Chapter VIII — The First Explorer
After leaving Easter Island, Anton became intensely interested in ancient sites predating the Dawn Era.
At his request, we visited several ancient sites, including the pyramids of ancient Egypt, the Great Wall of China, Stonehenge in the Scottish Highlands, Machu Picchu, and the Mayan pyramids in Mexico. Our final destination was Göbekli Tepe, located on the Anatolian Plateau. This site seemed much more basic compared to the others we had visited. It featured hundreds of T-shaped stone pillars arranged into several massive circles. Some pillars featured clumsy engravings that appeared to have been done by a child, but we maintained a sense of reverence throughout our visit.
This is the oldest known settlement site discovered by humans, dating back nearly 30,000 years," I explained to Anton. Archaeological studies suggest this might also be the very first temple built by humans. Additionally, this area is significant for possibly marking the beginning of the agricultural age. Close to this spot, archaeologists have discovered traces of the oldest primitive agriculture, where wheat was first cultivated on a significant scale."
"Who built these stone circles?" Anton asked curiously.
"It's unclear. There are numerous hypotheses, but none are backed by solid proof," I said, spreading my hands. "Though it doesn't really matter."
"True,"Anton nodded.
While I initially thought Göbekli Tepe would be our final stop, as we were leaving for the spaceport, Anton suggested we visit Baikonur. I had no complaints about his request; actually, it didn't surprise me at all. I could feel that this young man had grown since our journey began.
At the entrance to the launch site, there stood a statue of an old man made of obsidian, featuring a bushy beard, a partially bald scalp, and round glasses. His sunken eyes, carrying a look of deep sadness, seemed to transcend thousands of years, focusing intently on us.
"Who is this?" asked Anton.
"This is Konstantin Tsiolkovsky," I explained, "known as the father of the Soviet space program. He first introduced the idea of using reaction engines for space travel, a method that remains fundamental in all our standard spacecraft. He designed the first diagrams for a human spacecraft and was the first to suggest creating artificial gravity through rotation for those living in space. Plus, he designed the first space station blueprint, the early model for today's space cities. Many of the basic concepts he proposed are still in use. Essentially, Tsiolkovsky established the theoretical groundwork for space travel, earning him the title of pioneer of human aviation. Oh, and there's a crater named after him on the Moon, along with a statue. It's become as famous a landmark as Neil Armstrong's footprints."
Anton couldn't help but look at the statue with awe and reverence.
Engraved on the statue's pedestal in ancient Russian, I interpreted aloud to Anton, "Earth is humanity's cradle, but one cannot live in the cradle forever—a famous quote by Tsiolkovsky. He was a visionary who predicted that humans would ultimately master space travel and that our descendants would be scattered among the stars."
"What an amazing prophet," Anton remarked.
"Don't get me wrong, he wasn't a sorcerer or anything." I pointed to my head, "He firmly believed that humans were destined to conquer the stars."
"Anyway, he was right."
"Yes," I nodded, "I imagine he'd be quite proud of what we've achieved if he could see us now."
We were under the gigantic protective dome at Baikonur, the former administrative area of Kazakhstan, exploring the old launch site. There was still a launch tower standing, towering over a dozen stories high, with even a rocket model beside it. However, to us modern observers, these tube-shaped rockets seemed almost primitive, like toys compared to the massive steel spaceships we command today.
"Are these the rockets they used back then?"
"Yes, these metal things ushered in the Dawn Era," I confirmed, "but compared to the endless cosmic sea, these wouldn't even qualify as canoes."
Anton nodded in strong agreement.
"Moreover, these rockets were a lot more dangerous than canoes," I pointed to the top of the rocket. "In those days, technology was so basic, so most of the rockets were just fuel tanks. The astronauts had to sit in a tiny cabin at the top, practically on top of a ticking time bomb."
"Must have been a lot of accidents, right?" Anton asked.
"Yes, space travel was extremely risky during that time."
Anton gazed up at the rocket; it was like a sword cutting into the sky, "People were incredibly brave back then."
"You could have a taste of bravery too," I mentioned.
"What?"
"Well, there's a unique tour they offer here at the launch site, but..." I paused on purpose.
"But what?" Anton was attracted to this, as I expected.
"It's not very popular; only a few tourists have done it before."
"How so?" he asked.
"It appears too risky, and most tourists are not brave enough to attempt it, though it's actually quite safe."
"Oh?" Anton suddenly seemed interested. "Tell me more about this."
"The Tourism Bureau designed a program to let tourists experience what astronauts in the Dawn Era felt during a rocket launch to space," I shared, "but to be honest, it's not a pleasant experience."
Frankly, I was holding back by saying, "It's not a pleasant experience." It seems like the Tourism Bureau's designers might have gone a little too far. Tourists have to put on specially designed ancient astronaut suits from their research division, which are clunky and heavy, not to mention the huge glass helmets. Then, everyone is squeezed into a narrow launching capsule and strapped tightly into seats to feel every bump and surge of extreme G-forces during the launch—though it's all simulated and completely safe. Plus, the Tourism Bureau acquired an expensive set of static warp anti-gravity devices to make it more realistic. This tech allows passengers to feel the gravity overload until they are launched into orbit and become weightless. It's undeniable that this attraction is brilliantly designed and offers an extremely realistic experience. However, its realism is also its biggest flaw. I suspect the designers haven't actually gone through it themselves. The first time it was operated, no one could get out of the capsule on their own after it ended, and one passenger was even taken to emergency care due to a panic attack, almost leading to a diplomatic issue. Following that event, the gravity overload has been adjusted to no more than 1G, meaning tourists will only ever experience up to 2G of force. This is still uncomfortable, but not life-threatening. Nevertheless, there are still very few takers for this experience. Thus, inside the Tourism Bureau, we've got a bit of a running bet: any tour guide who can successfully pitch this attraction wins a longstanding pool, and according to everyone's odds, every other guide owes him money. However, no guide has yet to become that lucky winner. The good news for me is that my odds are still favorable since I've never succeeded in selling that attraction.
"Let's check it out." Anton rubbed his hand while saying that.
We approached a smaller domed building that also featured a statue, but unlike the others, this was a full-body sculpture. As we got closer, we saw the statue was of a man in a cumbersome, oversized spacesuit, holding a large spherical helmet in his right hand, with a slight upward tilt of his chin and a resolute look toward the heavens.
"And who is this?" Anton asked.
I shook my head quietly, surprised that children born in the cosmic sea today don't recognize Gagarin.
"He is Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin; remember this name."I pointed out as we looked back at the launch pad we'd walked by earlier. "At this very site, Baikonur LC1, on April 12, 1961 AD, Gagarin embarked on Vostok 1 and became the first human to enter outer space. The importance of this milestone is often severely underrated. Its impact is comparable to that of the first lobe-finned walking onto land millions of years ago—a pivotal moment that many historians believe marks the initial moment of our transition from a planetary to a star-faring civilization, which is why some advocate for April 12 to be celebrated as a universal holiday for all of humanity."
"He was a great man," Anton remarked with a sense of respect, then paused before asking, "But why is the statue so tiny?"
"It's a life-size replica—1:1 scale—based on Gagarin's actual height."
"Ah?" Anton seemed taken aback, "Were people really that short back then?"
"Remember, back in those days, humans hadn't ventured off Earth and lived their entire lives subjected to Earth's 1G gravity, which might have made them shorter. However," I pointed at Gagarin's statue, "records indicate that Gagarin was only 157 centimeters tall, which was relatively short even for that era."
"Why?" Anton asked, clearly confused. "Why did they prefer shorter astronauts?"
"Well, because the space technology was quite primitive, the capsules were small and couldn't accommodate tall people," I replied casually. "So, astronauts had to be on the shorter side during that time." I pointed out, "This attraction recreates Gagarin's first trip to space, but the simulated capsule here is larger than the original, so you won't have trouble getting in."
"What does it say here?" Anton asked, pointing toward the writing on the statue's base.
"It's an ancient Russian phrase meaning 'Let's go.'"I explained, "It's one of Gagarin's most famous quotes, believed to be his last words before his launch. Remember, space travel was incredibly primitive at the time, and Gagarin was aware that his chances of returning were slim. Yet he spoke those words lightly, as if he were about to go on an ordinary trip. He had even secretly written a last letter to his wife, a common practice back then. For instance, during the first moon landing, the U.S. President had two speeches prepared—one for a successful mission and another for a memorial if it failed, though, luckily, the latter was never needed."
"Explorers tread fearlessly in the shadow of death." Anton stated, likely quoting from a book I didn't recognize.
"People these days just don't have the same courage our ancestors did," I said casually.
Anton glanced at me but said nothing.
I waved my hand dramatically and repeated Gagarin's iconic line, "Let's go."
As we entered the gallery, a bored male staff member was reclining in his chair, deeply engaged in the holographic data network. His face lit up with a "sweet" smile—obviously, this place didn't get many visitors. I had to manually shut off his device to snap him back to reality. Upon seeing us, he quickly remembered his duties and eagerly explained the details of the attraction to Anton.
Anton looked skeptically at the retro spacesuit and the oversized helmet mounted on the wall. "Do I really have to wear this?"
"Yes, it's part of the full, immersive experience," the staff member explained cheerfully.
Next, he guided us to a life-size replica of a launch tower and rocket positioned at the heart of the hall. Guests are required to physically climb the tower and then maneuver through an iron walkway hanging twenty meters off the ground to enter the "spaceship" at the rocket's apex. Once inside and the door shuts, they'll experience exactly what Gagarin went through on his first spaceflight.
The staff member saw the doubt in Anton's eyes and quickly reassured him, "Totally safe, I promise you. Instead of fuel, this rocket is equipped with a specially designed static warp gravity generator. Throughout the experience, it auto-adjusts to recreate the actual conditions, adding an extra 1G of gravity to ensure you get the real Gagarin experience."
As I watched from the side, I couldn't help but frown. Something didn't add up. According to my knowledge, astronauts back then had to withstand far more than just an additional 1G—sometimes up to 5G or even 8G. Though it's true that visitors from the cosmos couldn't endure such extreme G-forces, this kind of marketing might be misleading. Yet, when I think about it, 2G, equivalent to six times the comfort threshold if these visitors are accustomed to a third of 1G, it doesn't seem entirely misleading from that perspective. But then again, I started to worry. 2G might not pose an issue for earthlings, but for Anton, it could still be risky.
While the idea of winning the bet was appealing, I was more concerned about my client's safety. I walked over and expressed my worries, advising, "Anton, enduring a 2G gravity might be a bit risky for you. If you really wish to experience the feel of extra gravity, I suggest we adjust the settings to a maximum of 1.5G. And don't worry, the time you'll be under this extra gravity won't be very long."
"That makes sense, Jason," the staff member agreed, "but don't worry, the system is designed to continuously monitor your vital signs. Should they reach critical levels, the system will immediately cease operations and connect to medical diagnostics."
"I'll also join you inside for extra safety," I added.
"Wait a second; if Gagarin had encountered any issues, could he have paused his mission?" Anton asked, with a hint of a smile on his face.
The staff member and I looked at each other, and we both shook our heads.
"Was he with anyone?"
"No, he was alone." said the staff member.
"And could he alter the G-force he was enduring during the launch?"
"That's also a no," I shook my head, and I got a bad gut feeling.
"Is this what you call a full, immersive experience?" Anton scoffed, raising three fingers. "First off, there can be no calling off the process midway. If you do, I'll complain to the Tourism Bureau. Trust me, a complaint from me could mean you both will lose your jobs for sure. Secondly, the gravity should be set to 2G. If there are any changes, I'll complain about that too. And third—" Anton looked at me, "Jason, since Gagarin was alone, I insist on being alone as well."
The staff member and I looked at each other, shocked. "Anton, this isn't something to joke about, I think..."
But Anton interrupted me, his voice not loud but very decisive, "Jason, Explorers tread fearlessly."
Instantly, I felt a knot of regret in my stomach. I realized the boy was serious about it. Though I didn't know his exact background, it was easy to guess that he was from some prestigious, wealthy family. If he actually made a complaint, we'd be out of jobs by tomorrow. Yet, if he got hurt, the consequences would go far beyond just losing our jobs.
As I looked worried, Anton patted my shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Jason, everything will be fine."
"Are you sure about this?" I asked, desperately trying to keep my job.
"Absolutely," asserted Anton.
Feeling hopeless, I watched Anton climb into the cumbersome, bulky spacesuit. We both helped him with the sealed helmet. Despite his shaky steps, which seemed like he might fall at any moment, he still managed to give us a thumbs-up, indicating everything was okay.
We accompanied him into the launch tower and ascended to the top via the elevator. With our assistance, Anton crawled into the tiny chamber. Before sealing the hatch, I tried again to convince him to let me accompany him. Anton refused. He flipped up his helmet and looked me in the eye. "Jason, I'm very grateful for everything you've done for me. Frankly, before I came to Earth, I never imagined it would be like this. I've learned so many things that can only be learned on Earth. I must admit, I had prejudices about Terran Sphere before this trip. I thought you all were conservative and outdated, and I found your so-called Earth's culture revival outright ridiculous. But now, I no longer feel that way. In fact, I think you aren't doing enough to spread this knowledge. And about you, you've harbored biases against us from the cosmic sea. Please don't deny it; I've seen it in you. You think we're arrogant and condescending. But there's one thing you got wrong—we haven't lost our ancestors' adventurous spirit, and that's what I'm going to prove."
I stood there, speechless, looking at Anton.
Anton flashed a small smile at me, waved his hand, and said, "Let's go!" He then put his helmet back on and signaled for the staff member to seal the hatch.
It was still hard to believe that this damn metal tank is supposed to be a spacecraft.
Sure, the rocket isn't actually going to launch, but the static warp gravity simulator combined with mechanical arms around the rocket will make it shake intensely. The increasing gravitational force during the simulation could be unbearable for those who are not mentally strong.
The staff member and I stood next to each other, looking up at the rocket that was "ready to launch" like actual ground crew.
"This interesting kid, where's he from?" the staff member asked.
I was going to respond that I didn't know, but for some reason, I answered solemnly, "He comes from Earth, just like we do."
The staff member looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Yeah, he's got comprehensive travel insurance, right?"
"Of cour..."
He pressed the launch button, and I shut my mouth.
The loud, booming noise erupted, sending me momentarily back to that ordinary morning in 1961. Looking up, it was as though I could see Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin riding a simple rocket that shot up with fire and smoke, piercing the clouds. This was a small step for humanity's civilization in conquering space, but a giant leap for humankind. From then on, humans were no longer tethered to the Earth, and the dawn of the Space Age began. All that we have achieved today, all the great feats we have accomplished between the stars, and the magnificent history we have created. All of these originated on that ordinary morning.
"I'm not sure if this kid will last," the staff member said calmly, with his arms folded, watching the shaking simulation chamber. "No one has managed to complete the whole thing in a long time."
"He will; he definitely will." I said, feeling somewhat emotional as I spoke.
