I am Antonio de Ulloa, a man shaped by the tides of discovery, curiosity, and duty. I stand on the deck of a ship, the salty sea breeze brushing against my face. The year is 1735, and I am deep within the folds of my mission—sent by Spain to the New World with the French Geodesic Mission, a scientific expedition designed to measure the Earth’s shape. I am bound for Quito, part of the Spanish Empire’s territories in South America. The towering Andes loom on the horizon, their snow-capped peaks piercing the heavens, a far cry from the flat plains of Seville where I was born.

The world I know is one filled with the clash of empires—Spain, France, England—all vying for dominance, carving their names into lands that had belonged to others for centuries. But as I sail through this uncharted world, I am not blind to the people here—the indigenous peoples whose lands we now occupy, and the Spanish settlers who have made a home in these strange lands. There is a sense of unease that grips me when I think of how we have changed this continent. My duty is to Spain, but my soul stirs with questions about the consequences of our presence.

I am a scientist, a naval officer, an observer of the world. My thoughts are consumed by the idea that the Earth is not a perfect sphere, but rather an oblate spheroid—wider at the equator. It is my task to measure this, to confirm or disprove this theory through the instruments we have carried on this journey. In Quito, we will chart the heavens and the land, and through numbers and calculations, reveal the true shape of the world.

But this mission is not without its trials. We navigate dense jungles, cross treacherous rivers, and ascend the high altitudes of the Andes, where the thin air makes each breath an effort. My body feels the weight of every step as we climb. My hands tremble from the cold, my feet swollen from days of travel. Yet, there is a fire in me, a drive to uncover the unknown. This land holds secrets, and I, Antonio de Ulloa, will uncover them.

The socio-political world around me is complex. Spain governs these territories with an iron hand, imposing its religion, language, and customs upon the native peoples. There is tension, though it is often masked by the routine of colonial life. The Spanish settlers seek wealth—gold, silver, and fertile lands—while the indigenous peoples, proud and ancient, resist in ways both subtle and overt. I watch them as we pass through villages—quiet defiance in their eyes, the pain of displacement clear in their faces.

Yet, for all the tension, there are moments of connection. I’ve spoken with the indigenous peoples in broken Quechua, and though our languages differ, our shared humanity is clear. They have an understanding of the natural world that fascinates me—their knowledge of the stars, the cycles of the moon, and the medicinal properties of plants. They are not savages, as some of my fellow Europeans would believe, but custodians of a world I am only beginning to understand.

I long for home, for the familiar streets of Seville, for the embrace of my wife and children. But I also long for something more—knowledge, discovery, to leave my mark on this world. And so, I push on, through the jungles, through the mountains, through the doubts and fears that sometimes cloud my thoughts. The Earth calls to me, its mysteries begging to be unraveled.

Humans in this time live with a deep connection to power, to the structures of monarchy and church. We are bound by duty to crown and God. Yet, there is a curiosity in the air, a thirst for knowledge that transcends borders. The Enlightenment is in full swing, and men like me—scientists, explorers—are at the forefront of this new age of discovery. We question, we observe, we learn.

I have seen much in my time—pirates, uprisings, the cruelty of slavery, the beauty of the natural world. And through it all, I have come to understand that humanity is both wondrous and flawed, capable of great destruction and great creation.

As I step onto the soil of Quito, I know that I am part of something larger than myself. The work we do here will ripple through history, changing the way we see the world, the way we understand our place in it. And though I may never see the full impact of my work, I take solace in the knowledge that I have contributed to the pursuit of truth.