A brilliant flash of white light and Hawking radiation momentarily punctuated the blackness of space, heralding another arrival from Earth. In an instant, the blinding effulgence vanished, and in its place drifted the starship [i]Vanguardia[/i]. As the vessel basked in Theia's warming glow, any first impressions of th[i]e Vanguardia's[/i] grandeur or majesty were quickly dispelled. A conical shield of burnished vanadium-titanium alloy at the front of the vessel was pitted and pocked with a dozen craters - the aftermath of the [i]Vanguardia[/i] crashing into microscopic dust motes at relativistic speed - was all that protected the vessel's delicate body from the rigors of the void. An open skeleton of metal scaffolding painted in white insulative foam comprised most of the vessel's shape, and a circulatory system of wiring, tethers, and ducts was webbed over this framework. Pressurized modules and interconnected tunnels coursed through the [i]Vanguardia's[/i] frame like inflatable hamster tubes. An exposed void drive was interwoven with a network of wires and tubing to fuel nacelles and thrusters at the rear of the craft. The only parts of this awkward contraption that might survive a landing on any solid planet were two large glideships docked with the pressurized nodules at the center of the vessel. [i]Vanguardia[/i] was by no means an impressive vessel. It was a rushed, flimsy contraption built in orbit by a people desperate to flee their doomed homeland and sow the seeds of a new nation in the stars.

The Chileans understood that their nation's time on Earth - and perhaps humanity's - was nearing its end. Antarctica was melting into slush, threatening to drown the nation within the space of a decade or so. Having nearly been destroyed by their equally-desperate neighbors, Chile was in no position to fend off her enemies when the Argentines decided to finish the job. Caught between the rising Pacific and a resource-starved dictatorship, the Chilean people had nowhere to go but up.

Trying times to be sure. But Captain Javier Faustino was no stranger to trying times.

Captain Faustino sipped on a microwaved pouch of yerba mate as he settled into the command seat of the [i]Vanguardia's[/i] bridge. Bridge was perhaps an overstatement for this cramped space; the command and control center of the [i]Vanguardia[/i] was merely another pressurized module positioned behind the vessel's nose shield. Dozens of display screens were mounted at the front of the bridge, each displaying a multitude of data points, ship system statuses, and external camera feeds of various points on the spacecraft. But in the middle of all these glowing screens there was a plexiglass viewing cupola pointed out ahead of the ship in order to provide the bridge with a spectacular view of whatever lay in front of the [i]Vanguardia[/i]. At least, it would if the huge vanadium shield at the front of the starship were not in the way.

"Go ahead and fire the shield separator charges," Faustino asked of the flight crew at their terminals. "Let's open the blinds."

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzI3AdpA9e4&t=01m03s]((Suggested listening))[/url]

The ensigns nodded in silent accord before rapping away at their keypads. A series of dull thuds resounded through the [i]Vanguardia[/i] as the locking mechanisms holding the shield in place disengaged, followed by a abrupt roar of a pyrotechnic device pushing the vanadium shield up and away from the nose of the Chilean starship. The viewing cupola filled with Theia's golden light as the grayish-yellow shield tumbled slowly out of view. And squarely in the center of the newly-unobstructed windshield, Gaia Secundus was framed in the blackness of space. As the planet came into view, the flight officers craned their heads over their terminals to look out the cupola and the Captain leaned forward to get a better look of this ripe virgin world.

At this distance, the planet was roughly a third of the Moon's size as seen from Earth's surface. A marvelous, multicolored gibbous of azure seas, wispy white cloud formations, orange and yellow ergs, and pinkish salt deserts. But most astounding to Captain Faustino and the flight crew was the abundance of green on Gaia's surface. A hundred shades and hues of brilliant green bespoke a quantity and diversity of life that had not existed on Earth for ten thousand years. The Chileans thought back to their last glimpses of their own dying continent - the vast Amazon rainforests withering into a brown tumor of defoliated plantlife creeping across the equatorial zones of South America - and they could not help but to be astounded by Gaia's unspoiled beauty.

"We're going to have to do better on this planet," Faustino said to no one in particular between sips of yerba. "This is our species' last shot at survival, so let's not blow this."

"Captain, we have four hours until atmospheric entry after these last course corrections," a swarthy Brasilian-looking ensign called out.

"Right on schedule," Faustino acknowledged with an approving clap. "Wake the non-flight crew for landing procedures, and see that all cargo is secured and stowed; those glideships are going to be a bumpy-enough ride as it is without 300 tons of gear jostling about."

"Yes, captain," A pair of ensigns declared.

"Now, my understanding is that we're not going to be alone down there. There are some outposts and early settlements on the surface as it stands. Do we have any idea where those might be located?"

"None yet, captain," the communications officer reported. "I am in the process of contacting the surface on several frequencies."

"Please do. And figure out who, if anyone, is going to be under our flight path. Glideships this size entering the atmosphere at this speed are going to make a hell of a sonicboom. You might advise them to plug their ears."