When I finally came to, everything was dark. The chamber was pitch-black; the blue glow that had lit the rocks before was gone. I took a breath. The air was clear now—no bitter taste, no sting in my throat.

What happened? I wondered, pushing myself upright, my body stiff and sore. Why’s it all dark?

I groped across the floor, feeling cold stone and grit beneath my hands. My fingers brushed against the flashlight. I grabbed it and flicked the switch. Nothing. Dead batteries.

Figures, I thought. Should’ve packed spares.

I had no choice but to feel my way along the walls, searching for a weak spot in the pile of rubble that sealed the exit. After a few minutes, I found one—on the left side, where some of the bigger rocks had shifted, leaving a narrow gap, maybe a yard wide. I realized the movement had opened the chamber to outside air again, clearing out the strange gas that had knocked me out.

Much later, I’d learn that the metallic taste came from a radioactive vapor seeping from the stone—decay gases that had finally burned themselves out. But right then, I wasn’t thinking about science. I just wanted to get out.

I wriggled through the gap, scraping my elbows on rough stone, and crawled into the passage leading upward. It was just as dark here, but there was only one way to go. I ran my hands along the wall to keep my bearings and climbed.

After what felt like forever, I saw moonlight—cold silver filtering down the tunnel. I blinked at it, confused. Still night. How long had I been out?

When I reached the surface, I stepped into the open air—and froze.

The forest didn’t look right. The trees were different—stranger shapes, unfamiliar outlines against the sky. The trail curved in new directions. Even the moon looked odd. On its dark side, faint grids of orange light shimmered, like city lights back on Earth.

I’m seeing things, I told myself. I’ve got to be.

Hallucination or not, I had to get home. I’d tell Mom and Dad I couldn’t find Jake, and they’d call the police. That was the plan.

I started down the trail, the flashlight hanging useless from my hand. Moonlight guided me most of the way. After a few minutes, I noticed a bright glare ahead, like a searchlight or the lights downtown. It grew stronger as I walked.

Then I stepped out of the woods—and stopped dead.

The suburb was gone.

In its place stretched a vast city of glass and steel. There were no cars or roads on the ground—only wide walkways. They swarmed with people, hundreds of them, moving in orderly streams. The cars were in the air: sleek machines hovering and darting between the towers like schools of fish.

The buildings soared higher than any I’d ever seen. The nearest ones climbed three hundred meters at least; the ones in the distance—where downtown Los Angeles should have been—vanished into the clouds, two kilometers high or more.

My jaw went slack. Either I was dreaming, or I’d stumbled into another dimension—or I’d been asleep for a very, very long time.

I ran, heart pounding, trying to find my street, my house, something familiar. But the city plan was different. The old roads were gone. Everything was new—alien.

As I ran, the sights grew stranger. Robots of every shape and color moved among the crowds: some walking beside people, others balancing trays or carrying boxes and pizza cartons. Huge white billboards covered the sides of the towers, with movie projectors beaming bright holographic advertisements onto them.

The adverts read:

“Pan Am Space Lines—Travel the galaxy in style!”
“Ford Jupiter—The Fastest Aircar in the Known Universe!”
“Tired of Cleaning? Get the IBM 50000 Robo-Helper!”
“United Stellar Navy—The Galaxy’s #1 Space Defense Service!”

I stopped cold. Space travel. Aircars. Robots.

“This isn’t 1981,” I muttered. “When is it?”

I grabbed the sleeve of a man walking past. “Hey, Mister—what’s today’s date?”

He blinked, startled. “Why—uh—September 3, 2081,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch.

The words hit me like a hammer.

2081.

A hundred years.

My breath caught. My mind raced. Mom—Dad—Jake—Alex…dead. All of them. Everyone I ever knew.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My vision blurred, my knees went weak. The last thing I saw was the man’s startled face as the world tilted sideways.

Then everything went black again.

When I woke up, I felt something warm and soft around me—a blanket on top, sheets beneath.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I’m home, I thought. It was all just a dream.

I stretched, yawned, and sat up. Then I opened my eyes… and froze.

This wasn’t my room.

This place was huge—as big as my old classroom, and twice as tall. My movie posters were gone. So were my Star Wars figures and the box of comics I’d left under my bed. Everything here was clean and metallic—the walls, the floor, even the bed frame. The door wasn’t wood anymore, but a silver panel that looked like something off Star Trek.

There was a window beside the bed. Outside, I could see the same strange city I’d walked through before—the one with the glass towers and flying cars.

I pinched my arm hard. Nothing changed.
It wasn’t a dream.
The cave, the glowing rocks, the city—it was all real.

I had no idea where I was, or even when I was.

The door suddenly slid open with a hiss, and a boy about my age stepped in—brown hair, green T-shirt, blue jeans, sneakers, and a Boy Scout pocketknife hanging from his belt.

“Hey!” he said cheerfully. “What’s your name?”

“Uh… Mark. Mark Starman.”

“Mark, huh? I’m Steve Parker. Nice to meet you!” He grabbed my hand and shook it like we were old pals.

“Where am I?” I asked. “How did I get here?”

“This is one of our guest rooms,” he said. “My dad found you passed out on the street and brought you home.”

I swallowed. “What’s the date?”

He grinned. “Wednesday, September 3, 2081 A.D.”

I slumped forward, holding my head. “So it is 2081…”

“Well, sure,” said Steve. “When else would you be?”

“It’s a long story,” I sighed. I told him everything that had happened—the cave, the light, the city.

“Totally warped!” he said when I finished. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, man!”

“You actually believe me?” I asked.

“Of course! You’re a real live kid from a hundred years ago. That’s amazing!” He tugged my arm. “Come on—you gotta meet my folks!”

Before I could argue, he dragged me out of the room, down the hall, and into the biggest living room I’d ever seen. Six meters tall with one wall made of glass, looking over a huge backyard with a swimming pool and a garden. A robot zipped around in the pool, cleaning it. Another polished the dining table with a spray bottle.

“Wow,” I breathed. “This house is enormous! You must be rich!”

“Nah,” said Steve. “Just middle class. Our other two houses are a lot smaller.”

In the room itself was a couch and a TV set in front of it—a boxy beige thing with a curved screen and three or four video game machines plugged into it. On a short table next to the couch was a phone—made of white plastic with a keypad, a handset, and a little curved screen.

A man and woman sat on the couch—Steve’s parents, obviously. Mr. Parker was the same guy I’d seen on the street, dressed sharp in a suit and ascot. Mrs. Parker wore a puffed-sleeve dress and an apron.

“Uh…hi again, mister,” I said. “Thanks for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, son,” said Mr. Parker kindly. “What’s your name?”

“Mark Starman,” I said.

He frowned slightly. “Can’t say I’ve met you before. How’d you end up here?”

I hesitated, then told the story again—the cave, the light, everything. Mrs. Parker’s eyes widened.

“John,” she said, turning to her husband, “my brother’s a detective. He once read about a boy named Mark Starman—went missing about a hundred years ago. Ten years old, blond hair, blue eyes. They never found him.”

Mr. Parker studied me. “Go on,” he said quietly.

So I did. And when I finished, he sighed and put a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know how it happened, son, but I believe you. You’ve had a rough time.”

“Can’t you find any of my relatives?” I asked hopefully. “Someone must still be around.”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “My cousin is a genealogist, and he once told me the entire Starman family died out in the Great Space War—2050 to ’55. You’re the only one left, it seems.”

“Great,” I sighed. “Then I guess it’s the state orphanage for me.”

“We don’t have state orphanages anymore,” said Mr. Parker. “Or a state at all, for that matter. We have private security, private courts, and private naval companies. Speaking of which—how’d you like to join the United Stellar Navy?”

“Join the Navy?” I blurted. “I’m just ten years old!”

Mr. Parker chuckled. “Things are different now. Companies hire whoever’s fit for the job—even kids. Plenty of boys your age work in aircar shops, and lots of girls work as secretaries. The naval companies are no exception—they’re always looking for boys your age. Easy to train, don’t question orders much.”

He handed me a flyer. Big, bold letters at the top shouted:
HEY KIDS! WANT ADVENTURE? JOIN THE UNITED STELLAR NAVY!

There was a picture of a smiling boy in a dark blue sailor suit saluting. Bright yellow comic-book bursts to his sides blared out: See the Galaxy! Fight Bad Guys!

Below the boy was text reading: Boys ages 5-105 eligible. Girls need not apply.

At the lower right-hand corner was the U.S.N. logo—a blue ringed planet with a silver fouled anchor behind it, with the United Stellar Navy name and the motto, The Galaxy’s #1 Space Defense Service.

At the very bottom, in tiny print, was a disclaimer: United Stellar Defense Services, Inc. is not responsible for any damage to life or limb incurred by employees on duty.

Mrs. Parker said, “Steve’s enlisting tomorrow. You could join him.”

“There’s a commission fee for midshipmen, but we’ll cover it,” added Mr. Parker. “Our youngest son was going to become a midshipman, but he took a job with Pan Am instead.”

“No way!” I said, stepping back. “I don’t want to get blown up by pirates! I’m not even good at Space Invaders! I’ll just take the auto shop, thank you very much!”

Steve grinned. “Aw, come on, Mark. Adventure is what makes life worth living! My big brother Herbert says that’s how civilization happens—people risking their lives to achieve great things. Like Christopher Columbus discovering America, Neil Armstrong landing on the Moon, Peter Hawkins breaking the light barrier—”

“Who?” I asked.

“Never mind. Point is, you can either stay scared or see the stars.”

He was crazy. But he was also the only friend I had. And as much as I hated to admit it, being alone scared me even more than space pirates.

“All right,” I said finally. “I’ll join.”

“Good idea,” said Mr. Parker. “Get some rest. We’ll take you to the San Diego base at dawn.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

Steve led me back upstairs.

“Why do you think danger is so great?” I asked as we walked.

“My brother’s an Eagle Scout,” he said proudly. “He told me all about the adventures he had on his campouts. Once he rappelled down Olympus Mons to save a kid, and another time he caught a shark on Venus for dinner with his bare hands! After he left the Boy Scouts, he gave me this knife.”

He unhooked his pocketknife and flicked it open—and the blade unfolded into a full-sized steel sword.

“Pretty stellar, huh?” he said, swinging it in the air. “Herbert killed five bears and a tiger with this thing. The metal even reflects laser fire!”

“Put that away!” I yelped, flattening myself against the wall.

He laughed and folded it back with a click. “Relax, I wasn’t gonna slice you.”

I pressed a hand to my chest. “Okay. Point made. You’re nuts.”

“If I get a great adventure, who cares if I lose an arm?” he said casually. “Good night, Mark.”

“Good night,” I said.

I went back to the guest room, turned off the lights, and lay staring at the ceiling. Just yesterday, I’d been an ordinary kid. Now my family was gone, my world was gone, and I was supposed to join a space navy run by some heartless corporation. I shut my eyes and prayed I’d wake up back in 1981. But deep down, I knew I wouldn’t. I was trapped in the twenty-first century whether I liked it or not. I drifted off to sleep, trying to forget about what was to come.