Ever wondered what our great-great-grandchildren will think of us as they survey the wreckage? Will they realize that their broken inheritance was no accident, but a scheduled apocalypse we had seen coming a long way off, in great scientific detail and full Dolby(r) Technicolor(r) Sensurround(r)? As if our generation had taken some perverse pleasure wallowing in scary-scary, frowning with concern at the litany of extinct species and vanishing forests, wringing our hands in helpless sympathy as faraway, starving children stared out of our TV sets accusingly... Gasping at last in horrified excitement when the second plane hit the second tower as soon as the focus was adjusted. Like fingering a decaying tooth, enjoying the painful tingle, knowing all too well that the longer we wait and do nothing, other than devise complex methods of denial, the closer we get to that apocalyptic bogeyman all you prime-time warriors have been expecting. Sound familiar? Then this book is for you. Says the author, 41st-century starship singer BB Boris: "Where I come from, telecommunications are telepathy, people do not build their houses but grow them, and the pursuit of power is no more than a distasteful game fit only for unruly children. Alas, a doomed mission to your infernal era has trapped me here among you primitive hypocrites." Although BB pulls no punches when describing our suicidal century, what he has to say is surprisingly optimistic, and after reading his unique memoirs you will find yourself strangely uplifted, rediscovering a sense of faith and hope you thought was lost forever. Indeed, this tale is not about doom and gloom. It is about faith. Believe it or not, two thousand years from now we will have come a long, long way. Welcome to the Imperial Federation of Jupiter, a space-faring utopia where problems still exist, for this is not Neverland, but where we have at least succeeded in overcoming the depressingly childi