphiles raise their glasses in celebration. I find their antiquarianism distasteful. They seem to be running away from their puerile sins). I wonder how many passengers realize that earth is a park otherwise known as Terra-Prime, an artifact of historical conservation, a landmark, a world of strangers and even stranger conventions.
The carrier assumes its place amongst a procession of transports en route for various termini. I can feel the world change as mountains, anticlinal fold structures and the dark circular patches of salt domes mar Terra-Prime’s perfection. Irony abounds here – we come to earth yearning for a golden age of lost innocence, yet we have settled in areas that resemble our homelands located amidst the stars. Even now, I can see pretentious architecture that defies gravity, structural fantasies animated by quantum singularities, facades that imitate archaic and exotic motives, and the abstract colors of bio-favelas. There are places here that you don’t want to visit.
But Terra-Prime has it all: frenetic public markets, antiquarian interests, sensuous circuses, sybaritic luxury, off-center eugenic policies, a swag of fun-filled festivals and religious celebrations, covert sex industries, ravenous blood-sucking insects, genomeological gardens, outlandish home-makeovers, fringe science parades, overzealous bodyguards, and propagandists of temporal happiness. Anything, any experience, perhaps even any being, can be had on Terra for the right price.
The carrier makes a series of S-shaped, banking turns to slow its descent speed as it begins its final approach to the runway. I can see the starport; it’s huge and garish with dozens of terminals built in a variety of architectural styles. Contrary to popular mythology, there are no formulas here.
Each passenger will go to a different city – seeing, hearing, tasting, feeling, and connecting with it, imbuing it with clashing intentions: dirty little secrets and not-so-subtle malice, the heat of unquenched passions, unsolicited restraints, olfactory paranoia, hidden teardrops, joyful renunciations, solipsistic conformity, a landscape of old hatreds and new misunderstandings, skanky liaisons, and financial success. All of this fascinates me, like the spray of golden pixie dust during a spring festival, like the smell of blood after a hooligan bash. Now I know why I’ve come here.
We disembark. As I join the throng passing through this enormous growth of metal and stone and glass, I realize what I am. In the ancient tongue, I would be called a flâneur, a passionate onlooker of the millions of stories walking next to me, shoving me, bumping me out of their paths. We walk through the port towards the light of Terra-Prime, the park that no longer resides within our dreams, but in its hallucinatory resemblance to our heterogeneity.
The sign overhead flashes ‘Welcome to Terra-Prime.’
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