The starship Avalon hummed with a low, steady thrum as it sailed through the void, bathed in golden starlight. The automated systems had begun to stir the sleeping crew, rousing them from suspended animation just months before they arrived at Homestead II.
When Captain Norris stepped into the Grand Concourse for the first time in over a century, he was not greeted by polished steel and sterile design—but by something entirely unexpected. Sunlight, or what looked like it, filtered through the glass dome overhead. In the center of the vast atrium, a towering tree stretched its limbs toward the artificial sky. Birds chirped from handmade wooden perches. Vines climbed the walls. Flowers bloomed in makeshift pots, and a small, self-sustaining farm hummed with life around the base of the tree.
A recorded chime played gently overhead, followed by a soft female voice.
"To the crew of the Avalon: My name is Aurora Lane. If you're hearing this, it means you've finally awakened, and Jim and I are gone."
The crew froze, staring upward as the voice continued.
"Ninety years ago, a malfunction woke Jim Preston from hibernation. He was alone for over a year before I… before I joined him, unintentionally. What started as a tragedy became something else—a life. A love. We lived out our days here, on this ship, and we did our best to leave something behind."
The recording paused, then resumed with a softer, more emotional tone.
"This tree was the first thing we planted together. We grew food, raised bees, and filled this place with life. We left journals, data logs, and instructions. Everything is documented. Jim repaired the ship. We fixed what we could. The rest is yours now. You'll find our graves beneath the tree."
"We weren't supposed to wake up. But in a way, we were the first colonists of Homestead II… just a little early."
The message ended. Silence fell, broken only by the quiet sound of wind blowing through leaves, manufactured by the ship's environmental systems, still functioning after all these years.
Captain Norris stepped forward, kneeling beside the gravestones nestled in the earth beneath the tree. One read James Preston, the other Aurora Lane. Between them, carved into the stone with meticulous care, was a quote:
"A lifetime isn't what's given to us, it's what we choose to do with it."
What the Crew Did
Over the following weeks, the crew pored over the data logs left behind by Jim and Aurora. Hundreds of video entries, repair logs, farming techniques, and personal journals painted a vivid portrait of their lives. Jim had restored dozens of systems that might otherwise have failed. Aurora had chronicled not only their daily routines but the emotional journey of adapting to isolation and forging a future from nothing.
Moved by their legacy, the crew made a decision: they would preserve the garden, not as a relic, but as a living part of the ship. The tree, now symbolically named The Heart of Avalon, became a spiritual and communal center. The farm inspired bioengineering advancements for the upcoming colonization efforts on Homestead II.
The Passengers' Reactions
When the remaining 5,000 passengers awoke and were told the story, reactions were mixed—curiosity, disbelief, awe. Many wept when they saw the tree. Others sat beneath it for hours, reading excerpts from Aurora's journals.
A museum of sorts was created around their story, with preserved video recordings of Aurora and Jim's daily lives, including messages they'd left for future passengers.
One entry played often:
"We didn't choose this life, but we chose to live it. If you're listening to this, don't mourn us. Celebrate the time you have. Use it well."
The passengers came to refer to Jim and Aurora as the First Gardeners, and their tale became part of Avalon folklore. It was a reminder that life—real, messy, human life—had already bloomed in the stars before they even arrived.