“Take your seats, please. Everyone, sit.” The roboteacher pointed to the desks before it, and the children filed into place. “Today, we will be studying the end of Mother Earth and why no one lives there anymore.”

 

Axton Peters whined, “Why do we haveta? Like you say, no one goes there. No one can go there for millions of years.”

 

The teacher hummed, and a hologram appeared before them. It was Central Park, New York City, New York, USA. People flitted through the park, laughing and playing. Children flew kites. The carousel spun with its gay music.

 

The children gasped, leaning forward in their seats, mesmerized by the hologram.

 

“What is that?” Marjean Carlyle asked in wonder.

 

“That is what is known as a park. People would go there to relax,” the teacher answered.

 

“Like the rec room?” Neider Matthews guessed.

 

“But outside in the air. Not on a station or in a ship. This is what Old Earth was like.”

 

“That wasn’t everywhere,” Axton scoffed.

 

The teacher’s head dipped. “Indeed. There were also places like this.” Another hum, and another hologram appeared.

 

This one was a bleak landscape littered with trash. The blue sky of the park had been replaced by an atmosphere tinged with yellow and green. No people were in sight, though—as the children watched—a single figure, muffled and bundled, with a gas mask on a head covered with sores hurried through the hologram.

 

“That’s why we left,” Axton said triumphantly. “Because things were like that more than that park.”

 

“That is the park,” the teacher said. “Twenty-five years after the first holo. Ten years before the final ship left for the colonies. Today, the only figures that move on Earth are robotechs engaged in cleaning up debris and replanting vegetation.” Hum. Holo.

 

The image was somewhere in between the pleasant parkland and the bleak desolation. The area was still empty of inhabitants, but there was a green tint to the landscape, and the blowing trash had been removed. A clunky robot wheeled into view, staking a single piece of paper and binning it to a compartment in its chest.

 

“This is the park today. It can be reclaimed. It is being reclaimed. If the work continues as it is, humans may be able to return to Mother Earth within your lifetimes.”

 

Marjean breathed, “Would it be like the first holo?”

 

“Not at first. At first, it would be a minimal existence. Robotechs can only be programmed for so much as far as aesthetics. They clean, they plant, they reclaim—but they can’t nurture. They can’t make the world a home again. Only you can do that.”

 

“Us?” Neider asked quizzically.

 

“Human beings. This is what we are working for. A return of humans to Earth.”

 

The children were all quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in.

 

“Why should we return?” Axton—the perpetual skeptic—asked. “We have the stars. The colonies are growing and expanding. Earth is just a tiny speck…and not a particularly good one.”

 

The teacher hissed out a sound that was almost a sigh. “That isn’t the lesson. Can anyone tell me what the lesson is?”

 

Marjean raised a tentative hand. “The way the Earth was left will be a problem on any world as long as we don’t change attitudes. Right?”

 

“That’s closer.”

 

“The Earth was our home. We didn’t take care of it, and we’ve had to have someone else clean up after us.” Neider said. “That isn’t right. We’ve already started spoiling the colony worlds. We can’t just use them and move on forever…”

 

The teacher’s head nodded. “Well done, Neider. Well put.”

 

The teacher wheeled through the students, printing out flimsies from its chest and distributing them to the students. “Your assignment today is to formulate a project plan for making sure the destruction that occurred on Mother Earth won’t happen in the colonies.”

 

“That’s stupid!” Axton protested. “No one will care what a bunch of kids think about anything.”

 

The hissing sigh again. “Axton, who do you think will be in charge of the colonies when you become adults?”

 

“That will be forever from now.”

 

Marjean’s head was bent over her flimsy, stylus flying over the sheet. “You’re such an idiot, Ax. The point of the lesson is that we’ll be the ones to make sure the worlds we go to will be better than the one we left. And the reclaiming of Earth is an important step, because we shouldn’t have used it up and then thrown it away like trash. Don’t you get that?”

 

“You’re such a teacher’s pet, MJ,” Axton growled, sticking out his tongue at her.

 

“Grow up, Ax,” Neider said, rolling his eyes. “You can be such a tool. What was that thing they used to say, Teacher?”

 

A click, a whir, and then, “‘Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’”

 

“Right.” Neider turned to Axton. “You get that?”

 

Axton huffed. “Whatever.”

 

“Some people will never learn, Neid,” Marjean sighed. “How’s this?” She handed her flimsy to the teacher.

 

The teacher fed the sheet into her grading matrix. “Well done, Marjean. You’ve got some good ideas.”

 

A buzzer sounded.

 

“Time for rec period, children,” the teacher said. “As a special treat, the holo system has been set for Central Park today. See what it was like.”

 

The children filed out of the classroom, chattering excitedly.

 

The teacher’s head swiveled back and forth over Axton’s flimsy. It was covered with doodles.

 

Some lessons were never learned.

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