By me, with art by Sam Messerly.
Click here to read from the beginning.
The first groups who traveled abroad (so to speak), their trips went smoothly enough. Which is to say, nobody died. The original couples who went to your world and lived in the original versions of the time-displaced housing we built had to deal with a lot of technical issues with the technology, but because we had been so careful with our preparations, nothing proved fatal. The psychological issues actually caused the most problems in the beginning.
First was just the fear. We dinosaurs had lived without death for countless ages in our pocket of frozen time. Now we were stepping out into a world in which we could die at any moment if something went wrong. We were like coddled children, fearful at every noise, jumping at every sound.
I remember the feeling when I first stepped out from the portal and descended the stairs from the sky. Of course being hundreds of meters up in the air upon arrival was scary enough, but every sensation was new and different and keenly terrifying. The wind surprised me. I was not used to that rush against my skin, the peculiar coolness. Taking my first breath of air here was a shock to the system. Feeling the lungs breathing in and out where my chest had never moved before was eerie at first. The warmth of the sun tickling my back, the flitting touch of insects, and later the insistent tapping and splattering of rain—all these things were surprising, shocking, overwhelming for us to deal with.
Some might say that we were feeling what it meant to be alive for the first time, or at least the first time in an eternity. But when you aren’t used to living, it feels like death. And our fear was justified. Those bodily systems that keep us alive in your world also drive us slowly towards our deaths. And we were painfully aware of our mortality every moment at first.
By the time I went through, I had been warned about the shock of living in your world, the various surprises and dangers and, yes, the joys and pleasures, too. I was not the first, or the second, or even the tenth. I came much later. Those couples, all the couples, had some immense obstacles to overcome.
I mean, even the act of mating seemed outrageous and unfamiliar in your world. The individual couples may have loved each other before crossing over into your world, but they had forgotten the logistics so to speak, so everything was awkward and embarrassing for everyone at first. It’s not that we had completely forgotten the old world, as we still certainly had memories of when we had lived there. But those memories, after the equivalent of thousands or perhaps even millions of years in our frozen world, seemed disconnected from our reality. They didn’t seem to apply to us anymore. We had to learn everything anew.
And it was exciting. I don’t mean just the act of mating, though I think everyone was particularly curious about that one. But as the fears subsided, and living started to feel a little more natural, there is a real thrill and excitement to just being here that can take over the senses after a while.
I remember all of it. When my mate and I were preparing for our journey, I remember listening to the stories, reading the guidebooks and seeing the videos (yes, we have movies of a kind in our frozen world as well). By the time I left for your world, there had been over one hundred couples before me. And while many of them had returned to the safety of our frozen kingdom simply out of fear long before giving birth, many came back with their young successfully.
I could see the joy they held, with their newfound families and the familial bonds that had developed. I desperately wanted that joy for myself, and for my mate. I thought I would do anything to get that joy.
Unfortunately, no one yet understood the full dangers we were facing. Not yet.