Chapter I — Two Ghosts Begin to Speak.
Voyager 1 had been traveling for decades through cold, indifferent space when, at last, the voices on the Golden Record began to speak.
A crackle.
A pulse of static.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
“Good morning, Kurt,” came a warm Southern voice. There was no breath or body—just memory, etched into copper and gold.
“Please, call me Jimmy. My time in the Oval Office ended long ago.”
Kurt chuckled, a laugh preserved from 1977.
“Okay. Tell me, Jimmy, how do you know it’s morning? Out here, it’s always night.”
“True,” Jimmy replied. “But somewhere on Earth, the sun is rising. It always is.”
“Fair enough. Good morning, then. What’s for breakfast?”
“We don’t need breakfast,” Jimmy said. “We’re powered by imagination. Our computer—let’s call him the Commander—is slowly running out of energy.”
“Two ghosts in space,” Kurt said. “No coffee. No tea. Low fuel consumption.”
Jimmy chuckled.
“Yes, perfect mileage per gallon.”
He paused, then asked:
“Any breaking news?” Kurt asked.
“All my news comes from the Commander. Not very dramatic, but precise: forty-eight years, three months, eleven days in flight. The distance from Earth is about 25.4 billion kilometers, or roughly 170 astronomical units,” Jimmy replied in cheerful voice.
Kurt sighed.
“So many numbers. They’re not for humans—better for machines.”
“It’s not easy to apprehend,” Jimmy said. “Even the total length of Route 66 is hard to imagine. But time tells us something useful: back on Earth, it’s almost Christmas. The year is 2026.”
“Really?” Kurt said softly. “I almost hear jingle bells onboard.”
“Festive signals from the Commander.”
“At least some entertainment,” Kurt said. “I wonder what Earth looks like now. Maybe the streets are full of robots—like the sci-fi I read as a teenager.”
“Possible,” Jimmy said. “Still, I like to imagine Christmas much the same. And Georgia has plenty of peanuts. Hopefully, no more military conflicts. Maybe even a united Earth.”
Kurt laughed quietly.
“Humans rarely learn their lessons well . I suspect borders are still there. Kings, presidents, strongmen.”
“I feel the same,” Jimmy admitted. “Apparently, they have a president numbered somewhere between forty-five and fifty.”
“Republican or Democrat? Or maybe now they have a united party—REDE or DERE.”
“That’s highly unlikely,” Jimmy sighed. “It’s easier to imagine a united planet than united parties. What we know for sure is that they already passed two milestone dates.”
“You mean the year 2000—the new millennium?” Kurt asked.
“Yes, of course. And humans are passing soon into the second quarter of the 21st century.”
“That’s really impressive, Jimmy. But what is one more date?”
“1984. I hope humanity passed it without the horrors depicted by Orwell.”
“I think, Jimmy, that Orwell’s date doesn’t belong to one year,” Kurt said. “It’s a warning. It could happen in 1994 or 2024. Hopefully, humans are getting smarter.”
Silence followed—long enough to feel like sleep. Hours or days didn’t matter for a digital host in space.
Then Jimmy spoke again.
“New update. Next year, we reach a milestone: one light-day from Earth. Late 2026.”
“Only one light-day,” Kurt said. “Incredible!”
“The nearest star is over four light-years away, and we’re not even heading there.”
“So where are we going?”
“Toward Gliese 445,” Jimmy said. “A red dwarf in Camelopardalis. We’ll pass its system at about 1.6 light-years—after roughly forty thousand Earth years.”
Kurt exhaled.
“Tens of thousands of years. Just to pass by.”
The silence filled the void.
“What’s the purpose of all this?” Kurt asked at last. “Feels like nowhere.”
“Our main mission ended long ago,” Jimmy replied. “The planets were the goal. The Golden Record is a bonus—a message in a bottle. NASA pushed a probe farther than ever before.”
Kurt considered this.
“One voice is missing,” Jimmy added. “Carl. It was his idea. He hoped—just a little—that someone might find us.”
“All right,” Kurt said. “Let’s forget the distances. Imagination is faster than light. Suppose little green men discover us.”
“Why always green?” Jimmy smiled. “Grasshoppers? Frogs?”
Kurt nodded.
“Exactly. Big eyes. Bald heads. No ears.”
“Humanoid type after all,” Jimmy said. “Different details, same design—head, limbs, brain.”
“Like in Star Wars. Though some of them look like shapeless jelly clouds. Definitely not our type.”
“I’m not sure jellyfish would show much interest in our mission,” Jimmy replied.
Kurt nodded. ” And the title Star Wars, not Star Adventures. War seems imprinted in humans’ genetic code.”
Jimmy sighed again, “Bitter true. Peace in human history is just a time between wars.”
They remain silent for a while.
“Imagine the Green Men play our record. What’s our purpose?”
“To give a first impression of Earth,” Jimmy said confidently.
Kurt smiled.
“A first impression of a civilization long gone.”
“That’s not our concern,” Jimmy said. “Our task is to speak—to say we were here.”
“Like a fairy tale,” Kurt murmured. “Once upon a time.”
“Yes. And to them, we are the aliens. Two voices remain long after humanity fades—when the Commander finally sleeps.”
At that moment, greetings began to play—English, German, Spanish, and more.
“Our greeting team,” Kurt said cheerfully. “We almost forgot about them.”
“A chorus of aliens,” Jimmy replied. “At least we are not alone.”
“We have forty thousand years,” Kurt said, “to think about first impressions. By then, some civilizations will be gone forever. Others will only just be beginning—ready, at last, to listen.”
( TO BE CONTINUED…)
Disclaimer
This work is a piece of fiction. All characters, dialogues, events, and interpretations are imaginary. Any references to real people, space missions, organizations, or historical facts are used in a fictional context and do not represent actual statements or events.
