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."