Friday, July 2, 2010

March 7, 2121, 22:14

Inter-PIC conversation recovered from Personal Identification Card #43-9524-0221 to #09-4447-0040:

“Hi honey.  It’s late.  What’s wrong?”
“He’s gone, mom.  I can’t find him.  I called his PIC and he’s not answering.  I called his parents and they don’t know where he could be.  I-”
“Elizabeth, hold on.  Who’s gone?”
“Mike, mom.  He’s gone.  I don’t know what to do.  I knew something was wrong when I saw a wreck on the way home.  I’ve never seen a comp-car wreck before, and when I drove by there wasn’t anyone in or around the accident.”
“Slow down Liz.  What time is it there?”
“Just after ten.  I worked late.  But mom-”
“Oh yeah, I’m still not used to you being out there.”
“Mom, would you listen to me?  Mike’s gone and…wait.  There’s something on the news.”
“Liz, what is it?”
“Hold on.  They’re saying there’s been some sort of terrorist attack, or outbreak or something.”
“What?  That doesn’t make any sense.  What do you mean?  What’s going on?”
“How could that many people just be gone?  Mom, I’m scared. [crying] I don’t want to die.”
“Honey, you’re not going to die.  Now just tell me what they’re saying.”
“I don’t know.  They’re saying thousands of people just disappeared across the island.  They don’t know how or why.  They’re just gone.”
“Disappeared?  Was it just on the island?”
I don’t think so.  They’re not saying much, but it sounds like other places have been affected too.  What does this mean?”
“Liz, I need to call your dad.  I’ll call you right back, okay?”
“No, don’t leave me, mommy.  I’m here all alone.” [crying]
“I’m not leaving, honey.  I’ll call you right back.  You’ll be okay.  I love you, Liz.”
“I love you too, mom.”
[transmission ended]

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

September 8, 2124, 08:43

Distress Call from Personal Identification Card #48-4921-9954:

My name’s Sara Kingston.  If anyone can hear me, for God’s sake help us.  We’re stuck in a rail tunnel, somewhere around C-23 of New Washington.  Most of us got out of the train, but it sounds like a lot of people are hurt pretty bad.  I don’t know what’s going on.  The security lights stopped working, so I can’t see anything.  At first I thought the shaking was from that space shuttle leaving, but it just keeps getting worse.  I’ve never been in an earthquake this bad before.  Please help me.  Oh God, why couldn’t I have been on that shuttle with him?  Can anybody hear me!  Wait, Nathan, come back…[screams in the distance]…What’s hap[pening?  Wha]t’s that noise?  I didn’t think anything like this could happen again.  President Drake [promised] us.  Things were supp[osed to] get better.  [speech unintelligible due to interference]  Isn’t there anyone out there that can help us?  Dad, I’m so s[orry] [transmission ended]

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

In The Beginning


My name is Elias, of the Lota tribe. I am a historian and a scribe, as was my mother before me, and her father before her, though he was taken and killed unjustly by those know as the Ogirisha. Much has come to pass in this last age, since the coming of the Nnakash, those that called themselves Humanity, or Mankind.

My mother died as I came into this world, as my white main braid forever reminds me. Though I never knew her in life, I know her intimately through the works she left behind. As I have said, she was a historian, and hers story was woven into the legacy of the Nnakash. While she became fluent in their language, known as Old Earth, and devoted countless scrolls to the proper translations of the language, she chose to record their part in our history in the language of the Oluchipala, my people.

She found our language, Oluchila, to be much more adept at conveying the emotions and passions of the Nnakash’s story, which is so dear to the Oluchipala, than that of the Nnakash. She wrote that Old Earth was insensitive and abrasive, especially when spoken, though not without its uses. She often substituted Old English words in her descriptions of the Nnakash and their actions, especially when our own language failed to produce anything so technical or uncompromising.

Thus, the story of the Nnakash is given to us almost entirely in Oluchila. Since I was a child, I have thought this erroneous in some way. Whether it is because we lose something of their nature in the translation, or because without seeing it in practical use, the language itself may be forgotten, I am not sure.

However, I am sure that it is because of this belief that I have spent the greater part of my life learning Old Earth in an effort to prepare myself for the endeavor I am about to undertake. That is, I will make a complete translation of my mother’s Nnakash accounts from Oluchila to Old English.

I will begin with the vast bank of letters and personal stories she has entitled, as a whole, the Legacy of the Nnakash. She explains at the beginning of these scrolls that after the work of the Nnakash was finished on our planet, a fiery star fell from the heavens. From inside this star came a voice lamenting the last days of Mankind. Though my mother describes the voice as being of a multitude, one man's story predominated. He called himself Joseph Carlton.

Once it had begun, the voice repeated its story for several days and nights, as if it knew my mother was attempting to translate all that it said into our language. Though, sadly, soon after my mother had finished writing down all she could understand, the star grew quiet and never spoke again. The star is still preserved with the rest of Mankind's artifacts in the House of the Nnakash, but no sound has been heard from it since its arrival on our planet.

As I have said, I will begin with a few of the shorter entries intermingled with Joseph Carlton's journal, as a sort of practice, before I undertake the various larger scrolls my mother has transcribed. I will translate as quickly as I can, but the language is hard, and I wish for it to be accurate. Infinite thanks to those who will read what I wish to share of those last days of Humanity, of those who remained on Earth as her story in History came to a close.

Only by His Grace,

Elias of Lota