Author’s note

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Time has been difficult for us, humans.

Has been for almost as long as we can remember. How to keep it, value it, talk about it, experience it.

Slow it.

Out here among the stars we have lost our days and nights to the relative rotational speed of the given mass upon which we happen to be considering the matter. On some of the masses of irregular weight distribution, like top heavy Goleria, we even have the joy of days of varying length. We adapt. Have adapted.

Somewhere during that adaptation we agreed to talk about time in terms of the experiential length of a moment, One Mo-ment-and Two Mo-ments-and, and so forth. We group these moments into sets of sixty. And we talk about those sets themselves in groups of sixties.

Years, well, years have become complicated. For the most part, everyone has two. One is the revolution for a particular satellite around her gravitational hub. The second happens every 8,765.812 hours. You could call it the Galactic Year.

We don’t.

It is just a year.

We have surrendered our days and even our nights to the stars, but the years and the hours are ours, a little order stamped on the chaos of the verse. Of course, it began as a little more than that. It was a way of remembering. Remembering that for us, for all of us, it started on one rock. One little rock that sat a precise 149,600,000 kilometers from her hub, and spinning 1670 kilometers per hour, revolving that hub every 8,765.812 hours.

Remembrance is the aim of this present work, our humble effort to offer answer to the question asked by a poet from those last centuries on the rock:

What will they sing

of her

When she is gone,

Beautiful and brave?

During the compilation of this narrative I have been oft asked why I don’t just sync a memory into the hive. The first answer is complicated. The second, stronger, and simpler answer is that I was asked to record the story like this.

Please, he always did love to read books, she told me, even after we could just stream information through our portals.

Please, said she who had born witness to the birth and death of ages, and so I have, and for that I will not apologize.

Before you dive into this remembrance, though, I should caution you.

While it may tempting to examine our past with a kind of condemnation and dismay, please recall that they did not have the Dynamics, or the hivemind. If we want to judge them in their ignorance, I do hope we are prepared to beg their forgiveness for all of those who fell into the permanent dark before we figured out how to stabilize our Light.

Let our readers be advised that while some creative speculation is indeed interwoven into this historical account, it is in effort to deepen the insight into our earthbound forebears. I promise there is no exaggeration of the wild and violent conduct. Much of the account which follows will be difficult to read, and even painful, for even thousands of years after the lines were first put to page, ours was ever a song of arms, and rage.

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