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Buck Rogers blinked—and in that blink, the universe changed.
One heartbeat he was surrounded by impossible light, otherworldly voices speaking in riddles and revelations. The next, he was back—strapped into the cockpit of his Earth Directorate starfighter, the low hum of the engines whispering through the hull like a lullaby from home.
Starlines streaked past as the ship sailed through lightspeed toward Earth. The familiar constellation of systems ahead told him all he needed to know.
He was going home.
He let out a breath, long and slow.
“A dream,” he muttered, his voice edged with disbelief. “Just a dream.”
But it hadn’t felt like one. Not like the others.
He shifted in his seat, trying to shake the sensation that still clung to him. Like dust from another world.
Flashes came back—scattered, surreal.
A jungle. No... not a jungle. A forest, but wrong somehow. Wild, ancient, echoing with animal sounds and the distant crash of hooves. He’d walked it. Alone. Sunlight streamed through the canopy, casting long shadows across ruins half-buried in the undergrowth.
And then the forest faded—and something colder took its place.
A hall. A strange, somber hall lined with glass and stone.
He saw faces—human faces—behind glass. Frozen. Stuffed. Displayed like trophies.
One of them... one of them wore a nameplate.
DODGE.
His stomach twisted.
He didn’t know how he knew the name, but he did. And the memory hit him like a shockwave—fear, rage, the kind of helplessness he hadn’t felt since the day he first woke in the 25th century.
And standing over the display were apes.
Apes with rifles. Apes in uniforms. Apes that spoke.
They watched the humans not with pity—but with clinical detachment. Curiosity. As if mankind had been reduced to nothing more than a footnote in someone else’s history.
He shook his head, snapping back to the cockpit.
The dream had bled too deep this time. Too vivid. Too specific. Whatever that was—it wasn’t just subconscious static.
It was a warning.
Below, the blue curve of Earth came into view. City and light on one side, endless wasteland on the other. The Inner City still gleamed with all its synthetic promises—power, peace, control. But beyond the dome, the planet told another story.
Scorched plains. Barren ruins. Radiation zones where nightmares had evolved unchecked. Creatures that shouldn't exist. Tribes that refused to die. And maybe—just maybe—something else out there. Something older.
The kind of world where apes walked like men.
Buck tightened his grip on the flight stick.
“Okay, Rogers,” he said to himself. “Maybe it was a dream. But maybe it wasn’t. Either way... you're not finished yet.”
Because some dreams don’t end when you wake up.
Some are warnings.
And some... are maps.
“Starfighter One-Three-One-Four, this is Captain Buck Rogers—requesting clearance for Stargate entry,” Buck said crisply into his helmet mic, his voice sharp and sure, the kind of voice that belonged to a man who'd flown through more than his fair share of fire.
Silence answered for a beat—and then the channel came alive.
“Starfighter One-Three-One-Four, you are cleared for entry. Welcome home, Captain Rogers. We’ve missed your touch out here.”
The words hit harder than Buck expected. Home. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that.
A slow grin tugged at his lips. “Yeah,” he said, voice low, threaded with fatigue and quiet pride. “It’s damn good to be back.”
For a moment, memories flashed—mission briefings, dogfights, faces he hadn’t seen in years. Some he never would again. But right now, that was all behind him. Right now, he was flying home.
He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flight suit, the gesture automatic, worn in by habit. But just as his hand dropped, his eyes snapped to the Stargate.
The four anchor stars flared to life—four piercing points of light, locking into a perfect diamond pattern like celestial sentinels. Then, without warning, the stars pulsed. Light erupted across the void, flooding the black with a brilliance that seemed to bend reality itself.
A thunderclap split the silence—not through air, but through the very bones of space.
The flash nearly blinded him.
And then… silence. Stillness.
Until Earth filled his view.
He didn’t need to pass any planets. He was already past them. Past the waiting. Past the wandering.
The blue marble came into sharp focus, wrapped in swirling clouds and broken promises.
Beneath him, the world divided like a scar: desolation on one side—twisted metal, ash, and the raw aftermath of wars humanity had lost against itself. And on the other… the Inner City.
It rose like a monument to survival, its domes gleaming with cold brilliance under the high-orbit sun. Sterile. Controlled. A cage of comfort.
Buck’s hands tightened on the controls as his starfighter screamed through the upper atmosphere, friction flaring across the hull like the trail of a meteor reborn.
He was coming in hot—and not just through the sky.
The future was waiting.
And this time… he wasn’t coming back the same man.
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The gleaming starfighter sliced through the cloudless sky, its sleek silver fuselage catching the sunlight like a blade. Twin exhaust ports flared briefly as the ship angled downward, descending toward the defense squadron spacefield nestled at the edge of the Inner City. The approach was flawless—every maneuver smooth, precise, controlled. The computer guidance systems did their job well.
Buck watched the landing data scroll across his HUD with detached familiarity. Gyro-stabilizers. Altitude regulators. Heat dispersal grids. All of it light-years ahead of what he’d known in the 20th century—when flying meant gauges, grit, and gut instinct. Back then, you fought the sky. Now, the sky bent to the will of technology.
He smirked. Sure has come a long way from the old Saturn V.
The fighter’s retractable gear deployed with a soft hydraulic hiss. A moment later, the landing skids touched down on the polished tarmac of the Earth Defense Directorate spacefield—silent, clean, clinical. No sparks, no jolt. Just a whisper of contact, perfectly executed by a machine that didn’t sweat.
Buck let the onboard systems take over post-landing protocols. The blue glow of the control panel reflected in his eyes as the ship’s computers began their shutdown sequence—power cells venting, coolant levels recalibrating, the diagnostic feed already blinking with routine maintenance flags. It would be serviced, refueled, and rearmed long before it was called into the black again.
But Buck? He was running on fumes.
He popped the canopy with a practiced motion and hauled himself out of the cockpit. Every muscle in his body let him know just how long he’d been in that seat. He climbed down the access ladder, boots hitting the deck with a metallic thunk.
“Man,” he muttered, stretching stiff arms and rolling his shoulders, “I’d trade a week’s pay for a hot shower and something that doesn’t come in a nutrition cube.”
His voice was nearly drowned out by the low hum of hover-tractors towing support gear across the hangar floor. White-uniformed technicians bustled beneath the overhead lighting strips, their faces half-lit by the cool blue glow of wall consoles and status screens. Beyond the launch bay, a series of gleaming white corridors extended into the heart of the Inner City—clean, clinical, and controlled, like everything else inside the dome.
Buck paused, letting his eyes sweep across the expanse. Fighters lined up in perfect formation. Gravity cranes hanging from the ceiling. Drones gliding along maintenance rails. Everything humming with the quiet efficiency of a world that had rebuilt itself from ashes.
And yet… somewhere beyond those walls, outside the domes and the comfort, Earth was still broken. Still wild. Still waiting.
Buck’s jaw tightened slightly.
He was home.
The hangar bay stretched out in front of him, a gleaming monument to Earth’s 25th-century technological rebirth. The ceiling arched high above, disappearing into a latticework of glowing overhead lights and retractable gantries. Starfighters sat in pristine rows, their silver hulls gleaming under the cool white glow of maintenance floodlights. Even the largest combat ships looked small inside the massive space.
The scent of ozone, metal, and ion fuel hung in the air—clean but unmistakably mechanical. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the complex, a maintenance drone whirred to life, its distant echo ricocheting through the emptiness like the tick of an invisible clock.
Buck’s boots clacked softly against the polished floor as he stepped away from his fighter. His gaze drifted toward the far wall, where a row of data terminals pulsed quietly. Blue-and-green graphs crawled across transparent screens—schematics, diagnostic readouts, load-balancing rotas for every active ship in the fleet. A few even displayed prototype configurations that hadn’t yet left the drawing board.
Buck couldn’t help the slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Now that’s a bird I wouldn’t mind taking for a spin,” he muttered, eyeing one of the sleeker designs.
But the smile faded as he slowly turned in a full circle, realizing something strange.
The bay was empty.
Too empty.
No techs. No engineers. No drone crews scuttling between ships.
“Hey!” Buck called out, voice echoing off the gleaming walls. “What happened? Did the Directorate give everybody the day off?”
A pair of rapid footsteps echoed from behind a bulkhead.
Then a figure jogged into view—tall, wiry, dressed in Earth Defense Directorate crew whites. The insignia patch marked him as senior hangar operations.
“Captain Rogers!” the man called, hustling over, a datapad in hand. “Captain—I was just looking for you. Dr. Huer’s convened a meeting. It’s all hands.”
Buck raised an eyebrow. “Raddick, you know I just got in from deep space, right? I haven’t even caught a shower, let alone a news brief.”
Raddick gave a sheepish half-smile. “Believe me, sir, you’re not the only one who’s been called in cold. Whatever this is, it’s priority-level stuff.”
Buck nodded slowly, the easy charm returning to his voice. “Alright. I’ll stow my gear and head up to Command. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
As he turned toward the decontam corridor, the smooth voice of the hangar AI announced a new launch sequence being queued in Bay Three. Buck paused just long enough to glance back at the sleek rows of starfighters.
Something told him he’d be back in one of them sooner than he liked.
Buck moved through the pristine corridors of the Inner City with his usual purposeful stride, the soft hiss of automatic doors and the hum of recessed lighting accompanying him. The walls—immaculate white with gleaming chrome trim—reflected his silhouette as he passed, every step echoing just faintly against the polished floor.
He approached the sliding panel that marked his quarters. Even after all this time, the place still felt more like a hotel suite than a home. A high-tech one, sure—but sterile, calculated. The kind of place built by people who didn’t need homes, just modules.
The door whispered open.
Buck stepped inside... and froze.
The lights flared on—not the soft white glow of normal illumination, but a burst of color and movement.
“Surprise!!!”
He blinked. For a moment, he wondered if he’d stepped into the wrong room.
“Happy Anniversary, Buck!” Lieutenant Adams grinned, leaning casually against the console near the environmental controls. His uniform was immaculate, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Hard to believe it’s already been a year,” said Corporal Bennett, stepping forward with a bright smile, her voice warm with genuine affection. “Time flies when you’ve got a legend on staff.”
Buck opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Around him, familiar faces were emerging from every corner of the room—Specialist Carter with his ever-measured nod, Lt. Davis clapping a firm hand on Buck’s back, and even Specialist Evans, whose quiet demeanor was matched only by the sincere glint in her eyes.
“We just wanted to say thanks,” Evans said, voice soft but clear. “You’ve made a difference, Captain.”
Buck’s eyes slowly scanned the room.
The normally spotless quarters had been transformed. Colorful balloons—soft, translucent, and gently bobbing—hovered near the ceiling, their smooth surfaces catching the ambient light. Streamers in vibrant shades of gold, blue, and crimson crisscrossed the ceiling, anchored discreetly to the chrome beams. A small display panel near his dining console had even been reprogrammed to flash a pulsing message: "One Year with the Directorate – Welcome Home, Buck!"
There was laughter. The faint sound of a 25th-century orchestral synth ensemble playing something festive. The table held a spread of rehydrated delicacies presented in elegant chrome platters—clearly rations that had been requisitioned from above-standard protocol.
Buck finally exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He smiled. Not the cocky smirk he gave Draconians or the half-grin he used when outmaneuvering starfighter patrols.
This one was real.
“Wow,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You guys sure know how to sneak up on a guy.”
Lt. Adams raised a cup. “To Buck Rogers—the best thing to come out of the 20th century since jazz and rebellion.”
“Buck!!!” someone else called cheerfully from the back, where another tech was wheeling in what looked suspiciously like a replicated birthday cake.
Buck chuckled, shaking his head.
Maybe the world had changed.
But moments like this? They never got old.
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The greeting resonated through the bustling crowd, capturing Buck's attention instantly. He turned his head to locate the source of the voice and was met with a breathtaking sight. A stunning blonde soldier, her radiant smile cutting through the sea of people, was determinedly making her way towards him.
As she maneuvered through the throng, Buck couldn't help but admire her striking appearance. Her golden locks cascaded down in loose waves, framing a face that exuded confidence and strength. Her piercing eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and familiarity as she closed the distance between them.
Dressed in an impeccably tailored black dress uniform, she stood out among her fellow soldiers. The fabric clung to her athletic figure, accentuating every curve and line with precision. The jacket hugged her torso perfectly, adorned with golden buttons that gleamed under the bright lights of the room.
She was a brilliant colonel in the defense squadron, Wilma Deering, renowned for her strategic brilliance and unwavering devotion to the cause. Under her guidance, the squadron continued to train rigorously, honing their skills and mastering complex maneuvers with precision and finesse. Yet, despite their remarkable progress, Colonel Deering couldn't help but fret over one particular individual---Buck himself.
Buck's establishment in the Intercept Squadron had undeniably brought with it an unparalleled set of flying and fighting skills that surpassed even the most seasoned veterans in the Inner City. His natural talent seemed almost otherworldly, as if he'd been born to conquer the vast expanse of space. However, along with his exceptional abilities came a series of thorny problems that plagued Colonel Deering's distinguished career.
It wasn't just Buck's penchant for recklessness that bothered her; it was his inability to form meaningful connections with those around him. Despite being surrounded by comrades who admired and respected him.
"Wilma, was this your idea? Is that why you sent me off on that last mission?" Buck's mind raced as he confronted his superior officer. He couldn't shake the memory of her harsh tone before he left, the words still echoing in his ears. "Captain Rogers, since you obeyed my orders so well, your reward will be a month-long patrol in the Nebulon-9 system. Not a very pleasant assignment, but you chose your destiny."
All that time Buck sat alone in his cockpit, hurtling through space towards an unknown destination, he couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. The Nebulon-9 system was notorious for its desolate and unforgiving nature. It was a place where dreams went to die, and hope faded away like distant stars.
But now, as Buck pondered over Wilma's intentions, a new thought crossed his mind. Was there more to this punishment than met the eye? Was there a hidden purpose behind the punishment, something that could ultimately lead to his redemption?
Wilma smiled back at Buck, a sense of pride welling up within her. It was her brilliant idea that had led them to this moment, but she couldn't bring herself to boast about it. Modesty was her virtue, after all. "Never mind," she said, trying to downplay her role. "You must really enjoy being here. I mean, you always come back, don't you? And now, look at you! You've made it through an entire year." Her voice held a hint of admiration as she glanced at the captain's determined face.
A playful glimmer danced in the captain's eyes as the reminisced about their first day together. "Ah yes," the captain chuckled. "I remember it like it was yesterday. We were both so green and unsure. It seemed like we might not make it through that daunting first day."
Wilma's smile widened as she recalled the challenges they had faced on that fateful day.
"I'd search that flying palace before letting it through the Stargate!"
"That's an insulting start to an alliance based on good faith."
"Good faith negotiating. Just like the empty promises from my own government." Buck had remarked bitterly, gesturing towards the plastic city with its protective dome. "We're left with a ruined outside. We need to go up there armed and ready to fight. Full squadrons, prepared to defend ourselves. If we're wrong, we can claim it was an honorable military mission. It may not fool anyone, but at least it saves face. Otherwise, we're just sitting ducks!"
Wilma quipped, "You've been asleep for centuries, yet you're quite opinionated about a world you didn't create."
"Yeah," Buck snapped. "It's not my business how you destroy your world. My generation messed it up too, and it seems like we ruined everything right after I went to sleep. I guess that's karma for you. Thanks, Colonel. Go back to bed and dream sweetly."
He turned and walked away, through the vast hangar.
"Stop right there, Rogers! Where do you think you're headed?" Wilma Deering now held full military command.
Buck declined, opting to venture beyond the city.
Wilma chased after him, shouting in horror, "No! You'll die, Buck!"
"I must uncover the truth about my people," he insisted.
"It's forbidden," came the stern reply.
"You can't be serious! This country was once free, Colonel."
"Captain Rogers, you're my prisoner now. I may not like it, but I'm your guard. Escaping is not an option."
"You can't stop me," Captain Rogers challenged.
She placed her hand on her holster. "I can, Buck. Don't force me to."
He counted down---ten----nine---eight---a sound behind him----seven----resisting the urge to look back, fearing eye-contact with Wilma.....six....five....a soft sob, trembling as he walked on.....four....halfway mark in his march towards safety, shadows closing in. Then the world ended.
Buck never knew what hit him. No explosion, no propellant fuel, no electrical discharge. No impact, flash, or burned cordite smell.
There was nothing.
In a sudden shift of emotions, Buck's mood took a serious turn as his flashback came to an end. The once festive atmosphere surrounding him quickly dissipated, causing his ear-to-grin to transform into a pronounced frown. His eyes narrowed in concern as he addressed Wilma, his voice filled with a mix of disappointment and apprehension.
"You could have killed me, Wilma," Buck said, his tone laced with a hint of accusation.
In response, Wilma maintained her calm demeanor and met Buck's gaze steadily. With a slight smirk playing on her lips, she replied, her words dripping with a hint of mischief.
"True," she admitted, "but who got you off the Draconia before the magazine detonated?"
Buck's frown softened, a glimmer of gratitude appearing in his eyes. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he recalled the events that had transpired.
"You, of course," he acknowledged warmly. "And that was just the beginning."
Wilma's attention returned to the celebration, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Oh, I almost forgot," she exclaimed, reaching into her pocket. With a mischievous smile, she pulled out a small envelope and handed it to Buck.
Curiosity danced in Buck's eyes as he took the envelope from Wilma's outstretched hand. He carefully opened it and was greeted by a series of pictures neatly arranged inside. His heart skipped a beat as he realized they were pictures of his family---his parents, his siblings, and even his childhood dog.
A wave of nostalgia washed over Buck as he gazed at each picture, memories flooding back like a tidal wave. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his parents' proud faces and his siblings' playful antics frozen in time. It had been years since he had seen them all together like this.
But then something caught his eye---a picture that stood out from the rest. It was a snapshot of him, Wilma, Dr. Huer, and Twiki.
Just then, Buck's mind raced as he remembered an important detail that he should have asked about earlier. His eyes widened with curiosity as he turned to face Wilma, his voice filled with urgency.
"Wilma," Buck began, his tone laced with a mix of intrigue and concern, "where on earth did you manage to get your hands on this?"
"Remember that night we stayed up talking until dawn?" Wilma asked, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips. "I know you always will. You talked about your family and how much you loved them."
Buck's eyes sparkled with fond memories as he nodded in agreement. "Ah, yes. My family," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "But---the picture. How---?"
"We used a special process which photographs mental images," Wilma replied, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and nostalgia.
Buck's curiosity piqued as he tried to wrap his head around the concept of Cerebro-photography. He had heard of it before, but only in passing conversations and scientific articles. It was a groundbreaking technique that allowed individuals to capture their mental images and preserve them in a tangible form.
"But... why?" Buck finally managed to ask, his eyes searching Wilma's face for an answer.
Wilma's gaze softened, her eyes reflecting the depth of emotions she felt. "Because you became so much a part of me," she said softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "I felt I knew them."
Buck's heart skipped a beat as he absorbed her words. The realization washed over him like a wave crashing onto the shore. In their time together, they had shared countless memories, experiences, and emotions. They had laughed together, but now he couldn't help but wonder if their connection was starting to fade.
Around midnight, Inner City time, the celebration ended, as all celebrations must, and Captain Buck Rogers was left alone with his thoughts. The echoes of laughter and music slowly faded away, leaving behind a profound sense of emptiness. He found solace in the memories captured within the photographs Wilma had given him, but one picture stood out among the rest - the image of his beloved family.
As he gazed at their smiling faces frozen in time, a bittersweet wave of emotions washed over him. It had been years since he last saw them, since he embarked on his interstellar journey to protect Earth from impending doom. The weight of his duty had kept him apart from those he held dear, sacrificing personal happiness for the greater good.
Lost in contemplation, Buck suddenly became aware of a faint whispering sound that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere simultaneously. His heart skipped a beat as a voice gently caressed his ear with familiarity. "Hello, Buck," it whispered softly.
"Without explanation, Buck recognized who was talking to him and knew why.
"John? That you?" Buck asked cautiously, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.
"Buck, watch yourself! Only you can see me, no one else can," John replied cryptically.
Buck's mind raced with questions. How was it possible that only he could see John? What did he mean by "watch yourself"? But before he could delve deeper into those mysteries, another urgent matter took precedence.
"You know, John? About that atomic missile?" Buck began hesitantly. "I need to talk to my superiors. You see...."
"What is the Fourth Dimension?" He heard John's voice in his ear again. The urgency of his friend's tone only added to Buck's pressure. He knew he had to come up with an answer, and fast.
"What is the Fourth Dimension?" John repeated, his voice filled with anticipation.
Buck furrowed his brow, trying to push aside the distractions and focus solely on the question. He closed his eyes briefly, hoping that shutting out the world around him would help clear his mind.
"Let me think!" Buck said, feeling a surge of determination coursing through him. He couldn't let John down; he had to prove himself worthy of this challenge.
As he delved deeper into his thoughts, Buck's mind began to race. Images and ideas flashed before him like fragments of a puzzle waiting to be assembled. And then it happened---the answer came to him in a flash: "The Fourth Dimension is----time!"
"Buck, I daresay you've outdone yourself! Your exceptional performance here not only showcases your remarkable abilities but also hints at the incredible potential you possess. It's becoming increasingly evident that had you pursued a career in physics, you would have undoubtedly soared to great heights and achieved tremendous success."
"John, don't keep me in suspense too much longer," Buck pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. The tension in the room was palpable as they both searched for answers. "I don't see----the connection between the two things."
John's eyes softened with understanding as he leaned closer to Buck, his voice equally hushed. "Then let us find it," he said gently, his words carrying a sense of determination. "Now, what do you know about one particular astronaut who came before you----Colonel George Taylor?"
Buck scratched his head, deep in thought. "Taylor? He was a little before my time," he began, his brow furrowing. "They said he was something of a mystery. A detached, cold kinda guy, if y'know what I mean."
John leaned forward, intrigued. "And?" he gently prodded. "Is that all that comes to your mind?"
Buck hesitated for a moment before continuing, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Well....I know that his ship, the Icarus, mysterious disappeared from telemetry," he said, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the rumors surrounding Taylor's enigmatic disappearance. "Nobody ever found out where Taylor and his crew landed---if they did, that is."
As Buck spoke those words, a shiver ran down his spine. The mention of the Icarus and its vanishing act brought back memories of countless conspiracy theories and whispered tales of otherworldly encounters.
"What was their mission?" John's voice now took on the stern tones of an impatient schoolmarm.
"They were to embark on a daring journey, venturing into the vast expanse of space to reach another star," Buck recalled, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Their purpose? To plant Man's seed on a distant celestial body, to spread our existence beyond the confines of Earth."
As he spoke, Buck's' mind wandered to the immense challenges that awaited those brave souls. The thought of traversing unimaginable distances, defying the laws of physics, and venturing into the unknown filled with a mix of awe and trepidation.
"After six long months aboard the spacecraft," Buck continued, his voice tinged with admiration for their unwavering determination, "the crew was to undergo a remarkable process. They would be placed in suspended animation, a state where time itself seemed to halt, using a specially formulated drug that would keep them sedated and confined within stasis pods."
"Do you remember why some said the craft was at least a decade ahead of its time?" John's voice grew in emphasis, his eyes locked onto Buck's. The room fell silent, the weight of the question hanging in the air.
Buck furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Memories flooded his mind, fragments of conversations and whispers from years ago. He recalled the awe and wonder that surrounded the craft, its sleek design and advanced technology that seemed to defy all known boundaries. It was hailed as a marvel, a breakthrough that surpassed anything humanity had ever seen before.
A Buck delved deeper into his memories, he realized that it wasn't just about the craft itself. It was about what it represented---a leap forward in human innovation and progress. The world had never witnessed such an extraordinary feat of engineering and ingenuity. The craft's capabilities were so far beyond anything imaginable at that time. But why was this knowledge so crucial to Buck's mission?
"I....Buck struggled mentally. "Well, there was this wunderkind, Hasslein. who had a theory that a spaceship traveling at the speed of light would be able to travel through the 4th dimension. But nobody----nobody believed him. They thought he was just a mad scientist with wild ideas." Buck paused, his mind racing to gather more information.
"You have only solved part of the riddle," John admonished, his voice echoing in Buck's head. "What is the rest of it?"
"Please!" Buck pleaded with the phantom, his voice trembling with exhaustion. "Tell me what I need to know!"
As if sensing Buck's desperation, the phantom began to shimmer. "There are limits to what I can do," John shook his head, frustration on his face. "I thought I'd made that clear."
"Yes, I know, I know! But...." Buck's voice trailed off as he pounded his fist on a nearby nightstand, the sound reverberating through the room. "God! It's not easy being the only 500-year-old man in the 25th century."
John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You're not," he let that much slip.
"What...?" Buck exclaimed, his confusion deepening with each passing moment. The revelation hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him utterly baffled. "Taylor! He's still alive and here, in this time!" Buck's mind raced as he tried to process the implications of this astonishing discovery. It meant that Hasslein had been right all along---Taylor's spacecraft had indeed traveled forward in time.
But amidst the elation, bitterness crept into Buck's voice as he muttered through gritted teeth, "Why didn't you recruit him for this?" The question hung heavily in the air, filled with regret and frustration. It seemed inconceivable that they had overlooked someone who possessed firsthand knowledge of the future they were trying to achieve, and now they were left to wonder what opportunities had been missed by not including Taylor in their mission.
"Because Taylor is not like you, contrary to what you might have heard about him," John explained with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "You are a humanist. Taylor, by contrast, is a misanthrope. A hater of his own race. He left Earth because he genuinely believed that life here was utterly meaningless. He despised people, finding their presence and interactions to be nothing more than an endless source of frustration and disappointment. In his eyes, humanity was a collective burden that he desperately sought to escape."
John paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "You see, Taylor saw his mission as more than just an opportunity to explore the vastness of space. It was his means to an end, a way for him to distance himself from the very essence of humanity that he found so repulsive. To him, leaving Earth behind was not only an act of liberation but also a necessary step towards preserving his own sanity."
The room fell into silence as John's words hung in the air.
"Such beings are utterly useless to us," John declared with a tone of finality.
"Believe me, we meticulously analyzed every conceivable variable, drawing upon our vast accumulated knowledge of both of you."
"Yeah, I guess you did," Buck sighed, his joyous mood of several hours ago turning now to a heavy cloud of depression. The vibrant colors of the room seemed to dull as John faded from sight, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The weight of loneliness settled upon his shoulders, reminding him of the vastness of space and the isolation it brought.
With a heavy heart, Buck trudged to his bedroom, feeling the weight of each step as if he were carrying the burden of the entire universe. He knew he couldn't bear this burden alone; he needed someone to confide in, someone who could help him make sense of these overwhelming emotions.
As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Buck made up his mind. He would seek solace and guidance from Dr. Huer in the morning.
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