Last and First Contacts (Imaginings) (7 page)

And then it backed away. But my head was still cut open, my mind cold and exposed to the air.

I saw Junge’s fist slam down on his panic button. Then I blacked out.

We sat in blankets under an intense Mojave sun. After the Cristal Industries medics had pulled us from the half-wrecked Bathyscaphe they wanted to move us into a blockhouse hospital, but none of us would leave the light, the warmth of the young sky. The medics and techs fussed around us, but it was as if only the three of us sat there, still alone in the universe.

Except we hadn’t been alone.

All through the eight-day ascent back to the present we had been trying to piece together what had happened, trying to assemble our fragmentary impressions into a coherent whole. We were still arguing.

‘It could have destroyed us,’ Elstead said. ‘The time shark. But it didn’t. Why not?’

‘Because it pitied us,’ I said. ‘That’s all. It consumes time machines. But ours was early – as primitive as a hot-air balloon, perhaps – maybe even the first of all to get so far. It saw something in us it has lost in itself. Potential. Hope, even. It couldn’t destroy us, any more than a bitter old man could kill a newborn baby.’

‘That’s quite something,’ Elstead murmured. ‘To be the first.’

‘But
it
is
us
,’ Junge said. ‘It is the confluence of all the minds in two galaxies – or a fragment of that confluence anyhow.’

‘Not us,’ I said flatly. ‘Couldn’t you feel it? There was nothing of the human in it, nothing left of us.’

We had been arguing about this all the way home. For all he had goaded me about it, Elstead just hadn’t wanted to believe humanity had had an end. ‘Maybe that’s so, maybe not.’ He was as beat-looking as any of us. But, under his blanket, he rubbed his hands. ‘What we have to do now is make sure it doesn’t turn out like that.’

Junge and I peered at him. I asked, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘We brought back a hell of a lot of data. Maybe we can figure out what went wrong for humanity. And then make sure it doesn’t happen.’

I said, ‘But even if you achieve that – what about the ultimate end? When the expansion scatters the last particles, all complexity is lost –’

‘Does it have to turn out that way?’ And he began to talk of other theories of physics. The dark energy field could have decreased in strength, just enough to slow the expansion. Or an even more eerie force called quintessence could stop the expansion when the last fundamental particles were still in contact with each other – and life, and consciousness, could continue, though at a terribly slow rate. ‘But the story wouldn’t end,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t end.’

‘Elstead –’ After all we had been through I wanted to be gentle. ‘The universe isn’t like that. Cosmology doesn’t accord with that model. We saw it for ourselves.’

He wasn’t daunted. ‘Then we have to find a way to fix it so it
does
accord. Or else ship out to another universe more to our liking. We’ve plenty of time to figure out the details. It’s always been my belief that however the future works out, Big Crunch or Rip or endless expansion, there has to be a way to preserve information through the terminal catastrophe – there has to be a way for life to survive. Anyhow, that’s my plan.’ He looked at us, his eyes huge in his gaunt face. ‘Are you with me?’

All this was two years ago.

I didn’t go back to England. I can no longer bear the dark and the cold – or the ocean. I took a house on a mountain-top in Colorado, a place bathed in light where I could hardly be further from the sea. I’m close enough to the summit that I can walk around it, and, every morning, I do.

I wrote up our story. I earned my euros.

I’ve found a partner. We’re planning kids. That way I can postpone the death of the universe, just a little, I guess. I’ve kept in touch with Walter Junge; I hope his kids will get on with ours.

I’ve started attending Mass again. I don’t quite know what I’m feeling when I listen to the ancient lessons. But Elstead was surely right that the monumental existence of deep time, and the erasure of all things, is the ultimate challenge to any faith. I suspect that in a few million years we’ll be smart enough it figure it out, and I’m content to wait.

As everybody knows, St John Elstead built a new vessel – Spacetime Bathyscaphe II – bigger and more capable than the first, and stocked it with people of a like mind to himself. I turned down the invitation to join him, but I did send him my crucifix pendant.

Elstead descended once more into the abyss of time, to challenge the destiny he found so unsatisfactory. He has yet to return.

Halo Ghosts

‘Black!’ said Bead, his face boyish with wonder. ‘Black as the inside of a skull.’

I hid a smile. But he was right: the comet nucleus tumbled through the solar system’s depths like a bit of charred bone, its perihelion glory a memory.

And our two-man ship was only metres away from it.

‘We’ve made it, Bead,’ I said. ‘The first men to the cometary halo.’

‘And maybe the first to see the birth of the solar system. Yeah…’

We were that close –

– when the ghost rippled through us.

My console lights flared; my sensors screamed.

Bead’s face emptied. ‘What…’

‘The processors have overloaded.’ I slammed in manual overrides. ‘Remember your training, damn it! Help me get her under control –’

We hit the comet ice, hard. I heard metal peel back like orange skin. Stars slewed across the viewscreen, overlaid by whirling sparks. There was a distant grind.

We came to rest.

Bead’s voice shivered. ‘Slater, don’t do these things to me! Thank God that’s over.’

I watched the sparks – half our water disappearing into interstellar space.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s all over.’

He looked at me strangely.

‘Come on,’ I said briskly. ‘We’ll suit up and check the damage.’

We drifted like bubbles in the comet’s micro-gravity.

The ship had dug itself a pit about three metres deep. The slushy methane ice of the comet hadn’t done the drive tubes any damage.

‘Maybe your lousy piloting’s done me a favour,’ said Bead. His voice was high and quick; he took clownish bounds over the carbon-coated landscape. ‘I mean, the deeper I can take my cores for the Berry interferometer the older the material will be. I might even find some stuff from before the sun lit up. ‘Imagine that, Slater. We’ll get images of the sun’s birth – or even of the primordial nova that seeded it –’

I shivered.

There were stars all around us, cold and distant. I felt like a child in a huge bedroom…

I wondered if there were ghosts out here.

‘Listen to me, Bead.’

Reluctantly he settled to the surface.

I searched for words. ‘You know what happened. Right at the moment of landing the sensors picked up a ghost – a veil of nothing a thousand miles long. ‘There was a high-energy pulse – probably a trace from some old disaster, a nova maybe. The processors overloaded…’

‘Tell me about the damage,’ he said quietly.

‘Yeah. Bead – we can’t both get home. We’ve lost too many consumables. There’s enough for one of us.’ I searched his face in the starlight. ‘Do you understand?’

He half-smiled, his face slack.

‘Well, we haven’t got to face it yet.’ Or each other, I thought. ‘We’ve work to do – report to Earth, get the Berry cores done. And we could both use some sleep. Come on.’

I turned to the ship and away from the situation.

We set up the Berry core device. Like a bizarre insect it plunged its cylindrical tongue into the heart of the comet.

Bead broke open trial cores on the surface. He nodded. ‘These are good. And very old.’

I poked the ancient stuff with a toe. ‘Well, it’s your baby. Looks like slush to me.’

‘Yah.’

An awkward silence stretched; without the distraction of words, the tension between us became tangible.

‘Listen,’ I said hastily, ‘I’ve never understood how this interferometer of yours works anyway.’

He got to his feet clumsily. ‘Every particle of matter has a sort of memory,’ he said. ‘Each quantum mechanical wave function has something called a Berry phase – does that make any sense to you?’

‘Not a lot.’

He waved his hands vaguely. ‘The Berry phase is like a record of the past history of the particle – what velocities it’s attained, what fields it’s been subject to. The interferometer can take this information from a collection of particles and, uh, decode it to give pictures.’

‘Recordings of the past?’

He nodded – then his mouth twitched. ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘Well, it was traces of some past disaster that stranded us here.’

‘There’s got to be a catch with this Berry device,’ I said quickly. ‘It sounds too easy.’

‘Yah. The interferometer needs particles that have remained clean. Stayed buried somewhere since the event we’re interested in.’

‘So the images don’t get obscured by later ones.’

‘That’s the idea. And that’s why we’re here. The stuff inside this comet must have remained undisturbed since the birth of the sun – and maybe before.’ His voice cracked. ‘And we’ve now spent three days in this damn place avoiding the subject.’

I recoiled from his sudden violence. ‘What subject?’ I asked weakly.

‘You know what subject. How do we choose, Slater? Who’s going home – and who isn’t?’ He took a lumbering pace towards me. His hands were clenched into small fists. ‘You tell me. You’re twice my age. You tell me.’

I spread my hands. ‘Be fair, Bead. I’ve no experience of situations like this… But I have got a wife and a kid.’

He flinched.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said gently. ‘I guess neither of us wants to die.’

‘So what do we do?’ He scuffed at the ice. ‘Draw lots? Have a snowball fight?’

I gathered up the equipment. ‘Take it easy, will you?’

‘I know what you’re thinking. That I’m no pilot. That you’re the only one who could make it home.’

‘I’m thinking you’d need coaching,’ I said. ‘But you could do it, Bead. Look – we’ve got time yet. We’ll work it out.’

I stalked off towards another sampling site.

‘How do I know you’d help me? That you wouldn’t trick me? How?’

His accusing voice filled my head. You’re walking away again, I told myself. Go back and face him; finish it now. Coward –

I walked on.

Bead worked with his feet up. Here in his lab at the centre of the ship he looked like part of the equipment.

I handed him a coffee. ‘How’s it going?’

He turned from a large viewscreen. His eyes were bleary but full of wonder. ‘Astonishing,’ he said. He sipped his coffee. ‘I’m digging deeper than anyone’s dug before. Look.’

He pointed at the viewscreen. It bore a hazy image of a young star, wreathed in amniotic gas. ‘The sun. Less than a million years old.’

‘You’re kidding.’

He shook his head smugly. ‘A billion years earlier than the previous record. After only four days’ work… And the core that’s in the Berry interferometer at the moment is the deepest yet; who knows how far back we’ll go.’

I stared at the machinery. Somewhere in there ferocious laser beams were ripping the heart out of a fragment of comet slush.

A ‘ready’ message beeped from a terminal. ‘Watch this, Slater. You can see some live results.’ He worked a keypad expertly. In this environment he was fast and capable. Vital. His death was unthinkable.

I concentrated on the viewscreen. A harsh blur, blue-white. Bead focussed the image. The star was enormous, a sack of brooding anger. Planets circled it cautiously.

Bead frowned. ‘What the hell –’

‘Well, it’s a star,’ I said, ‘but it’s certainly not the sun. Now or in the past.’

‘This is the oldest sample I’ve taken. What are we seeing?’ His face lit up. ‘Slater…’ he breathed.

I smiled. ‘Tell me.’

‘This has got to be the primordial – the ancient star that went supernova, sending out shock waves that led to the birth of our sun. We’ve found a fragment from the primordial – or one of its planets. I don’t believe this.’

A spark slid away from one of the inner planets.

‘Can you zoom with this thing?’ I asked.

Bead worked his instruments. We swooped in towards the planet –

It was laced with light.

The spark was a spaceship. A cage of threads and planes, it must have been a thousand kilometres long.

As we closed in further I made out the ship’s crew. They were pillars of sky blue, drifting like shadows within the translucent walls.

The image broke up and the screen filled with static.

Bead sat back. ‘That’s it,’ he said softly.

He began to check his recordings.

I couldn’t sleep.

In silence I suited up and walked out onto the surface of the comet. In the tiny gravity my boots barely left a mark in the charcoal crust. Was I walking on bones, five billion years old?

I leapt up from the comet’s surface; it shrank to a crude sphere below me. Slow as a snowflake I drifted back down.

Our world had been born out of the corpse of another.

I tried to empathise with the blue pillars, reach them through the wall of deep time. Had they raged at the unfairness as their sun blew up in their faces? Or had they understood that death is sometimes necessary, so that new life can begin?

Surely that was so. I felt their calmness lingering in this desolate place.

I came to a decision.

Bead would never have the courage to face death. That was obvious. And I wouldn’t be forgotten. A trace of me would remain, like a Berry phase in the hearts of my family.

I landed softly.

The port was open. Bead stood silhouetted, holding something like a bazooka. ‘Don’t come any closer, Slater!’

‘What the hell –’

A flash of light, invisibly violet. A soundless explosion in the ice at my feet. I froze.

‘I’ve warned you.’ His voice was a brittle surface.

‘Where did you get the weapon from, Bead?’

‘I took apart the Berry device,’ he said. ‘And I’m having the ship. I’m sorry, Slater. But I don’t want to die. Try to understand.’