April 2026: The Long Years
Wheneverthewindcamethroughthesky,heandhissmallfamilywouldsitinthestonehutandwarmtheirhandsoverawoodfire.Thewindwouldstirthecanalwatersandalmostblowthestarsoutofthesky,butMr.Hathawaywouldsitcontentedandtalktohiswife,andhiswifewouldreply,andhewouldspeaktohistwodaughtersandhissonabouttheolddaysonEarth,andtheywouldallanswerneatly.
ItwasthetwentiethyearaftertheGreatWar.Marswasatomb,planet.WhetherornotEarthwasthesamewasamatterformuchsilentdebateforHathawayandhisfamilyonthelongMartiannights.
ThisnightoneoftheviolentMartianduststormshadcomeoverthelowMartiangraveyards,blowingthroughancienttownsandtearingawaytheplasticwallsofthenewer,American-builtcitythatwasmeltingdownintothesand,desolated.
Thestormabated.HathawaywentoutintotheclearedweathertoseeEarthburninggreenonthewindysky.Heputhishandupasonemightreachtoadjustadimlyburningglobeintheceilingofadarkroom.Helookedacrossthelong-deadseabottoms.Notanotherlivingthingonthisentireplanet,hethought.Justmyself.Andthem.Helookedbackwithinthestonehut.
WhatwashappeningonEarthnow?HehadseennovisiblesignofchangeinEarth’saspectthroughhisthirty-inchtelescope.Well,hethought,I’mgoodforanothertwentyyearsifI’mcareful.Someonemightcome.Eitheracrossthedeadseasoroutofspaceinarocketonalittlethreadofredflame.
Hecalledintothehut,"I’mgoingtotakeawalk."