moon. It died when we found Rack and Beautiful Wings beside a junkpile of antique equipment. I knew it was dead when I stood in front of a crazy, boasting, thoroughly human object I'm going to show you in a moment. But it's not all bad, Jack. It's not all bad. We've been looking for our parents for 30,000 N.Y. and now we've found them. Our old year figures to the minute or so with their sun circle. When I looked at Rack, the scaled fellow, I was looking at my cousin a million times removed. Rack and his people are mutations of the Old Ones and some of the Old Ones were sent to the moon about 100,000 old years ago. After this experiment they must have discovered better ways to travel, and sent another party—our immediate ancestors— out into space with what might have been an unguided version of the blink drive, since we landed so far away from this
insignificant little sun here in the periphery. After that they lost interest in space travel and had their little family squabble that burned the whole world bald. Here's the picture I've been saving, Jack. As a clue, it's Old English. If you have trouble, consult Parker at the Academy. He's an expert. He's the one who taught me to love the old written language. I didn't have a bit of trouble reading it, except for the dates, of course, which are meaningless. Take a look at it. It was placed here on this planet's moon about 100,000 old years ago, this planet's years, our old years. And I like to think that maybe one of my own, a grandfather a million times removed, was among the three listed as crew on the first moon landing. My reason tells me it's a billion-to-one shot, but maybe he was. So take a look, and think, maybe, that one of them was in your direct line, too, and then send me the order that will do away with the red tape and allow me to save the lives of the few survivors of our mother race.
