3024 Nova Arcis A 1
OCN’s 1000 Years Report
The silence in the dressing room was a rare and precious commodity, a deep well of calm before the magnificent noise of the broadcast. Cokas Bluna stood before the mirror, though he wasn’t looking at the man in his late fifties reflected there. He was seeing the ghost of the young student intern he’d been three decades ago, a Nova Arcis original with wide eyes and bigger ambitions, running data-slates between the studios of the newly dominant D1.LoG channel. Back then, he chased stories that were days or weeks old, physically shipped from the inner planets. Now, the stories came to him instantaneously, echoes from a thousand years of history beamed across the void. The ghosts were older now, their weight heavier than any physical data-slate. A thousand years of human hope and folly. How, he wondered, do you even begin to tell a story that big without crushing it?
A soft chime announced the arrival of his co-host. The door slid open with a whisper, and LYRA.ai entered. She moved with a grace that was still a fraction too perfect, a subtle tell in the fluid mechanics of her stride that only a trained eye would notice. She was, in human terms, an AIE in her prime, her bio-ergonomic features a masterpiece of expressive potential.
“Nervous, Cokas?” she asked, her voice a calm, pleasant alto.
He turned from the mirror, a warm, genuine smile breaking the tension on his face. “After thirty years at this desk? Never.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Terrified is a better word. A thousand years, LYRA. That’s a lot of ghosts to invite into a live studio.”
LYRA’s expression shifted to one of thoughtful consideration, a micro-expression so nuanced it was indistinguishable from a human’s. “As the Varna-Papers suggest, a story untold is a heavier burden than one that is shared, no matter how difficult.” She glanced at a small, elegant timepiece integrated into her wrist, then back at him, her tone becoming more personal, more immediate. “Still, a thousand years is a long time to fit into a single broadcast. Are you sure you’re ready for the final countdown? Not just for the show, but for everything that comes after. A new year, … and a new time.”
A disembodied voice, calm and professional, echoed softly from a hidden speaker in the room. “Five minutes to live, Cokas, LYRA.”
Cokas took a deep, steadying breath. “Well, no turning back now.” He offered his arm to LYRA, an old-world gesture of gallantry that had become a beloved, signature part of their on-air chemistry. “Shall we?”
Together, they walked out of the quiet intimacy of the dressing room and into the vibrant, beautiful chaos of the broadcast garden. The studio was a wonder of 31st-century design, a massive dome where lush, real greenery intertwined with immersive live stages and camera drones that glided silently through the air like curious insects. A live audience murmured in anticipation, settled in comfortable seating pods nestled amongst ferns and strange, bioluminescent flowers. Cokas and LYRA took their seats at the central broadcast console, a sleek crescent of dark, polished material that seemed to float in the warm light.
The final countdown was a silent pulse of light only they could see. As it reached zero, a brilliant, warm spotlight enveloped them. Cokas looked out, not at a single camera lens, but at the faces of the people in the garden and the countless billions he knew were watching across the void, and his terror gave way to the familiar, comforting warmth of the storyteller.
“The countdown begins. It is …”
“…GBB minus zero gongs, zero bells, and twenty beeps.”
“Or in old Earth Standard Time 3024-12-31. Less than a full day before a new year, and a new time, begins.”
“Hello,” Cokas said, his voice now resonating with the easy authority of the “GONG-show” host. “And welcome.”
LYRA.ai turned, her gaze seemingly making contact with every viewer simultaneously. “Today,” she continued, her voice clear and precise, “we have something special for you.”
The 3-d media projectors around them dissolved the garden, replacing it with a swirling vortex of stars and historical images, the grand, sweeping title sequence for “Stellar Unbound” blooming in the space around them.
“…OCN’s thousand-year report on the age of ITT,” Cokas finished.
LYRA picked up the thread seamlessly. “A thousand years is a long time to keep a story straight. Light itself, the universe’s oldest messenger, becomes a liar across the interstellar dark, delivering truths that are already ghosts by the time they arrive.”
“Tonight,” Cokas added, “we are going to try and catch a few of those ghosts for you. We begin where it all started: with a young woman in a small room in Mumbai, who changed the universe by simply deciding to look at it differently…”
The studio lights dimmed, and the main 3-D media stream display resolved into the first historical segment, a beautifully rendered depiction of Amara Varna’s humble studio in 2024. The great broadcast had begun.