Five years ago, it took six months to get to Mars, and that was the farthest anyone had made it from Earth. Now you can get here in three minutes. Two and a half if you want to push it.

 

The Toledo Engine was the biggest jump forward in the history of human technology. It opened the doors of the galaxy, and not just for the big shooters. Its secrets weren’t secrets very long, and it was surprisingly straightforward to build, even for companies without Ivy League engineers or a NASA budget.

 

As a result, we’ve got people zipping away into space all the time these days. Some are qualified to be galactic explorers (or as qualified as anybody can be), but many are… more like me. As in not qualified by any stretch of the imagination. I used to be a motorcycle mechanic, and now I’m one of the first people to set foot on this nameless planet in one of the Milky Way’s neighboring arms. It’s crazy, obviously, but crazy cool too!

 

Or it has been until this moment. Now I’m not so sure.

 

Natural forces didn’t produce the shimmering arch before me — of that I’m certain. I don’t think humans did either. We’ve only been galaxy hopping for a few years, and there’s a lot of galaxy out here. Odds of someone from Earth beating us to this rock are astronomical. And besides, it just looks… alien.

 

There. I said it.

 

Here’s the greatest discovery ever made — proof that we’re not alone in the universe — and here I am making it, a guy who failed high school algebra. That’s jacked up.

 

* * *

 

After a closer examination of the arch, my initial impression is confirmed. No way did someone like me build this thing. The ten-foot-tall structure catches the light like polished brass but is also slightly translucent up close. On the outside of one support, I can see what appears to be a control panel under the surface. There’s no obvious way to access it, and the buttons look overlarge. For human fingers, anyway.

 

The arch buzzes constantly, just at the threshold of my hearing through the helmet of my suit, and it emits a faint glow of golden light. Whatever it is, it’s leaking a little energy.

 

When the captain’s voice suddenly comes to life in my ear, I nearly spring a leak of my own.

 

“Alright, let’s wrap it up for today. Everybody head back to the ship. We’ll discuss our findings over dinner.”

 

I giggle as I start back toward my wheeler, imagining that conversation. I’m just about there when something odd catches my eye. There’s a flat stone nearby with a patterned surface I didn’t notice before.

 

I can hardly believe my eyes when I realize it’s writing. I can hardly trust my sanity when I realize it’s English.

 

The words are mostly worn away, as if this planet’s slow, sandy breeze has been eating away at them for eons. A smattering of letters remains discernible as well as two words: time and staring.

 

I stay there for several minutes, trying to wrap my mind around the impossibility before me. Then, very slowly, I make my way back toward the arch.

 

I stand before the alien construct and stare. And stare. I bring the curve of my face shield right up to the invisible threshold beneath the humming curve of metal and squint my eyes. But I see nothing. The view through the arch looks exactly the same as when I look past its side.

 

And then, without really making any conscious decision to do so, I step through.

 

* * *

 

At first, I don’t think anything’s happened. The view before me hasn’t changed in any obvious way. But then I realize it’s quieter than before — the electric hum is gone.

 

I spin around and find the arch missing.

 

And my wheeler.

 

Panic seizes my heart as I struggle to run in the cumbersome suit. I reach the spot where I left the vehicle, but there’s no sign of it, not even tracks in the sand.

 

I try to calculate how long it will take to reach the ship on foot but give up before I find an answer. The recyclers in my suit can provide me with air and water for weeks, but I don’t have any food, and I drove a long way fast to get here.

 

Besides, I know deep down there’s not going to be a ship at our landing site — not for a long time. Because I think I understand how English writing ended up on that stone.

 

I wonder again who will bring the arch and when. A year from now? Ten years? A thousand?

 

I stumble around in a daze and eventually find myself back at the stone. The transcription on it is also missing. Obviously.

 

When I realize the word I thought was staring is actually going to be starving, I fall to my knees and begin to weep.