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Description
Julia looks at the blue globe outside the window and fights to hold back her tears. The glass is but a thin veil between her and the night sky; the metal window frame wide enough to grant the illusion that she's not actually indoors, aboard the Archimedes III, looking for landfall on a new inhabitable planet.

She does not remember earth. Julia's an old woman now, and by the time she was ten and was taught where we hail from, the tutors had stopped showing images of Earth, the planet that had rejected them. She was an old woman now, and recently she'd hoped to set foot on terra firma at least once in her life, but with the latest radio transmission that hope was shattered. Now she understands, with despair striving to take hold of her heart, not wishing to see the blasted blue/white planet X890 again (wishing she'd never laid eyes on it), why images of earth are not shown anywhere on board. Maybe in a few hundred years (gods forbid it takes that long!), when Earth no longer feels as a disappointment, but again becomes an ideal. Maybe then images will be dug up from the archives, along with photographs of the first settlers, and the generations that come after them.

She bites her lip, biting back tears. She has to believe. Believe for the next generation, her grandchild that she holds onto for dear life, that there will be Life in the future; more than these metal halls and white suits offer now. She closes her eyes and imagines the child grown up, running suitless through a meadow composed of grass she's never seen with her own eyes, underneath a blue sky and warm sun that she can only imagine. No, she won't look outside any more as long as that hateful orb of hopes unfulfilled remains within visual range. Instead she'll dream of the future she is now sure she won't live to see.

===

Robyn looks at the big blue ball outside. His eyes are the same colour, though he doesn't realise it yet. He raises a hand, trying to touch it, but it's hard to gage distance. It's hard even to grab something that is round and closer by.

The woman that holds him tenses when he tries to grab the ball. It must be something precious, something special that he's not allowed to touch. She holds him tightly to her chest, and he understands. Not his ball.

Big eyes look at it though. Even years later he'll have the memory of having seen a possible home world, and will search for another just like it with all the hopes and dreams that a starchild should hold.

===

The planet looks back. 'The world', 'our Earth', in the language of the natives.

They were less advanced than the invading party. In awe they'd looked on when small scouting ships had touched ground, trying to decide between an ingrained fight or flight instinct. The colonists had done the same, scared by the larger shapes so fluidly adapted to the land. They had fired first, dealing death when the communication of touch of the village chief (always master of his instincts) had seemed too barbarous. The skyward humans had destroyed the nearby settlement, blind to the subtle culture of the natives, unaware of the communication lines running through the local flora into the heart of other settlements.

A people who had never known war, now devised guerrilla tactics, no longer showing themselves to the bug-eyed white people, but showing their brilliant minds through their absence and laid traps instead.

They all cheered.

The horror had been averted.

Their planet was saved.

Description
Julia looks at the blue globe outside the window and fights to hold back her tears. The glass is but a thin veil between her and the night sky; the metal window frame wide enough to grant the illusion that she's not actually indoors, aboard the Archimedes III, looking for landfall on a new inhabitable planet.

She does not remember earth. Julia's an old woman now, and by the time she was ten and was taught where we hail from, the tutors had stopped showing images of Earth, the planet that had rejected them. She was an old woman now, and recently she'd hoped to set foot on terra firma at least once in her life, but with the latest radio transmission that hope was shattered. Now she understands, with despair striving to take hold of her heart, not wishing to see the blasted blue/white planet X890 again (wishing she'd never laid eyes on it), why images of earth are not shown anywhere on board. Maybe in a few hundred years (gods forbid it takes that long!), when Earth no longer feels as a disappointment, but again becomes an ideal. Maybe then images will be dug up from the archives, along with photographs of the first settlers, and the generations that come after them.

She bites her lip, biting back tears. She has to believe. Believe for the next generation, her grandchild that she holds onto for dear life, that there will be Life in the future; more than these metal halls and white suits offer now. She closes her eyes and imagines the child grown up, running suitless through a meadow composed of grass she's never seen with her own eyes, underneath a blue sky and warm sun that she can only imagine. No, she won't look outside any more as long as that hateful orb of hopes unfulfilled remains within visual range. Instead she'll dream of the future she is now sure she won't live to see.

===

Robyn looks at the big blue ball outside. His eyes are the same colour, though he doesn't realise it yet. He raises a hand, trying to touch it, but it's hard to gage distance. It's hard even to grab something that is round and closer by.

The woman that holds him tenses when he tries to grab the ball. It must be something precious, something special that he's not allowed to touch. She holds him tightly to her chest, and he understands. Not his ball.

Big eyes look at it though. Even years later he'll have the memory of having seen a possible home world, and will search for another just like it with all the hopes and dreams that a starchild should hold.

===

The planet looks back. 'The world', 'our Earth', in the language of the natives.

They were less advanced than the invading party. In awe they'd looked on when small scouting ships had touched ground, trying to decide between an ingrained fight or flight instinct. The colonists had done the same, scared by the larger shapes so fluidly adapted to the land. They had fired first, dealing death when the communication of touch of the village chief (always master of his instincts) had seemed too barbarous. The skyward humans had destroyed the nearby settlement, blind to the subtle culture of the natives, unaware of the communication lines running through the local flora into the heart of other settlements.

A people who had never known war, now devised guerrilla tactics, no longer showing themselves to the bug-eyed white people, but showing their brilliant minds through their absence and laid traps instead.

They all cheered.

The horror had been averted.

Their planet was saved.