While the Cerritos was docked at starbase one, Luna visited the land that used to be the Peidmont Triad. It's now a planetary park managed by the original custodians of the land (native americans) with minimal habitation. A lot of the original buildings still stand in places, but they're overgrown. She managed to navigate to GTCC, and found the burned down husk of the Cline Observatory which she had used to (accidentally) elope into the future. The telescope was still there, but long since rendered useless by weathering. She travelled through the overgrown ruins of the Jamestown historic district. The barbershop was still there, though the windows were broken so she couldnt tell who had ended up owning it. She had had her last hair cut *ever* in that barber shop, three hundred sixty years ago. (And she had hated it at the time).

She continued travelling, her borrowed hovercar making short work of the cracked and overgrown roads. It was eerie, after having lived in the futuristic west coast for so many years, to return to the east coast and see her familiar world so reclaimed by weathering and life. Somehow it seemed fitting that these empires of concrete and stroads and fast food restaurants were collapsed into unrecognizability by time. She had to fly the hover car over a collapsed highway bridge. She flew up to her old neighborhood. A handful of the houses had burned down completely, some of them merely collapsed. But when she pulled up to what had been her house, the center of this suburban jungle with the tallest trees and most densely packed shrubbery, her heart twisted. It was intact. She grabbed a phaser, in case she had to deal with any wildlife who had made it their shelter.

She opened the door. It hadn't been locked. The house was dusty and dirty. It was clearly lived in at one time--domestic trash piled on some of the counters. A plastic christmas tree had fallen over the living room floor. This place really hadn't been touched by another human in over three hundred years. Luna realized they must have left in a hurry. They wouldn't have died here; the radiation levels never got that high here. Perhaps they had evacuated before the bombs fell? But then, how would they have had a warning?

Luna came to the door at the end of the hall. She steeled herself, took a deep breath, and regretted it--with the smell of mold as strong as it was. She creaked the door handle open. Her room had barely been touched in 360 years. She knew she would have left cups and mugs and plates on her desk. She didn't see any, so it's not like no one had been in there in all that time. And her bed, which had collapsed in a rusty pile of rotten memory foam and metal, had no sign of bedsheets on it. But her desk still had her rusty, dust-caked personal computer on it. The bookshelf had fallen over at some point. She went over to and and found three of her astronomy logs. They were moldy, but still legible. She stuffed them into her bag. She met eyes with her display shelf. She would find nothing of interest in her wardrobe, but the display shelf still had her sketchbooks with their planetary drawing covers, some 3D printed statues, model kits from Benny Russel's science fiction stories, a small plastic telescope, toy trains and cars. As she looked down at each shelf and took inventory of its contents, she saw the bottom shelf. There was a large note there, covered in dirt and mold, but written in sharpie.

"For --------"

That meant her. That was the only name Luna's family had ever known her by.

Luna picked up the card, tears streaming down her eyes. She turned it around.

"You were deemed missing in July 2021. Dad says you're dead by now, but just in case, I want to be sure you can find us. If you're reading this, call us at 555-3737. We miss you so much, even though you're probably dead, but just in case you're still out there, i wanted to make sure you could still find us. We had to leave because the governor made it illegal to be trans and my poetry put a bull's eye on us."

Luna could barely see through the tears at this point.

"Love you, Isaac."

Luna began shaking and collapsed to the rotten carpet, sobbing.

She had never really come to terms with the fact that her family were dead, had been dead for over three hundred years. She never could quite grasp that she was not a TIME traveller, but a SPACE traveller. To her, her friends and family were still alive, but in a different time. But seeing her home so well preserved, and yet with such obvious signs of decay; seeing this note addressed to her--or who she once was--it all hit her. There would be no response to that number, no catching up with his family wherever they had sought refuge to.

They had never given up hope that Luna was still alive, even after several years. At least, Isaac hadn't. What must Isaac have felt, a year after writing that message? Did he ever come to terms with his brother [sic] dying? Did he get to live a normal life? It sounds like it would have been dangerous to merely exist as himself, then.

After a few minutes on the floor, Luna picked herself up and brushed off her uniform, and went to carry as much stuff of emotional value as she could to the hovercar. Sketchbooks, astronomy logs, a few toys that looked like they could be cleaned, the unique 3D-printed Spore Creature, the note. She checked for anything memorable in her brother's room, too. When she got to the closet, she collapsed, crying, again.

In November of 2020, Isaac had built a small shrine to his then-recently deceased aunt, as a way of commemorating her. In its place, Luna found a picture of her and her family. Isaac must have left it behind, they left so quickly. The picture was intensely unflattering, but the gender dysphoria she felt looking at it paled in comparison to the despair over her lost family. Luna picked up the picture and put it in her bag. She found a few stuffed animals that especially reminded her of Isaac, but they were all moldy. Maybe she could get a replica made later.

Luna put her things in the hovercar and returned to take her computer. Maybe there would be information to be recovered from it; it would at least be an interesting project. On the way in a second time, she remembered her telescopes. She went to check the bonus room. It had been turned into a genuine living room, but was the worst preserved room in the house. The carpet felt spongy in her boots. No hint of her telescopes. They must have sold them at some point. But, perhaps the garage?

The garage had collapsed. The back yard was a forest. Right.

Oh well.

Luna recovered the rusty, dirty computer, and the better-preserved laptop.