Once Rittenhouse is safely inside the ship and checked for signs of damage, they open the golden cylinder. It's larger than usual, with many more items--while the past cylinders contained a single carved object, this one is packed to the brim with mementos and circular grooved disks.

They listen to the sound file encoded on the cylinder's lid first.

--and we spent years hand-picking planets, machining objects, coming to agreements, in the hope that someone would one day find our trail and learn what earth was like from our tales of it and the breadcrumbs we scattered. This was, to be honest, a foolish whim on our part. an illogical, selfish desire, a deliberate inconvenience for whoever found it. Even recording this now, I doubt that anyone--anything--will follow the trail we've laid. I half think that our words will never be passed on, and that the last memories of Earth will all die with us. Perhaps we deserve it, for the mess our kind made.

The other half of me will burn this recording into the cylinder, and leave it in the hope that someone, somewhere, will hear it and know us--will be curious enough and foolhardy enough to follow our trail where it might lead.

If you are listening to this, thank you.

Thank you for being willing to look.

After emptying out the objects--engravings of Earthian animals, personal notes from the designers of the project, what seems like a large tangle of jewellery--they examine the container itself.

A series of coordinates is carved into the absolute bottom of the cylinder. They're absolute coordinates, not relative--they'll need a warp-capable ship in order to reach anywhere near there.

Beneath the coordinates is a message--five symbols in ancient Inglese characters.

Earth.

"Why the hell," Yuri says, "would they leave us the coordinates to it?"

"It just doesn't make sense," says Flux. "From what they said, there's absolutely nothing there."

[They said they ruined the planet, yes.]

"It would be really, really dumb to spend our limited time and money going to a ruined planet with absolutely nothing there," Yuri says. "Are we all agreed on that?"

[Definitely.]

"Stupidest thing ever."

For a while the three of them stare at the cylinder, the ship’s engine whirring in the background. The viewports around them gleam with endless stars.

"Sooooo," Yuri says, drawing the word out, letting it hang in the air. "How about it?"

[I know where we can get a warp-capable ship. I can sponsor the deposit as well.]

Flux shrugs her tentacles. "I've already taken all this time off, what's a bit more? You'd be useless without me anyway."

"Well then," Yuri grins, her eyes sparkling with adventure. "Time to head to Earth."