Lost Convoy, Part XXX: Conclusion

Her name was Veronica Crim. She lived on a world she knew as Pangea. She couldn't know it, but it was exactly like the planet Earth, which had been lost to the galaxy more than a hundred years earlier. She often studied the history books composed since that time, as she wasn't interested, much less invested, in the time before that. She knew the names of the individuals who had settled Pangea by heart. She knew of the heroics of Ray Patch, of the authority of James Ward, and of so many others: Clive Lockwood, Jim Brewer, Kim Jones, Tabitha Thrasher, Gabriel Martinez. It seemed as if there were whole libraries of books dedicated to each of them, and yet, only two of them had left lasting records of their own behind, the music of Thrasher and the films of Lockwood. Many artistic talents since had long since blended both legacies together, in fact.

Veronica often wondered what it must have been like, in the days before Pangea, when humanity's home was a convoy of ships, when two of them became lost and found each other, and then helped humanity itself settle a new world. Were these people titans, giants who had straddled the stars? In her heart, she knew they weren't, but when she dreamed at night, she often lost herself in such fantasies. And then she would gently rise from her bed, and plant her foot on the floor, and when that wasn't enough, she would open a window, and let the morning breeze wash over her. She would often stare out into the horizon for hours, and be contented with that. Her life seemed so normal, so comfortable, so predictable.

But it could be worse.