We sat together. Two versions of me. Talking like strangers who share a dream.
He told me I never left the artifact. That this Earth was a construct, a psychological safeguard for those who couldn't handle integration.
"Most fragment," he said. "You didn't. You came back whole."
I asked about the crew.
"Gone. Or merged. Or dreaming. Depends how much of themselves they were willing to let go."
He pointed to the sky. There were dozens of ships like the Vigilant in orbit. All slightly different.
All lost.
All returning home.
But this wasn't Earth.
It was a manifested memory of Earth.
We'd forgotten it.
And now we were rebuilding it, piece by imperfect piece.