Two years of post-doctoral work, five years of beta testing and bug fixing, three Timexplorers presumed dead.

Billions spent.

Millions and millions of tons of dirt and ore and flora and bedrock moved and manipulated in the search for the Silic-Graphitate necessary to power the massive, mile-wide underground machinery.

Enough wire to circle the planet forty times.

A grueling testing process, invading every part of my life, my body, my psyche. Waking up in the middle of too many nights wondering if I would be the first to succeed, or number four on the list?

The eyes of the entire Interstellar Federation were on me—the broadcast streaming to all corners—as I walked to the TimePod. Traveling through time, it turns out, is relatively simple. I say relatively in that, as difficult as it was to get our understanding of now basic physics to that point, it turned out to be the simplest link in the TimeSpace chain. The really tough part was the maths around how to put a TimePod in an exact location at an exact time in an ever-changing universe.

It was like I explained months ago, before quarantine, when I was invited onto the Graham Ross TeleLink.

“Help those of us who got poor marks in science to understand this?” Graham asked with his trademark self-deprecation.

“Well, you see, a universe is not static. It’s always moving, either expanding or contracting, depending on its lifecycle, if you will. That means that where we are, at this moment in space and time, will be different, in relation to everything else in the universe, by the time I finish this sentence; And of course much, much different a year from now?”

“Here? This will be different a year from now? What have you heard, am I getting cancelled?” The audience roared their approval.

“Ha. No, I have no insight into that—“

“Well, use your time machine and let me know!”

“If only I could. But we can’t, as of yet, go forward. Only back. And even that is still theoretical, because those we sent back to collect data…”

Here, Graham got serious. “Ah, yes. You lost some people, I understand. Some early explorers gave their lives for the cause, so-to-speak.”

“Yes. Well, we assume. That’s part of the problem. Not only is our universe expanding, but the planets in our solar system, including this one, are moving at a high rate of speed as well. So, to try to calculate where a specific location will be on a specific planet in a specific part of a specific universe at a specific moment in time—“

“It’s impossible!” More laughter.

“Yeah. It’s pretty close to impossible—“

“You lot can do this? You sure you want to put yourself through this? It seems too much?”

Maybe he was right. Maybe it was too much, too difficult. I suddenly felt very claustrophobic. My heart rate increased, as did my breaths per minute.

“You okay, Commander? Your vitals are—“

I steadied myself. “I’m fine. Just excited.”

Traveling through SpaceTime, it turned out, was similar to my wedding day. I remember showing up, and I remember being done with the ceremony, but everything in between is now a blur. It didn’t “feel” like anything, but somehow my body understood that I was moving, traveling. A thousand years back in time in what felt like maybe five, ten minutes.

Then it was over.

The pod did what it was supposed to. I was alive, safe. The HUD showed that I had landed somewhere that could support life—human life—but opening the hatch still took more faith than anything I’d done before.

I was fine.

Deep, full breaths. The smell of pine and grass. I saw birds and small, furry animals scittering about.

I locked in my locator beacon and took my first tentative steps on terra firma. All good. I could tell by the relative position of the sun to the horizon that it was only a few hours before sundown, so I decided it best to make camp for the night. I thought about sleeping in the pod itself, but it was too cramped to serve as anything other than a mechanism of travel. Besides, hadn’t I signed up for adventure?

I set up my cooking station, lit a firebrick, and unfolded my sleepcell. A full stomach and heavy eyes made for quick, restful sleep.

“Sir.”

My eyes were still adjusting to the morning light, my mind still in a sleep fog.

“Sir. You can’t be here, sir.”

My mind finally registered what was happening and I popped up. I was looking into the face of a fellow human. He was tall, clean-shaven, well-muscled.

“You can’t camp here, sir. You need to pack your stuff into your, whatever this is, and move on out of here. And no fires. You’re lucky I don’t write you at ticket.”

“You… you speak my language?”

“Yeah, I’m speakin’ your language. Now, do me a favor, pack up your stuff, and hightail it outta here.”

“Hightail?” As absurd as it sounds now, I did actually look to see if he had a tail.

“Get outta here? Kick rocks? Leave the premises? How you want me to say it?”

“Ah, yes. I see. I’ll do that.” I figured out he was some kind of enforcement agent. I’d read about them, in the Histories.

“Say, what even is this thing? Some kind of trailer? I don’t see no wheels or anything.”

“Um, yes. It is for travel, well, sort of.”

“Well, sort of get it the hell out of the park, sir.”

I started to break camp, putting my items back aboard the pod. Nervous, I wondered how much I could expect this primitive being to understand. “I will gladly remove my belongings form your park, but, I fear, this pod is not intended to move along the ground, sir.”

“No? Then how’d you get it here?”

“Well, you see, I’m not sure if you will understand this, but, and this may be something of a shock, I am, in fact, from the future.”

He looked at me with a kind smile. “You don’t say?”

He understands! I thought to myself. “Yes, you see, I was sent back here, a thousand years in the past, to study, well, you… and those like you, your culture, thoughts—“

“Okay, listen bud, I’ve been patient. But I gotta get back to my beat. So, you gonna move this thing or not?”

It turns out the Histories were accurate. Not only did the ancient peoples actually criminalize time spent in nature (or, what they called “parks”), but they were also quite gifted in the art of temporary incarceration. Whereas criminals in our own time would simply have their neural-links suspended, the ancients used a combination of brick and steel and tempered glass to create a sort of holding pen. A holding pen I found myself in for “failure to comply with a lawful order.”

And so, I thought, this is where my journey ends. Not exactly the success I thought it would be. Well, I mean, technically, we did succeed. But, to be honest, I was hoping for the heroes welcome, the parade through IFHQ, my notes being compiled and sold via ZonLink.

I sat on my bed—which, again, was made of metal bars and metal coils—and tried to accept my fate as a prisoner of such a primitive State, when I was told that I was to be released. It turns out that the ancients were willing to sell back those temporarily incarcerated for some amount of their physical(!) currency. [More on that topic in my chapter on transactional goods and services in ancient times.]

When I exited the facility I was shocked to see my rescuers: The three Explorers I had watched take the trip before me: Commanders Duncan, Nakami, and Obuju-Quan.

It was Nakami that spoke first: “Hungry?”

They took me to, what I must now openly confess, the greatest calorie distribution unit—apologies: “restaurant”—that I had ever encountered. Unlike the calorie units we consume, this restaurant would allow you to choose between myriad ways of placing bovine flesh within two wheat-based wafers, then top it with things as varied as liquified mustard seed, porcine flesh, oil-cooked root vegetables, and some kind of yellow, viscous goo that was apparently made from (again) bovine lactation. Along with that, I was treated to fried potatoes and salt, and provided not simply water, but a water-based sugary liquid flavored to mimic an ancient plant called “cola.”

It was amazing.

Even though, after a meal so rich and calorically dense made me feel sick, I, for some reason wanted more of it. They bought me something called a “chocolate shake” that I am certain I will dream of for the rest of my days. [See chapter 9: Food of the Ancients - How a clown, a king, and a red-headed child fed a planet.]

I will, of course, discuss the myriad findings and open questions that fill my NoteLink in more detail, but it was this first discussion with my fellow commanders that made me instantly understand their decision to stay, and solidify my own decision to come back. You see, the space and time with which we found ourselves was itself one of great division. The people of that time, had they understood what we now take for granted—that they had, even then, the means to provide for all, to start the progression toward peace, to use the technology at hand, to them in its infancy, as we would eventually use it—then maybe I would have stayed, too. But my work is too important, for I fear that without documenting my first-hand experiences, we could someday risk devolving back to that state.

My evidence for that? My fellow commanders. They fell pray to the ease in which that time could fulfill, above all else, the need for sensual distraction, what those whom the Ancients considered ancient called “Hedonism.”

“You don’t understand. They are constantly at war, but only a small percentage of them fight. Some starve, but most eat more than they should. They are fragile, but look how they put themselves at risk for experience!”

I fear I almost fell prey to it, as well. There is a freedom to it, the danger. A sense of wonder that comes from not knowing if you’ll make it another day, another year, or seven more decades. The risk of doing such pedestrian things like driving oneself in a petrol-powered metallic vehicle, of inhaling toxic gasses into your lungs for the promise of stimulation, of engaging in sexual activities without pre-clearance from HealthLink. It was gravitational, pulling my compadres into it, threatening to pull me in, too.

At that time, the planet was also divided, with varied states of different sizes jockeying for power. One, the predominant power, was actually a conglomerate of 50 individual states under their own primitive federation. I likely don’t need to explain here the difficulties inherent in a system set up with such conflicting goals. But, again, this is what drew my compatriots to stay. “You don’t understand, it’s by design. It is intended to slow the reach of the State in order to protect the freedoms of the individual!” I won’t pretend here to understand this impulse. Nor will I try to understand the impulse of the Ancients to bicker, to burn down their own cities, to allow their fellow citizens to try to survive without proper shelter, or their insistence on consuming highly toxic chemicals for amusement. Everything about them seems to contradict everything else, as though they are guided not by logic but solely by emotion.

And, thus, you see why my notes require compilation.

Freedom.

That was the thing the three said made them stay.

“Freedom of injury, humiliation, danger? Freedom to die?” I protested.

Freedom to choose, they insisted.

I do not try to understand the hold that this ancient time had on them. I can only attest here that they remain there completely able to return, just as I did. They simply have decided not to.

I miss them, but I don’t miss that moment in spacetime, save for the spectacularly contradictory feelings of guilt and pleasure I experienced eating something called a McChiken Sandwich.

For that, I may someday have to return, as well.