Comet C/1855 G1, also called The Soldier, was so named because of its loyal and consistent orbit of exactly 500 years. Like other comets, it was made of loose rock and ice and was of little scientific interest or economic value. As far as astronomical objects went, it was wholly unimpressive.
That’s exactly why it was chosen for The Web.
Paul Marlal and Mohammed Yurnis watched the screen as their ship made contact with the Soldier’s surface. A high-pitched whine briefly resonated through the cockpit as the vessel’s tiny drills bore down into the rock to anchor it to the comet. One by one the augers went silent after reaching a sufficient depth. After the last one stopped spinning, the men looked at one another, nodded, then strapped themselves into tethered harnesses before grabbing a large box and exiting the ship.
Paul descended to the surface, aided by the upward-pointing jets on his feet. “That’s one small step for-“
“-Cut it out.” Mohammed interjected. Carrying the box, he followed close behind Paul.
“Come on, where’s your sense of levity?”
“We’re just here to drop off a time capsule.”
Paul looked genuinely shocked. “A time capsule? A time capsule?”
“Isn’t it?”
“…Well yeah. But that’s like calling The Grand Canyon a big hole.”
“It is a big hole.” Mohammed said. He pointed to a nearby rocky ridge. “That’s where they wanted it.” He took the lead, hopping gently across the comet and letting the jets propel him back down to the surface.
“I don’t get you sometimes.” Paul said. “Don’t you have a romantic bone in your body?”
“Sure. I write poetry. I practice calligraphy. I see beauty in the world.”
“But you’re claiming we’re just here to drop off a time capsule. Don’t you know what it contains?”
“Sure. The web. So?”
“So? So?! Do you realize that the web was one of the most influential things three hundred years ago? Do you realize that it nearly drove humans to extinction?”
“Of course, but it’s not three hundred years ago, and we’re not extinct.”
“But don’t you feel the gravity of it?”
Mohammed jostled the box slightly. “Not much gravity here.”
“You know what I mean.”
Mohammed frowned. “Of course I do. But the statement still stands. Do you know why the web, also called the internet, fell out of favor?”
“Well yeah, people stopped using it.”
“That’s not an answer. Do you know why they stopped using it?”
“Because humans almost went extinct.”
“Again, not an answer.”
The pair reached the rocky outcropping and Mohammed placed the box near its base.
“Alright then, tell me why, if you’re so smart.”Paul chided
Mohammed flipped a switch, and a small light on the box activated. Stone and dust was flung from beneath the box as its drill began boring into the comet.
“It’s because the internet was so addicting that over 95% of all humans lost themselves to it.”
Paul blinked. “How is that an answer?”
“Think about it.” Mohammed said, tapping his temple. The atom-thick layer of light-mesh briefly illuminated under his finger. “95% of all humans became obsessed with it, meaning that 95% of all humans weren’t going out, meeting people, or having families. They weren’t propagating their genes, meaning that they weren’t propagating the addiction either. That left 5% to pick up the slack. That 5% lacked the genetic capability to grow addicted to the internet, which meant that their kids didn’t obsess over it either. Yes, there was a period in time where the population shrank dramatically, and I’d’ve hated to have been born in the 2080s and forced to eek out a harsh existence during the Dark Century, but things got better. The children of that 5% reproduced, grew, and over time the web became less and less relevant.”
Paul shrugged. “I guess.”
“You accessed it when you were younger, right?”
“I might’ve? I think?”
“I did.” Mohammed said., “We had an entire class dedicated to it. We’d spend an hour each week studying some part of it.”
“What was it like?” Paul asked in a reverential tone.
Mohammed shrugged. “Boring. It’s just pages. Boring data-dumps. A lot of it was people talking about themselves and giving their opinions about things.”
Paul eyed him skeptically. “You’re not downplaying it a little?”
Mohammed shook his head. “Even for someone as romantic as you, there’s not much there. Any beauty that existed was a facsimile of real, true beauty. Like I remember this webpage dedicated to beautifying a home. There were lots of photos of flowers, but you couldn’t smell them, or feel them, or hyun them. They were just flat and boring, and at the end of the day, the webpage was just another person’s opinion about beauty.”
The light on the box began blinking. Debris had stopped shooting out from beneath it.
“Looks like it’s anchored.” Paul said.
Mohammed nodded, then turned back to the ship.
“Wait, don’t you wanna say some words about it? I mean, it was a huge deal for so many people. Christ, entire wars were waged across it.”
“Yeah, but the people who fell prey to it died long ago.” Mohammed said.
“They were our ancestors.” Paul replied automatically.
Mohammed shook his head. “No. They weren’t.”
Paul thought about it for a second, then shrugged.
“Come on.” Mohammed said. “We’ve got to be at Ceres by next week.”
Paul nodded. He stared down at the box. “Thanks for all you did.” He said to it. “You might’ve been a great evil in our history, but your evil helped weed out the genes unfit for the modern world.” He patted it gently, then began hopping toward the ship. “If we ever need you, we’ll know where you are!”
The box sat in darkness as the ship dislodged itself from the comet and blasted into the depths of space. Some speculated that future archaeologists might have a use for the data it contained, but mankind’s attraction to the internet had been erased on a genetic level by the internet itself.
The box grew cold and became covered in dust. Over time, The Soldier’s minor relevance was forgotten.