Viktor hated overtaking, especially when it involved crossing into the oncoming lane. Trucks and buses were the worst. Statistically, in Russia, one out of every nine road accidents involves overtaking into oncoming traffic, and such accidents account for nearly 30% of all fatal crashes. Viktor had learned that the hard way.

  But today, fortune favored him. The truck ahead was driven by a sensible driver who moved slightly to the right and blinked his right turn signal — the universal sign: "It's clear, go ahead!"

  Viktor quickly overtook the truck, returned to his lane, and flashed his hazard lights in thanks.

  The city wasn’t far now — maybe an hour and a half. Viktor, who didn’t particularly enjoy driving fast, pushed the accelerator a bit more. He wanted to get there before nightfall.

  That's when it happened. About ten meters to the right of the road, a man suddenly appeared in the air. Appeared. Materialized half a meter above the ground and fell with a thud. Viktor could’ve sworn he heard a startled, "Oof!"

  Slamming the brakes, Viktor instinctively glanced in the rear-view mirror to ensure he wasn’t about to be rear-ended by a tailgater.

  He slowed down, turned on his indicator, and gently pulled over to the shoulder.

  Rolling the passenger window halfway down, he shouted, "Hey! You alright?"

  The stranger stood up, dusted himself off, and started walking toward the car, waving and shouting something.

  Just then, the truck he'd overtaken earlier roared past, drowning out the response. But the man repeated himself loudly: "I’m okay!" and waved again, signaling Viktor to wait.

  "You heading to the city?" the stranger asked, leaning into the window.

  Viktor considered telling the younger man off for his casual tone. He wasn’t that much of a buddy, and this guy looked barely 25. But then Viktor remembered that he himself had been the first to address him informally.

  "Yeah, hop in," Viktor unlocked the passenger door manually instead of using the central lock, subtly guiding the man to sit in front rather than in the back.

  "Thanks a lot!" the young man beamed as he slid into the seat, adjusting it slightly for his long legs.

  Viktor re-locked the doors, signaled, checked the mirror again, and merged back onto the road.

  "Nice car," the stranger said, running his hand along the leather dashboard. "Looks expensive. New?"

  "Not that new," Viktor smirked. "What year were you supposed to be from?"

  The young man sighed, "Born in 3054."

  "Ah, so you’re one of the 'Vaccinated.' At least you're not one of those 'Survivors,'" Viktor glanced briefly at the man: tall, curly-haired, athletic, freckles, and real teeth. No bio-enhancements. A fan of the natural life.

  "Yeah, I'm from the fifty-fours. Heading to the registration center," the young man said, eyes downcast.

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  "Chin up," Viktor offered. "You’re not the only one here. It’s early autumn, 2022. Not many of you have popped in yet. Most of the surge will come in September, right?"

  "Yeah," the man replied, a bit disappointed. "Guess I was too early."

  "Or maybe not early enough," Viktor replied. "So far, the latest one to make the jump was from 3089. No one beyond that. So I figure by then your people gave up. Switched priorities."

  The stranger was silent for a moment, then said with youthful conviction, "That doesn’t mean no one else made it. Maybe someone from later slipped through unnoticed. Or maybe, someone is about to make a breakthrough right now. And besides, for you... your future hasn’t happened yet. You could still meet someone from the nineties or even further ahead."

  "This obsession with the Barrier..." Viktor sighed. "What are you all so desperate to find here? You live in paradise — no wars, no poverty, colonized the solar system. Hell, in 3054, didn’t you guys already launch a manned mission to another star? Why not enjoy that?"

  "We're trying to save you," the young man replied. "And it's strange — we can land in any moment between January 14th and the meteor strike. But not a second before. We need to get before it. Understand the nature of the Barrier."

  "You're a scientist then?"

  "Theoretical physicist."

  "Ah," Viktor's tone softened. "Respect."

  They drove in silence for a bit.

  "So now you're a practical physicist," Viktor joked.

  "Guess so. I’m Pyotr."

  "Viktor."

  They bumped fists.

  "How do you know so much about us?" Pyotr asked.

  "How could we not? You fall from the sky and start talking. There are already six bestsellers and a movie in the works."

  "Still amazes me how quickly you adapted to us."

  "Money, my friend. Survival and money. Two main motivators. That movie? People are lining up for tickets. Some are paying a million rubles just to be extras."

  "I meant emotionally — you accepted us, even knowing your civilization's about to collapse."

  "We know," Viktor said gravely. "That rock’s coming next year. You'll give us the time and place, and some tech. We even got the vaccine formula. But people didn’t trust you. So on January 14th, you came and aerosolized it over the planet. We’re all vaccinated — forcibly. But immunity takes time, and you can’t travel further forward to make sure it works."

  He paused.

  "I passed through your analyzer — my genome doesn’t show up in your era. Even though I have three kids and a grandson."

  Pyotr was silent.

  "We still live our lives," Viktor continued. "Eight billion of us, and only about a hundred thousand of you. Most people think you’re a hoax. Some ran toward the predicted impact site. It’s become a pilgrimage. People believe that if they congregate there, they’ll survive."

  "But they won’t."

  "They don’t care. Those who do believe you... what are they supposed to do? Quit their jobs? Hide in bunkers? Pay their bills with hope?"

  "But there must be survivors. Among your friends."

  "None. At least none that show up in your future. Some probably lie. Who wants to admit they left their children to die?"

  Pyotr looked down. "You still take your kids to school every day. Tell them it’ll be okay."

  "We always have. Our world isn’t safe either. We live with fear daily — mass shootings, accidents, diseases. Maybe we weren’t ready for paradise."

  "But you know it’s coming. The end."

  "You think we don’t hope for miracles? Maybe someone right now is making a better vaccine. Maybe a delay. Maybe a twist."

  "We try. Teams are working on it. But fourteen months isn’t enough time."

  "So you want to reach before the 14th."

  "Yes."

  They sat in silence.

  "Funny," Viktor said, "if I had hidden in a bunker for two months, I might have survived. But I didn’t. So I guess there’s no point in trying."

  "Or maybe you didn’t survive because you didn’t try," Pyotr replied.

  Viktor said nothing.

  They entered the city.

  "Thanks for the ride. You're a great driver," Pyotr said as he stepped out.

  "Killed one of yours once. Appeared on the road. I couldn't stop in time," Viktor muttered.

  Pyotr leaned back in, eyes serious.

  "You almost got it right, Viktor. We are afraid. Maybe more than you. Because you know we exist — so someone must've survived. But us? No one from beyond 3089 ever came. Not one. Not even those we sent beyond the solar system. We have no ancestors. And you... you have no descendants."

  He shut the door and walked to the registration center.

  Viktor stared ahead. "Well, now I know at least one survivor," he whispered. "And that's something."