[ WP ] Earth is sucked into a parallel universe through a worm hole . There are now two earths in orbit around the sun . Contact between the two planets are established .

“ Well, I can ’ t blame you, no matter how hard I try. And believe me, I did try, ” I said. Then I waited for a long, long time. 
 
 “ I know. Can ’ t blame you either. ” 
 
 At this distance, it was predictable that our conversation would be slow and ponderous. No matter; the lagging would give us plenty of time to think about each word we said. I knew him. I had known him my entire life. He was me, but not quite. 
 
 I still remember the baffled stargazing, how fascinated I was, we all were, when the pale blue dot became visible to the naked eye. At first, you ’ d need to squint really hard, preferably while standing far away from city lights. A few weeks later, all you had to do was look up late in the afternoon, while you were coming back from work, that is, if you were one of the people who stuck to old habits. 
 
 I remember the incredulity we all felt when we were told that the new celestial body, ushered overnight into our solar system by a wave of radiation, was Earth. Not our Earth, but another one precisely like ours. They called the whole thing a wormhole. I don ’ t know what that is, and didn ’ t intend or pretend to. 
 
 I also remember the panic and hysteria when we were told that the other Earth was headed straight towards us. 
 
 For what it ’ s worth, this seemed like the sort of thing we needed. Something that came literally out of nowhere and shook us out of our stupor. Something to worry about. Something universal, that nobody could even think of dismissing as just business as usual. But then what? We finally were wide awake, but what for? 
 
 Of course, leave it to mankind to choose aggressive action as the way out of its predicament. We would pool our resources, every single nation in the world chipping in, with whatever they could muster, then we ’ d all build the greatest statement of mankind ’ s spirit of self-preservation: the largest missile ever built. Something big enough to crack a planet in two. With luck, we ’ d just sort of drift through between the two halves. 
 
 The more squeamish among us thought that was a very bad idea. The other Earth was dead silent. Their lights were out. As far as we could see, there was nobody home. But… *what if*? 
 
 We puzzled it out. We discussed. Some of us raised their voices. Others raised their guns. In the end, most of us took votes. Do we nuke our way through? Is there anybody alive out there? If so, do we nuke our way through, anyway? 
 
 While we were busy deciding, their lights went on. And with the lights, came their voices. 
 
 *Our own voices*. 
 
 The wormhole-thing they went through had killed their electronics and their power sources. They pointed their telescopes toward us but, just like ourselves, they ’ d become used to sharing information through electronic means. Most had no way of even knowing what had just happened to their planet. 
 
 When their radios, phones and televisions started working again, they were greeted by disturbing news. The growing blue dot in the sky at night was a copy of their planet. It was headed their way. It was debating whether or not to kill them. 
 
 “ We talked it through, you know. The guys in your side probably did the math too. Seems like your Earth is going to plunge into the sun in a few years. In fact, I heard your orbit is too lopsided or something, so if we didn ’ t crash and burn, you guys should have one hell of a suntan by the end of the year, anyway. ” 
 
 I thought about that for a long time. What did the other guy, that other me, think of this? I kind of felt bad laying this out for him. Then he answered. 
 
 “ I know. There ’ s a flip side to that coin, though. ” He stopped, as if waiting for me to ask. In fact, I ’ m sure that ’ s what he was doing. I ’ d have done it. When he remembered how far away I was, he went on. “ If you guys manage to split us in half, there ’ s no telling what our planet ’ s, uh, corpse is going to do to your orbit. I heard that on TV yesterday. They were trying to assure us you guys wouldn ’ t open fire. Call me – or *yourself*, I guess – a pessimist, but I took that as meaning both our planets are as good as dead. We ’ re your *Nibiru*. ” 
 
 I could feel him, who knows how many miles away, also thinking if he ’ d hurt my feelings or something. As our planets grew closer together, we had reached the consensus that we were the same people, living in the same planet, in another reality indeterminably similar to our own. 
 
 A few days ago, the other Earth seemed as big as the moon. The day before yesterday, it was at least six times bigger. The sunlight reflected from their oceans was a breathtaking sight. I had to remind myself it was late in the evening, even though there was a patch of sunrise in the sky. It was a beautiful, terrifying blue hour, an ominous presence like that of a god, quietly floating, always watching, coming ever closer. 
 
 Eventually, what had only been observation and radio waves became gravity. Then came the flooding, the earthquakes, raging winds and tidal waves. It was as if the Earth itself was coming to terms with its own eventual death. Like we were all still trying to. 
 
 Then this evening, it seemed like some trickster god had placed a giant mirror over our heads. I couldn ’ t tell you how much bigger than the moon the other Earth was. It was no longer the oppressing, hauntingly beautiful presence in the night sky. It was the sky itself. I could see landmasses, oceans, great lakes and mountain ranges. I could name at least a dozen countries, and see their lights coming ever closer. 
 
 “ When we came through, we left the moon behind. I don ’ t think you can quite understand this, but I really, really missed it. You don ’ t know how weird it is when your whole world blacks out, and you don ’ t even have the moon at night. It ’ s very lonely. ” 
 
 I didn ’ t know what to say to that. I had known loneliness. He had, too, of course. But missing the moon seemed like the sort of feeling no human being could ever be prepared for. 
 
 “ Don ’ t feel too bad for me, though. A few days ago we went right by your moon. For a few nights, we came really close, much closer than we ’ ve ever been to our own. I don ’ t think you guys ever had such a beautiful night sky out there. So thanks for that, lending us your moon. ” 
 
 “ Don ’ t mention it. ” 
 
 What else should I say? I had thought of last words for all sorts of situations. If I died live on television after saving a school bus full of children, if I jumped in front of a bullet to save the President, if I died on a hospital bed surrounded by family, I would know just the right thing to say, the right look to have in my face. I know that. I had spent enough time wondering about death and its thousand faces. 
 
 But this? How to say goodbye to myself in anticipation of a planetary collision? 
 
 “ I think I ’ m going outside, ” I said. 
 
 “ I think I ’ ll wait outside, ” he said. We had said our nearly identical last goodbyes at almost the same time. 
 
 I went outside. The ground was faintly shaking. I lay down on the grass and looked straight up at the other Earth. I should be afraid. But I ’ m not. Not anymore. I can feel my stomach fluttering, and my limbs seem lighter, somehow. Maybe it ’ s gravity. Whatever it is, I feel fine. I take one last moment to observe as the lights of some indeterminate city approach fast. Then I close my eyes and take a deep breath. 

