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The Planet That Didn't Care
Matthew Baker
We were expecting some fanfare when we landed. After all, we had landed
in the central plaza on the main street of the capital city, and our
initial surveys from orbit had indicated the species that inhabited
this planet had never before encountered extraterrestrial life.
Presumably, this would be the most significant event in the history of
their world. And yet the populace streamed past our ship without even a
glance in our direction, clutching dark coats to their frames and
battered satchels to their sides, hurrying off toward destinations
unknown. We climbed atop a nearby fountain, announcing that our ship
came from a distant galaxy, proclaiming that their species was not
alone, but they continued to ignore us. We thought our translators
might not be working, so we checked, but our translators were on.
Although our crew wasn't generally given to melodrama, we had been
looking forward to getting some attention—perhaps some
parades, maybe some galas, signing photographs for
admirers—and so admittedly we were quite embarrassed by our
reception, or lack thereof. A drone issued us a citation for parking in
a restricted area. Lacking any local currency, we had to walk to the
government headquarters, which took the better part of the morning.
We soon discovered that the planet was home to a fantastically popular
virtual reality. Members of the populace worked the minimum amount of
time necessary to pay for food and shelter, thereby keeping the
civilization running, and otherwise spent as much time as possible in
the virtual world. After explaining this to us, the ruling council of
legislators—too anxious to return to the virtual world
themselves to bother with us any longer—offered us a souvenir
flag and then got back to work. We found ourselves being ushered out
onto the street in a state of shock. Our civilization had created
virtual realities of our own, of course, but none of our virtual
realities had ever produced an effect like this on a populace. We
couldn't imagine what could possibly be so captivating about the
virtual world that this species had created. Admittedly, we were so
curious that we talked of nothing else on our walk back to our ship. So
there was a genuine sense of luck when, crossing an intersection in a
shopping district, we happened to notice a hotel with a sign that
advertised virtual reality facilities for those in town on business. By
now night was falling, and natives were rushing through the doors of
the hotel, already undoing the buttons of their jackets and removing
the straps of their satchels, eager to return to the virtual world.
Feeling somewhat shy, but also excited, we slipped into the lobby,
hoping to experience the virtual reality ourselves. Yet because their
species was quite different from our own, possessing several senses
that we lacked and lacking several senses that we possessed, we
discovered that we were neurologically unequipped to connect to the
virtual reality, leaving us only to wonder what type of universe might
lay within. The staff, as busy as the rest of the natives, refused to
waste any time on our questions. Crushed, we returned to our ship to
heat up a meal of leftovers.
From there we went ahead with the mission as planned. Unloaded the
rovers from the ship, left the capital behind in a whirl of dust, and
spent nearly a local year exploring the planet. The sights that we saw
there amazed us. We rappelled into caverns that glittered with
crystalline formations. We dove from waterfalls into lagoons that
shimmered with bioluminescent waves. We encountered elegant winged
creatures and magnificent scaled beasts and animals with branching
antlers that posed briefly in the fog before bounding off into the
ferns. We ate on ridges padded with bright mosses. We camped in forests
where the soil was covered with vibrant leaves. We crossed fields of
glowing lava and crossed glaciers of sparkling ice and were startled by
geysers suddenly erupting to breathtaking heights from colorful pools.
We had journeyed to countless galaxies, toured planets of all
varieties, visited wonders beyond number, and without doubt this was the
most spectacular world we had ever seen. Yet wherever we went, no
matter how quaint the village or remote the town, we could not find a
soul who considered the wonders of their planet preferable to their
virtual world. Whatever meadow of wildflowers we stopped to picnic in,
whatever beach of palms we stopped to sunbathe on, we never encountered
a single native. We discovered a canyon of staggering beauty, and when
we looked around, we were alone. Eventually we had seen everything, so
we returned to the capital, where we loaded the rovers back into the
ship. Then flew away, to no fanfare whatsoever, to explore a universe
that had once seemed incomparably beautiful, and that now felt just
so-so.
Matthew Baker's stories have appeared in Hobart, Booth, Joyland and others. He was
the founding editor of Nashville Review. He lives in Michigan.
Detail of photo on main page courtesy
of Sookie.
W i g l e a f
12-10-15
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