Alternative Apocalypse

by Debora Godfrey

  Marie Sainte-Beuve @MarieSainteBeuve

  Guess I'd better hurry up and start reading Remembrance of Things Past. Don't want to have any regrets!

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  @Clare_83 Let go of my anger? Now you're turning into Yoda.

  Clare Murillo @Clare_83

  @EricBullen Soon we'll all be dead. Is this how you want to die: full of anger?

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  @Clare_83 Is this how you want to die: constantly harking back to the past?

  Clare Murillo @Clare_83

  @EricBullen Since there isn't going to be any future, the past is all we've got.

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  @Clare_83 That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

  CureFan17 @CureFan17

  I never learned to play the guitar #TooLateNow

  Clare Murillo @Clare_83

  @EricBullen OK, whatever. I tried my best. I'll leave you in peace to die alone and full of bitterness. Enjoy your apocalypse.

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  @Clare_83 Well, I'm sure you have plenty of other guys to try and make up with before the end. Good luck squeezing them all in.

  Marie Sainte-Beuve @MarieSainteBeuve

  I haven't gone down to the woods to see this year's bluebells yet. #TooLateNow

  Clare Murillo @Clare_83

  @EricBullen That's uncalled for. But I forgot that you always had to have the last word. So I'll let you have it, if it makes you happy.

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  @Clare_83 Thanks. You always were considerate like that. Just not in other ways.

  CureFan17 @CureFan17

  Should have prayed harder #TooLateNow

  Clare Murillo @Clare_83

  Wow, did everyone see that? Looks very close now...

  Marie Sainte-Beuve @MarieSainteBeuve

  Best fireworks ever!

  CureFan17 @CureFan17

  OK, own up: who decoded the Voynich manuscript?

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  It's getting bad here. Not long till the end, I guess.

  Bowl of Petunias @Bowl_of_petunias

  Oh no, not again.

  James Holcroft @AuthorJimmy

  There's still time to buy my book...

  #WellItMightBeAFalseAlarm

  Marie Sainte-Beuve @MarieSainteBeuve

  Did you ever tell your mother you love her? #TooLateNow

  CureFan17 @CureFan17

  Did you ever tell your boss to fuck off? #TooLateNow

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  If this is it, if this is really it...then how did I end up like this?

  Marie Sainte-Beuve @MarieSainteBeuve

  Let's all try harder next time.

  CureFan17 @CureFan17

  @MarieSainteBeuve There won't be a next time!

  Marie Sainte-Beuve @MarieSainteBeuve

  @CureFan17 There will for me, I'm a Buddhist.

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  I'm here, all alone. And it turns out that having the last word isn't so great after all.

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  Not when it really is the last word, in the last hour of the last day.

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  Clare, you were right and I'm sorry.

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  Clare?

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  Anyone??

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  @Clare_83 Clare, are you there?

  Eric Bullen @EricBullen

  I love you #goodbye

  Launch of the Sagan

  Henry Gasko

  Less than two hours to go, thought Vice President-elect Stanley as he got out of the back seat of the dark limousine, and looked up. And up, and up. Even though the Sagan was over half a mile away, it loomed over the surrounding support buildings and everything else in the snow-covered Montana hills.

  Professor Grayson had been expecting him, and walked out of the nearest building. “Come to see the big moment, Senator Stanley? Shouldn’t you be in Washington with all the other bureaucrats and nay-sayers?”

  “The title is Vice President Stanley, and there is not going to be a launch.”

  “That’s funny. I thought President Kushner was still in office until noon, Washington time.” He glanced at his watch. “Another forty minutes,” he said, “which means you are still Vice President-elect Stanley, doesn’t it?”

  “You know the American people have spoken resoundingly at the election,” said Stanley. “They want this folly stopped.”

  “And you do realize that the American people were just as resounding in their support of the project at the last election four years ago. Why, the whole world has been happy to use the incredible information stream coming from the Hyades cluster,” said Grayson. “And when they started sending us the plans for the starship… Well, as I recall, it was a landslide, wasn’t it? Our chance to actually go to the stars, to meet our benefactors.”

  “That was before we knew how much it was going to cost. And even now, no one knows how this thing is supposed to work or what it’s going to do.”

  “Look at it,” said Grayson. “What do you think it’s going to do? It’s going to take us to the stars.” And he turned to look up once more at the Sagan, with its classic four fins supporting a massive metallic cylinder that tapered to a sleek point in the winter sky. “The Chinese are building one as well. You did know that, didn’t you?”

  “We know all about it,” said Stanley.

  “And so you know that they are very close. But thanks to good old American know-how, we are going to beat them to the punch. Or more specifically, to the launch. We’ve pushed the schedule forward a bit. The launch will be in about…” he glanced theatrically at his watch again, “thirty minutes from now. In fact just before noon, Washington time.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “On the contrary, Senator, we can and we will. And you can’t stop it. In fact at the moment you are a private citizen trespassing on a top secret government installation without the relevant authority. But we’ll overlook that for the moment, since I’m sure you’re not going to cause any trouble.” And at Grayson’s signal, a group of armed Marines appeared behind the senator and his entourage.

  “Come, let me show you the installation,” said Grayson casually. “I think even you will be impressed.” He walked towards the nearest building, leaving the Senator little choice but to follow.

  “Amazing really, the amount of new technology the Hyadians have sent us since we first discovered their transmissions,” Grayson continued as they walked towards the control building.

  “And you think those instructions were meant just for us?” asked Stanley. “What a lot of anthropocentric rubbish.”

  “Of course no one thinks they were meant just for humanity. The signals are no doubt being broadcast to the galaxy at large. And it took a reasonable amount of effort on our part to decipher them. The Hyadians clearly intend them only for a race with a certain level of technical sophistication, as a way of weeding out the interlopers, if you like. Their way of saying ‘Hello’ to the universe. ‘We are here and we want to help you join the federation of intelligent species.’ We should be honored.”

  “You’ve been reading too much science fiction.”

  “Of course I’ve read a lot of science fiction. Most of us on my side of the scientific divide have. And what have you been reading? Machiavelli? Look around the modern world, at the technology we now have thanks to the Hyadians. Science fiction has become science fact.”

  “I’m not here to argue about that. But it doesn’t change the fact that we have no idea what this… thing…”

  “Please, Senator, the Sagan.”

  “Why the hell did you call it that anyway? Appropriating the name of a great scientist, someone who was always skeptical of un-substantiated claims. Do you think he would approve of this… thing?”

  “You haven’t read Contact, have you?” a
sked Grayson. Senator Stanley’s face remained blank. “No, I didn’t think so. Because if you had, you would certainly understand that this is exactly what he would propose we do with the instructions. In fact, that is exactly what the scientists in his book did when they received this sort of information from the stars. This is our one chance to achieve something in our life-times, something numinous, as Sagan would put it. I think he would have approved whole-heartedly. And with the complete instructions, we can hardly go wrong. There were actually a few people on the team who thought we should call it the Ikea because the instructions were so detailed. Fortunately that didn’t get past the President. No, the Sagan is a fitting tribute to the man and his ideas about our place in the cosmos.”

  “You know that at 12:01 I am going to have you arrested?”

  “Arrested? But why? I’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, if I had not carried out the orders of President Kushner for these past four years, that might be grounds for an arrest. But simply following the Chief Executive’s orders? I should get a medal.”

  They stared at each other for what seemed to be a full minute. Grayson broke first. “Come, you may as well enjoy the show, Senator. It’s a bit cold out here. Damned silly constructing it here in Montana but I guess President Kushner wanted to be sure of a few more regional votes four years ago. No matter; we’ll have a wonderful view.” And he walked into the control building and towards the wall-to-ceiling window that provided a view of the full height of the Sagan. “Only twenty minutes to go before the launch.” And he turned away from the Senator to look admiringly across the snow covered plain to the spacecraft.

  A voice from a junior radio operator intruded. “Professor, something strange here.”

  Professor Grayson turned, clearly annoyed at having his reverie interrupted. “What?”

  “A transmission, sir, coming from within the craft.”

  “The crew? They probably want to say something momentous before blasting off.”

  “No, sir. It’s from the ship itself. I can’t pinpoint it exactly; one of the modules whose function we couldn’t be sure of.”

  That doesn’t really help, thought the Professor. In truth, they weren’t sure of the function of most of the modules.

  The Vice President-elect stepped up behind him. “Stop this. Immediately.”

  “Just a simple transmission,” said the Professor. “Maybe something to tell them we are on our way.” He turned to the radio operator. “Decipher it. What does it say?”

  “I don’t know, sir. It doesn’t appear to be in the same language that they’ve used for all the instructions. It might take some time to decipher it.”

  “Get on it, right away. How much time until lift-off?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  “I said, stop this!” said Stanley. He tried to step closer to Grayson but two marines intervened.

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” said Grayson, now slightly nervous. “Even if I wanted to. We thought there might be some issues with the new administration so we removed the abort option after the countdown starts.” He smiled weakly and turned to the window again. He checked his watch again. “Not long now,” he said to no one in particular, and looked up at the towering starship.

  Vice President-elect Stanley came up behind him. “You do know that President Simpson will order it shot down as soon as he is sworn in.”

  “Unlikely,” said the Professor over his shoulder. “There are a dozen American citizens on board.”

  “What! That was never part of the specification.”

  “Actually it was, but we decided not to publicize widely. But what would be the point of going to the stars with an unmanned craft? And besides, I doubt that anything in our arsenal could reach it once it takes off. But I suggest you call the President-elect and give him the news. Firing at a starship with American citizens aboard might not go down very well in the opinion polls. You wouldn’t want him facing an impeachment hearing on his first day in the job.” With that, he turned his back on Stanley and let his gaze travel lovingly up the Sagan’s full height.

  “I will personally see that you rot in jail for the rest of your life!”

  Grayson ignored him and continued to stare towards the Sagan. “The future begins this very moment,” intoned Grayson as he gazed reverentially upward. He glanced at the large digital clock on the wall, which now read 9:59 a.m.. A low rumble emanated from the ship and spread out across the plain. A spurt of flame appeared at its base, and the Sagan lifted into the sky.

  “Enjoy the show, Senator,” Grayson said. The clock on the wall flicked over to 10:00 a.m. as the starship rose higher into the clear morning air. “Or should I say Mr. Vice President.”

  They both watched the ship rise. But this was not the ponderous never-quite-sure-if-it-will-make-it ascent of a NASA rocket. The Sagan sprang upward, giving the moorings barely enough time to drop away. It shot into the clear Montana sky almost faster than their eyes could follow, and was out of human sight in less than twenty seconds. Christ, thought the Professor, I sure hope there is some kind of inertia screen built into the living quarters, or the crew will now be as flat as so many pizzas on the floor. Thin crust pizzas at that. But he said nothing.

  The Sagan disappeared from sight, and they turned to the panel of instruments in the control room. All the techs were gathered around one screen where a radar track showed the progress of the spaceship. Grayson pushed his way through the group until he stood behind the screen’s operator.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “It’s still accelerating, sir. I didn’t think anything could pick up speed that quickly. At this rate…” He checked a secondary screen that was filled with numbers. “At this rate, it will reach ninety percent of light speed in less than an hour.”

  The senator, now officially the Vice President, pushed through the crowd. “Abort it! Now!”

  The Professor turned towards him. “I told you, sir, there is no abort,” he said softly. Then more firmly, “Besides, why would we abort it? Of course it’s accelerating. How else are we going to reach the stars? The only question is whether it will cruise just below light speed or if they have broken that barrier somehow. It may just continue to accelerate…” His voice drifted off and for a moment he let himself imagine the stars, now within reach.

  “Sir,” said the technician seated at the screen, breaking his reverie again.

  Grayson regained his composure and turned back to the screen. “Yes? What’s its trajectory? Do you know where it is headed?”

  “We’re starting to lose it from the satellite trackers sir, but it appears to be headed directly towards the sun.”

  “Ah,” said the Professor. “The old sling-shot maneuver to pick up even more speed. Very clever.”

  “No sir,” said the operator. “It’s not in a near-solar trajectory. It is literally headed directly towards the sun. At this rate it will impact in less than…”he checked the figures on his secondary screen again “…nineteen minutes.”

  They all crowded around the screen, craning their heads, staring at the projected flight path on the screen. Everyone in the room watched it in silence for what seemed to be a very long time.

  Exactly nineteen minutes later the screen operator turned to the Professor. “No change in the flight path as far as we can tell, sir. I think they will be impacting the sun right now.”

  Exactly eight minutes later, someone at the back of the crowd noticed a certain brightness filling the room. He tugged the sleeve of the man next to him, and they both turned towards the window where the morning light had brightened as if it were already noon, and then as if it were mid-summer. Soon the entire room had turned away from the screens and towards the window, and they all felt the warmth now flowing through the glass. Snow on the nearby hills was already melting, uncovering the dry winter grasses underneath.

  Grayson remembered Ray Bradbury’s “Rocket Summer” and thought it was a fitting image for man’s first step toward the star
s. But the heat continued to pour in through the thick glass window. The sun, still low in the east, began to turn from benign yellow to a bright angry red. Outside the brown grass of the plains erupted into flames.

  ***

  153 years later, somewhere in the Hyades cluster, Master M’rapt’ki, second in line to the throne (as befitted his planet’s senior scientist), was awakened after midnight by the sound of an ancient alarm.

  He called the night shift supervisor, who appeared on his communications screen immediately. “Not a false alarm?” asked M’rapt’ki.

  “No sir,” replied the night shift supervisor.

  “Send me the coordinates.”

  “Yes sir, right away.”

  M’rapt’ki glanced at the numbers as they appeared on his screen, then ran up the stairs of the imperial palace to the emperor’s sleeping chamber, brushing past the guards with a swift salute. He knocked loudly on the emperor’s door and entered without waiting for a reply.

  “It’s happened, Sire. The interstellar alarm.”

  The emperor rubbed the sleep from his eye-stalks with his third hand while reaching for his royal robe with his primary. “Are you sure?”