| Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1 |
August 24, 2526. The majority of the population of Proxima Doma live in
domes. The word doma does not mean dome, so that is not why
they called it that, but they do share a linguistic history. The connection
is not random, they are still related. The purpose of the colony has
always been to serve as a second home for Earthans. Until recently, with the
advent of Castlebourne, it was the most heavily populated human settlement
outside of the Sol system. They don’t count Glisnia either, because it was
reserved predominantly for posthumans, which can explode in population at
the whims of its individuals. One person can make a million copies of
itself, or child assets, in a matter of days. But that’s not what Doma is
about. It’s mostly about the humans. They’re typically transhumanistic
themselves, and even virtually immortal, but they still require protection
from the outside. And one way to do that is to build in lava tubes.
Lava tubes are very popular on Luna and Mars. That’s because they work very
well there, and not so well on Proxima Doma. But they are not impossible,
and there are precisely two of them. One is under construction, but the
other is the home to hundreds of thousands of people. Well, it used to be.
They have since abandoned their precious tube in the evacuation, but unlike
most, they didn’t do it by running towards the nearest pole. They escaped
using their minds.
“You don’t think they’re coming back?” the upload tech asks.
The lookout looks down at her friend. “They found the nearest spine. I think
they’re gonna keep trying to head for the northern pole.”
“On foot?” he asks.
“Eh, doubtful. The reports said those vactrains are non-operational, but
there are other means of traveling along the spines and domes, which are
harder to break.”
“Should we keep waiting, in case there are other survivors who
might be heading our way?”
The lookout turns the periscope southwards. “It is not looking good.
If anyone is still alive in that direction, they’re about not to be, either
because they’re stubborn or stupid.”
“Or stuck or trapped or confused, or a myriad of other reasons,” the tech
offers.
“Regardless,” the lookout begins, “those are probably the last stragglers
we’re gonna see. They were looking right at us. They probably can’t tell
what we are. From that distance, with only their helmet scopes, we probably
just look like generic ninety-degree angles. I think we should go.”
The last remaining herder walks into the room. “What’s the word?”
“We saw a couple of survivors on the surface,” the upload tech relays. “It
looks like they were checking us out, but they decided to walk back towards
the domes.”
“On foot?” the herder questions.
“That’s what I said.”
The lookout hops off of her perch a few steps at a time. “Did you find
anyone during your sweep? What happened to your clothes?”
“Uh, it’s about 95 degrees celsius in some parts out there. I see you’re not
exactly wearing a parka either, and this chamber still has working climate
control. And no, all clear in my sector. Did any of the other herders find
anyone?”
“A few,” the tech answers. “They’re all gone now, however, including the
other herders. No one was so stubborn that they absolutely refused. If you
didn’t find anyone, we are the last three people in Owl Town.” Owl Town
isn’t the official name of the lava tube city, but it’s what everyone calls
it. Some tried to get a lava theme going, but most leaned into the
tubular aspect. If there had been any other lava tubes being
colonized on this planet at the time, they probably wouldn’t have made any
sort of connection.
“So, is it time?” the herder presses.
“I would prefer to wait for the next update from the other settlements that
are evacuating the same way we are,” the tech explains. “It would be cool if
we were the last everywhere; at least out of those who aren’t scrambling for
the poles, or already there.”
“Are they all going to the same place?” the herder asks.
“Mostly, since it’s the most happenin’ spot right now,” the tech reports,
“but some are going closer, like VR. I can send you there, if you want, or
anywhere else with a quantum terminal.” His tablet beeps. “Oh, speaking of
which.”
The lookout shakes her head. “No, it’s like you were saying, it’s a popular
destination, and it’s that way for a reason. I was considering moving there
before all this happened, but I’m glad I stayed to see it end. I
mean...sorry, I’m not glad it’s ending, but if it has to end, at
least I was here. I was one of the first colonists, and it sounds like I’ll
be one of the last.”
The upload tech is looking over the update, and shaking his own head. “I
wouldn’t be so sure. “Most of the people who are wanting to transfer have
done it already. They’re just waiting on bandwidth. The polar residents, and
the refugees that they’re letting in, are showing no intention of leaving
like us. Reports indicate that Bungula is refusing to send their elevator
platform. Even if some people do want to evacuate, there’s nowhere to go.”
“Why aren’t they doing what we’re doing?” the herder questions,
flabbergasted. “I know some people aren’t digitized, but that still leaves a
huge number of people who are, but are staying anyway? Do they think Proxima
Doma will become habitable again?”
“There’s no reason to think that it won’t be,” the lookout begins. “Think
about it, this planet has been here for billions of years, and we’ve been
here for a few hundred. We just happened to be on it when it’s being
completely destroyed forever? I don’t buy it. This is a cycle. It might be a
very long cycle, but if we found a temporal niche to survive in,
someone will find one again at a later date. Maybe people
shouldn’t leave, or maybe they should plan on returning. That doesn’t
sound crazy or dumb to me.”
“So, why aren’t you choosing to stay?” the tech questions.
“Because where we’re going sounds like more fun.”
“Agreed,” the herder says. “Best get on with it. I’ll go first.”
She and the lookout sit down next to each other. “I wanna try that
Underbelly dome first,” the latter says as her final words. “See you on the
other side in an hour.” She closes her eyes and lets the upload tech send
her and the herder to Castlebourne.
The tech sighs. “No...you won’t.” He hits RECORD on his workstation
cam. “This is Sorel Arts of Vulcan’s Hollow. If you find this message, I
urge you to stop trying to escape to the poles. Nowhere is safe on Proxima
Doma. Leave. Just leave. Transmit your consciousness to another world. It is
the only logical choice. I’m only staying to convince others to do the same.
Sorel Arts...signing off. Vulcan’s Hollow is closed for good.”
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