>dont screw with me, spyros,< she said. >the exchange needs to be properly coordinated, theyv already sent me dozens of messages before we even neared the damn thing. your the commander, why am I doing this?<
“Let Her worry about that. Come, the new arrivals will get here shortly,” said Dyekart. “Let’s get down to the portal deck, I’m eager to asses and store new facial features.”
>im not,< Ia said, not taking her eyes off the visual display. She wasn’t looking at the screen itself, but at a different picture entirely, a holoimage in her mind. >you know im not like you. i dont remember every face i see and every voice i hear. even the people already on this ship are too many for me to remember, not that id have any reason to anyway.<
“Yes yes,” Dyekart said, still using his flesh voice, “exaggerating again, I see. Maybe this time you’ll see someone you like, hmm?”
The remark made Ia stir ever so slightly. She may not have liked to be in the company of people. That, however, did not mean she had zero desire to find someone who would be the exception.
>fine,< she blurted while sighing, >we’ll go down to the portal deck, but first look at this. You know the planet we’ve been scheduled to visit, what was it now, nine years ago?<
“Are you suggesting I forgot?”
>No, I… never mind.< Erhart stiffened when he noticed she began to properly punctuate her Link–sentences, which was rare even for her. >It seems there were vectors plotted to it numerous times. You think that the reason why we haven’t gone to it yet? You think others already have?<
Dyekart’s interest peaked. He moved to a display next to Ia’s. He sat down and entered a few commands via direct neuro–interface and called up the exact same data Ia had been reviewing. An emotion came to life within him, as subtle as it was undeniable. He observed the words flying out of the quantum computer in a brook of electric information. It looked like a distress signal. Parts of which were distorted, altered somehow.
“It must’ve come from an incredible distance,” he said. “Bits of it seem corrupted, there’s information buried in the datastream.” >Do we have an approximation timeline? When did the signal first transmit?< Dyekart asked, this time over the Link.
>No timeline yet, I’ve just started working on it,< Ia said in a rush of electric will, eager to make Dyekart shut up so she could continue the task.
Dyekart looked over the data and wondered what the hell it meant. It was a rare thing to see a distress signal, or any kind of transmission they could interpret in any way at all. It had never happened before. The galaxy seemed as devoid of radio signals as it was of life. And as far as Dyekart had seen or knew, there were no other Earth vessels out there. Or in fact any vessels at all. >Could the signal have originated from one of the colonies? Europa perhaps?< he asked, one of his mechanized scorpion–hands working over a photonic console on his right. The limb cross–referenced information, trying to find anything it could by connecting to Earth’s vast data banks. Meanwhile, one of his eyes looked over the display.
>No,< Ia answered, without elaborating.
The distress pulse they picked up was remarkably similar to what their own vessel had been designed to transmit in case of an emergency. A data packet which would travel long distances, powered by a zero–point energy field at its place of its origin. This form of travel meant the data could not really be trusted if the distance it needed to traverse was truly immense. The information itself would not be composed of molecules as such, but an information wave–stream within the underlining fabric of possibility that would only manifest itself as electrons at a specific point. As such, it traveled with instantaneous speed in all directions, but it would not truly travel, only its potentiality. It could only be received by a machine specifically designed to manifest it out of the intrinsic subtle field. If the distance was indeed great, the pulse would be sent on a small probe which would instead periodically exit the Null–field of none–space in order to harness zero–point energy and resend the pulse before it disappeared back into the space between reality and nothingness. This would only be the case when a large amount of data needed to be sent and could not be stored as pure possibility. Electrons were only ever a signature, a way of saying “look here” or “the probe will come here” when one already knew how to look.
This method of travel mirrored the concept by which the Administrator’s Will operated, only on a much, much smaller scale.
>Do you ever think about how this ship runs?< Ia asked, sensing Dyekart’s susceptibility for the subject.
>Yea, and–<
>I mean how it really runs.<
>…….It runs,< he blurted.
>Is it because I was born here that I still find it so hard to believe?< she asked.
>We have other work to do, stop lurking around my mind and focus on your own task.<
>But it’s always so interesting,< she blurted, visibly grinning.
Ia could see the workings of Dyekart’s thinking almost better than him, but not quite. Each layer of his thoughts floated bare before her in a myriad of mental imagery.
>The influence of your mind when you’re near me always makes me wonder why only you know precisely how it runs.<
His next wall of text came in a rush.
>We discovered particles faster than the speed of light. Then we discovered light isn’t actually light, but the effect of this particle upon the fabric of space–time. In fact, we then discovered this particle does not only travel faster than the speed of light, but actually ‘becomes’ space, as in, melds with space–time, creating a sense of particle–wave duality in its effect upon reality. This effect then enfolds in a form of light quanta. Naturally, we discovered how to use this new–found “alpha–particle” to essentially push space–time in up to three dimensions of space. What we know as the fabric of reality would envelop this dimensional hole. We then drop the ship into this hole, and continuously recreate the Null–field by pushing more and more space–time away in any given direction. Here, harnessing zero–point energy became a necessity. With this, and only with this, travel through Null could and eventually had become reality. Inside the ship, direction didn’t matter, time didn’t matter, wherever the “slope” outside it fell, the ship’s crude matter would glide into at speeds contingent only on upon how fast the Null–field could be quantulated.
(Note: All within–<
>Wait, stop,< Ia interrupted the datacast. >Don’t just recast me the same–<
Erhart continued anyway. >All within the material vessel would experience time normally, while for those not within Null–space, the ship would in fact vanish on one end, and reappear on the other. Potentially, it could do so instantly, no matter the distance. For this reason, the hull of all ships must be at least ten kilometers thick, preferably made of diamond. This shall allow the reestablishing of normal space–time more fluidly and is less likely to not change the crew into pure abstraction as it pulls matter behind its prescribed path. Again, space–time outside the ship thrusts outward from the ship’s surface, and only in the direction it needs to go does it pull the ship along with it, and only ever to a point. For easier, but slightly inaccurate reference, allow yourself to picture any sort of floating material sent down a stream. Or better yet, a ball of lead dropped onto a sheet, where you continuously apply pressure in front of the ball, making it travel into the hole which the pressure has created.<
>Thanks, but I prefer the term quantum leap on a massive scale,< Ia said.
>Then next time say it, don’t make me recast data you can get yourself,< Erhart calmly answered.
>You know that’s not how the ship really runs,< she said, using her hand to causally swipe away a personal message that, for everyone else, wasn’t really there.
>Yes,< Dyekart nodded. >I know you know, and I told you this before.<
>But how can she? I do not–<
>It’s…<
PAUSE
>That face again,< she said, looking at him, >you always
make that face when I ask you, what are you not telling me?<
He turned to look at her, his three smaller, side–eyes zooming in, the bigger one visually switching, blinking to some different spectrum of perception.
His synthetics emulated speech almost perfectly, with a strange, soothing quality. “I don’t have a face.”
“Yes you do,” she smiled. Something else drew her attention. >You’re seeing this, correct?< Ia suddenly blurted.
>Yes, I see it too,< Dyekart added. >The signal had been traveling for decades. At least in our perspective.<
>How could this be? When will it arrive?<
“There’s no real way to tell. It originated from another galaxy! I’m guessing the probe will appear soon, perhaps even in a day or two, in this exact spot.” Dyekart’s voice took on an almost dream–like fascination, a fascination Ia had rarely heard from him.
“You think the planet we were destined to travel to is in another galaxy?” she asked, this time using her real voice, which was strangely unfeminine, as if she had just woken up. “Do you think this whole time the Admin has been preparing us? Do you think he knew already that this galaxy was empty?”
“The evidence seems to suggest it,” Dyekart nodded.
“But who’s sending these messages? There are no other ships.”
“Aren’t there?”
“What?”
“How do you know there aren’t any others?” Dyekart asked. “For damn’s sake girl, even our own planet doesn’t know we exist. They’ve no idea we’ve already been seeing and walking the stars. Imagine what else they… what even we don’t know.”
“But why?”
“Why what?”
“Why keep it all a secret?” Ia asked.
“Because secrets, because knowledge, is power. Knowledge is control. And control, my friend, is what we were fooled into thinking we possess. Yes, quite fooled I believe.”
“We have control over this vessel, we have control over our bodies, at least,” Ia said.
“Do we? Do we really? This thing is called the Administrator’s Will for damn’s sake.”
“Still,” Ia said, “we’ll follow the signal, right? You’re not planning on doing anything else are you?”
She’s like a fixated child. “What else would I be planning?”
“Dunno, you sounded pretty apocalyptic back there.”
“Apocalyptic?” Dyekart snorted a dry laugh–like purr. “It’s simply a fact. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it? Why do you think we named this whoever–the–hell–he–is the Administrator? He’s the puppet master of it all.”
“Well, obviously, but from what I’ve seen he hasn’t done anything bad.”
“How would you know? You were born on this vessel. Which means we’ve been traveling the stars long before anyone on Earth even knew we could. Think about that. Think about why anyone would deceive a whole planet in such a way. And if this probe truly will arrive – even if it doesn’t – it seems like there were others before us. You tell me why someone wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”
Ia couldn’t come up with an answer, and Dyekart could see she wasn’t really interested in one. To her, Earth was like a distant myth, a place she held no connection to. He couldn’t really blame her. For her, this ship, this reality, was all she knew.
“So, we will travel to this planet, correct?” she asked.
“If we do, we risk losing everything,” Dyekart answered. “Yes, quite so,” he added mostly to himself, knowing his words won’t stir any fear of going into the unknown in Ia’s mind. She had never had a reason to fear it. It was the joy of living for her, and in fact for most people on board the vessel, it was the reason why so many had devoted their lives to the pursuit of great distances. They alone would wade into the deepest regions of the galaxy where no others have been for who knows how long, if ever. All in hopes of finding things which would spark their imaginations, in search of answers that would propel them even deeper between the stars.
In Dyekart’s head the course was already set. The risks involved were an afterthought not even worth considering.
He looked into the solid giant ball and took a mental picture of its beauty. Last time, perhaps, he though, and found he didn’t really care that much. A feeling prevailed, however. A feeling that whatever waited upon the planet they were to visit wasn’t a greeting card.
Upon his quiet contemplation upon the planet’s future, for a moment, he didn’t feel like himself, he felt… influenced. He became certain that there was someone else with him, inside him, or perhaps even standing next to him. A hooded stranger. He forgot the sensation instantly. He turned his head from the planet, looking at the young Ia and said, “We shall travel to this planet.”
CHAPTER 10
Death Is An Illusion
The first thing Bolt realized after exiting the portal was that he had just killed a man.
He didn’t do it intentionally, nor did he see it happen. But he could smell it, and the smell couldn’t easily be mistaken or avoided – a metallic reek mixed with an indefinable something, like burned hair or feces, or both.
Bolt’s face twisted in disgust. He gagged and coughed. His eyes watered from the intense stench.
Overcome with the desire to spit away the taste, he realized what he actually wanted to do was throw up. Somehow, however, it felt wrong even to spit in the presence of others, as if the act would dishonor whoever had perished. Fuck honor. He spat and the iridescent particles pinged on the metallic floor.
The taste didn’t’ go away, and he had no choice but to swallow.
He knew it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. For the stench had lodged itself in his nose and coated his teeth. A bad omen and a sign of bad dreams to come.
Prior to his arrival, the hall had been buzzing with sound. He could tell the people had been moving franticly just moments before. But they were frozen now, gripped with the terror of seeing a man shredded into nothing by super–dense matter.
Technically, Bolt stood far removed from blame, he just happened to have the misfortune of being the first to enter the portal. But since he had been the one to press a button to establish it in the first place, he couldn’t help but feel responsible.
Someone had fucked up. Someone had been wrong, misinformed him that the portal platform had been cleared. He didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t even sure there was anything he could do.
As far as he could tell, a man had been standing there, doing who knows what before he had been devoured by the expanding wormhole as a stable connection had engaged. The smell would linger for weeks in the chamber, in his memory – forever.
They had told him to keep walking. That’s what they said before Bolt entered the portal. Keep walking. Just. Keep. Walking.
They had given him the honor of opening the portal, an honor he now wished he could shove up someone’s ass. It did, however, made him realize he was a person of marginal importance. A person with a rank. People seemed to know him. People he couldn’t remember. They would ask him about his wife.
“She’s fine,” he would say, and they would smile. He wondered how long it would take for anyone to grasp the fact that he couldn’t remember any of them.
As Bolt kept walking, he took note of the people around him, filling the hall. They greeted and smiled at him. He didn’t understand how they could be so happy in light of what had just happened. There were at least a hundred of them inside the dome, most of whom wore robes of dark blue. The sight of them gave him the impression like he had just walked in on some cult performing a rite. How can they walk around in those things? To be fair, some did wear full body–suits in which the women in particular looked quite… interesting.
The vast diamond–shaped hall was unimpressive, and beside the portal platform housed no other significant traits, marks or machinery.
Bolt couldn’t understand why there had been no dark expanse like the last time he had entered a wormhole. There wa
s no dark palace, no giant with the mind of the universe hidden in its stare. What greeted him was what there should have been there the first time – the other side of the portal.
What felt to be overly fast, the people overcame the shock of seeing a man turned into elemental dust, and they began to greet the new arrivals. Bolt didn’t understand how they could just ignore it, the smell alone made him want to leave.
Wanting to go back, he realized for the first time he would have to spend five years on board this space–roaming prison. The reality of it seemed to become apparent only now, when he was on it. Before, it had been a fantastic dream, an opportunity. Now, however…
He began to sweat.
A person stepped closer. He was man augmented to the point of abomination, his expression unreadable, hidden behind his mask of iron. Bolt felt like he should know this person. He didn’t, so no surprise there.
More individuals came through the portal behind him, their faces twisting from the stench, with many no doubt wondering if the whole place smelled this bad. As Bolt kept walking, the man following him kept matching his speed.
“Don’t worry, we can remake him,” Dyekart said in a whisper. The man’s voice made Bolt wonder whether the sound had been synthesized by unseen vocal emitters, or if the strangled gargle was in fact the man’s natural speech. It sounded like he was chewing on something. His own tongue maybe.
Understanding the words wasn’t really a problem, however, but understanding what the man meant wasn’t quite as easy. Bolt wanted to know. It felt like he needed to know.
“How?” he asked. “How can you remake that which is mist?”
“You misunderstand,” the man said, “we’re not remaking the remains, we’re remaking the man.”
“I’m still not sure I understand. What’s the difference?”
“As you might imagine, we’ve had quite a lot of time to ourselves on here,” Dyekart said. “Yes, quite a lot.”
I can see that, Bolt thought, referring to Dyekart’s face. Or at least what was left of it. Which was nothing.
“Now that wasn’t very nice,” Dyekart said. Bolt couldn’t tell if the man was offended or not.
“What wasn’t?” Bolt asked as they moved towards the exit of the chamber.