22.07.2023
I pass along the old houses, from which plaster has already fallen occasionally. Once upon a time, they were built from concrete, and plaster protected the concrete from the vagaries of the local climate (the weather here is harsh in winter). Over time, they learned to cover houses with plastic polymers, and the plaster was abandoned to live out its age. Where the plaster falls off, there will be a plastic stain, and that's it. Over time, the houses took on the appearance of being poured with molten plastic. But that's inexpensive and effective.
I pass a school. They never change — whether a school was built from concrete or from prehistoric bricks, buildings stand out with colorful posters, announcements, and painted walls.
I pass under the trees. They barely reach twelve feet — you won't grow much in the local climate. But the crowns are wide; they save passers-by from the summer sun and provide shade for cats, and what else do you need from trees.
I also pass by the church, which, since ancient times, has been called a planetarium. The followers of the religion to which the church belongs are called "Scientists" — such a strange name. I look inside while I still have time. There, a thin man in a black suit and glasses — almost a school teacher — is saying something to two dozen listeners. Do they not have a job or, like me, just passed by, I wonder?
I take a seat on the bench and listen. Nothing new — evolution talks again... How boring they are, these scientists. Everyone has long been convinced that their lies are just a series of false conclusions from false assumptions or forged facts. Take this very "evolution" — where are the hundreds of examples of transitional forms? Here and there, dozens of skeletons were collected for the entire evolution. And when they began to look, half of the remains were fake, and the second half was so incomplete that it was impossible to understand what kind of creature was dug up there.
I listen a little more — the guy has switched the topic and now shows constellations and planets on the ceiling. The view is gorgeous, of course — that's what a "planetarium" is for. But what is the benefit of this? The ceiling is the same on the street — you go out at night and look at the constellations and planets. How much money was spent on launching rockets — not a single one got anywhere. And why? They should have listened to smart guys — no one awaits us outside the atmosphere. "And what about satellites?" — you may ask. Well, they orbit lower, still within the atmosphere, albeit a depleted one. And that's it.
Okay, it’s time to go. My colleagues are probably already there, and I don't want to be the last to come. We have a long way to go today. There are ten of us on the team, and there will be about a hundred, if not more, in total.
We are equipped with everything we need — powerful tunnel boring machines, generators, explosives, hundreds of kilometers of steel cables, prefabricated houses for the staff.
Two long months were spent forming the caravan. All the stuff we take is already loaded on several dozen tractors specially designed for moving on ice fields. Tractors have both wheels and tracks, so neither snow nor ice will stand in the way. The caravan will go a thousand miles, all the way to the ice wall. When we are in place, we will put drills into action and, as needed, explosives. And at the end, I hope, the hoists with cables will also have to work. We don't know what awaits us behind the ice wall, but if our scientists are right, it is an abyss of a hundred miles. That's what the cables are for. And there, we might see elephants. And, if we're fortunate, even a turtle.
Commuting
I walk through the streets of the morning city and rejoice — what a beautiful summer day today will be! I'm going on a trip; and not anywhere, but to a place where no one has been before. At least, none of my contemporaries. Probably, one of our ancestors traveled beyond the edge of the earth — legends talk about it. But we have to find out what the truth is.I pass along the old houses, from which plaster has already fallen occasionally. Once upon a time, they were built from concrete, and plaster protected the concrete from the vagaries of the local climate (the weather here is harsh in winter). Over time, they learned to cover houses with plastic polymers, and the plaster was abandoned to live out its age. Where the plaster falls off, there will be a plastic stain, and that's it. Over time, the houses took on the appearance of being poured with molten plastic. But that's inexpensive and effective.
I pass a school. They never change — whether a school was built from concrete or from prehistoric bricks, buildings stand out with colorful posters, announcements, and painted walls.
I pass under the trees. They barely reach twelve feet — you won't grow much in the local climate. But the crowns are wide; they save passers-by from the summer sun and provide shade for cats, and what else do you need from trees.
I also pass by the church, which, since ancient times, has been called a planetarium. The followers of the religion to which the church belongs are called "Scientists" — such a strange name. I look inside while I still have time. There, a thin man in a black suit and glasses — almost a school teacher — is saying something to two dozen listeners. Do they not have a job or, like me, just passed by, I wonder?
I take a seat on the bench and listen. Nothing new — evolution talks again... How boring they are, these scientists. Everyone has long been convinced that their lies are just a series of false conclusions from false assumptions or forged facts. Take this very "evolution" — where are the hundreds of examples of transitional forms? Here and there, dozens of skeletons were collected for the entire evolution. And when they began to look, half of the remains were fake, and the second half was so incomplete that it was impossible to understand what kind of creature was dug up there.
I listen a little more — the guy has switched the topic and now shows constellations and planets on the ceiling. The view is gorgeous, of course — that's what a "planetarium" is for. But what is the benefit of this? The ceiling is the same on the street — you go out at night and look at the constellations and planets. How much money was spent on launching rockets — not a single one got anywhere. And why? They should have listened to smart guys — no one awaits us outside the atmosphere. "And what about satellites?" — you may ask. Well, they orbit lower, still within the atmosphere, albeit a depleted one. And that's it.
Okay, it’s time to go. My colleagues are probably already there, and I don't want to be the last to come. We have a long way to go today. There are ten of us on the team, and there will be about a hundred, if not more, in total.
We are equipped with everything we need — powerful tunnel boring machines, generators, explosives, hundreds of kilometers of steel cables, prefabricated houses for the staff.
Two long months were spent forming the caravan. All the stuff we take is already loaded on several dozen tractors specially designed for moving on ice fields. Tractors have both wheels and tracks, so neither snow nor ice will stand in the way. The caravan will go a thousand miles, all the way to the ice wall. When we are in place, we will put drills into action and, as needed, explosives. And at the end, I hope, the hoists with cables will also have to work. We don't know what awaits us behind the ice wall, but if our scientists are right, it is an abyss of a hundred miles. That's what the cables are for. And there, we might see elephants. And, if we're fortunate, even a turtle.
