by Travis Borne
Courtesy of more omnipotent programming by Amy, Felix and those in the Old Town map had been given a portal to the outside world, and within a dusty ol’ desert town they stood, too, somber and gazing out into outer space.
A full house today and drinks were on the house. The viewport was the grand mirror behind the bar in the ornately decorated saloon, woodwork courtesy of Magnus’ master craftsmanship; his wife Juanita, a DC, stood by his side. Rosita had Felix’s arm, he hers, and there was Loren, DC Fernando faithfully by her side, and Tung and Tasha, even the other Rafael with a paintbrush riding his ear like a pencil, and the banana-bread lady, finally quiet. And all citizens of Pueblo Viejo stood, packed inside, waiting for it.
“Today we pay final tribute, to Earth,” Herald said, his self as young as 28, maybe even 26. Ana, 24 and no different in appearance from the very first day they met, gripped his arm tight. “We are grateful for all it has provided us.”
“Love,” Ana said, “and family, y buenos amigos.” Herald nodded, and then kissed her birthmark. Her thin fingers returned a smooth brush of his face. Their gaze oozed with wise grace, and the love of which she’d spoke—and real true gratefulness flooded not only the area around them, but went between the eyes and hearts of every being in the fleet.
“Let us take a moment of silence,” Herald said.
Some heads bowed, some gazed at the yellow dot. It was no bigger than a kernel of corn. The screens were zoomed in on the front panels of every ship, and not a one, did not face it with respect. The sun shone in its full glory, just as it always had.
Herald continued, “Farewell, and goodbye to those souls we could not save. They will always have a part of our thoughts and even the nothing cannot steal them from our memories. Today is the last day and we bear witness to the final moments of planet Earth and all that surrounds it. Moving forward, we will discover a new home, and each and every one of us will be a unique part of one another’s lives when we do. We are family—” Herald’s head fell, turned to Ana, then raised as he took in a deep breath. “Henceforth we must vow to be the opposite of what we witness here—” He swallowed, hard, and both his and Ana’s eyes were wet glass. “No more secrets!”
Just as Herald spoke his last word, it happened. The explosion was the brightest, most colorful thing in the entire universe. Heads fell, tears fell, and hearts hit the floor.
The silence was deafening as all bore witness to the end of the Earth, the Sun, the entire solar system and beyond. Within minutes the grand spectacle imploded and only a void remained, one without a radiating, yellow kernel of corn. Then Ron said, “Sir—” His curiosity was popping like popcorn as he employed the helm of Amy’s ship just as he’d always done at his panels in the broadcast room. Herald looked up to the screen displaying the odd-looking young-man’s face.
“Just before it happened, I—” Ron stuttered. “—the instruments, detected something. A portal, I think. The systems are working with the data now but I surmise it was some sort of hole in space-time and, something, sir, something went in.” Ron studied the data like a nerd on speed. He swung his waist-mount portable screen to the side and started waving his fingers, tapping, and switched back and forth from it to his main panel. “Something, Herald, sir, something went in and—data pouring in now. One, two, three, four, and something massive, and…it looks like about two-dozen others, smaller ones. Then it closed. All right before it happened.”
Herald smiled, just like he did when he first laid eyes upon Ana. Both had an arm around each other and their eyes exchanged some of the youth oozing from their fresh, reinvigorated minds. A new universe with new possibilities bounced between them just then, and hope was as grand as the celestial event that had momentarily unfolded like a trillion supernovae, before their eyes. Colors, many seemingly impossible, twinkled like dancing embers in the gloss coating their widening eyes. She kissed him. He returned it passionately and then they stared into each other’s universes for at least a minute, and longer until it almost seemed awkward—and they shut everyone and everything else out and said to hell with time—while aboard every ship of the ten, aliens, bots, humans, family and friends, watched and waited.
Hope tingled toes to hair follicles. Clapping began, and some cheering—then trumpets blared, yet only in Herald’s mind, and even in Ana’s.
But truly, smiles became sunrises. Everybody heard Ron, frantic and nerdy, with his high voice of enthusiasm, for the COM was still open. From the pit of sadness and loss, and the black holes of despair, rose anticipation, optimism, and hope so thick it borderlined fourth-dimensional rainbow matter. And tears dried on cheeks. Herald’s tall blue friend blinked resolutely, and Rafael bowed his head, letting emotionally overloaded tears pour from his brand-new eyes. Jess smiled, and Amanda, and hope traveled like Bertha’s farts. Sweet smelling, burnt potato wedges. And into Rob Price, the wonderful farts went, and he smiled too. Then Bertha followed up with a train horn of jubilation.
“Sir?” Ron asked. “Sir, what could it be? Did something— Were they actually able to—”
“Hope,” Herald said, turning around one last time before leaving the bridge.
“Faith,” Ana said. “Believe that anything is possible.” She looked up to Herald again. “Te amo, mi amor.”
“I love you too, Ana. Soul mates—” Herald smiled. And they walked out of the bridge, holding hands. The doors closed behind them.
122. A Man Had Once Existed
Somewhere, on some distant world, a young humanoid gazes upon a shooting star. The sky is a starless black void possessing solely the dim burgundy glow from the now setting brown dwarf.
She has never seen one before; her father said he had, a hundred or so years ago, and it must be her turn. “Wow!” The word flutters through her mind like ripples across a pond, and her eyes pop with wonder. But this is nothing like her father described. Larger, growing, brightening; it ignites her nerves. Her large, dull-blue eyes become sponges to the rare white light. The orb’s tail spews prismatic colors like metals changing color in fire, and it touches down quickly. Permeating the forest across the field, a warm glow follows the brief flash.
“Tariah,” her mother calls out, through a mental channel, “come home, dinner is ready.”
But Tariah ignores the call as vibrations travel from bare feet to bones. The land flows into her, up her legs, and tingles are anxious, jittery fingers stirring in her chest; something else is calling. The sensation abates fear, although her two tiny hearts continue with opposite, flickering rhythms. She looks down at her chest and can see it pitter-pattering like the froglets thumping through the purple grass, away from the explosion. She is nervous, unsettled, and a part of her wants to run away with the burping, bouncing yellow-bellies. But curiosity takes hold. After three minutes of silence, she makes the decision.
Tariah seals her every mental channel. Silence. It’s not far from where she’s standing. She takes one step, then another and doesn't realize the transition to running. Leap, against the low gravity of her home world, leap, one more graceful skip, then there it is.
Her tiny hearts are humming now. She creeps near. A crater no bigger than her bedroom is surrounded by spotty bluish fires and the sangria trees of the forest. After the bristle melts into a metallic ooze the mottles of fire become green, then eventually fizzle into a warm orange glow. She is taking a lot of time, moving slowly, slowly—this is something special. The embers remain, framing the new and smoldering dent.
She blinks her large eyes; her bottom lids glide up and over her glassy eyes, diagonally toward the tiny palpitating nostrils at the base of her blimp of a forehead. She turns this way, angling her head that way. Thoughts travel through her mind like the sinuating lines of the living fog she loves to suck in. But she is drawn to only one thing, now. And she purposely holds every glint of her exploding curiosity from the others at home who are probably stuffing themselves with grobbles and tunadeens right now.
In the center of the pit she spots somethi
ng. “That’s it!”
It’s no bigger than her father’s pithosphere. The tiny, hand-sized golden ball mesmerizes her. It’s gleaming, pulsating. Slowly, she sneaks toward it. She tries to move it with her mind, but that won’t work with the others being kept out. So, she plucks one of the bluish-purple vasoferns and shucks off its branches. The spores release white powder and she opens her toothless hole of a mouth, vacuuming the treat, then resolutely refocuses on her target. After she nudges it with the stick—it opens.
Flash!
Yellows, bright greens, neon blues, rivers she has never seen, lakes, mountains, grand and populous cities with beings who look weird to her, and flowers, pink ones, white ones taking the warm light of a bright yellow star, and purples, rush after rush of purples surrounded by prismatic wonder. Visions of days, then nights, and there are countless dots peppering the sky. She’s never seen any of this, no one has! Millions of twinkling lights dazzle her mind; as if the night is alive. Alive! And then something else, a gray ball rises into the sky, fighting the night, just like the brown-dwarf of her own world, but more massive and far brighter. Its beaming magnificently and Tariah turns her face to bask in its pleasant glow. Night turns to day again, slower now and the flashing imagery relaxes. Calm, nature, but different than how she knows it to be. There are myriad flowers again, blooming with life. Clusters, opening, popping with colors she never imagined possible, and the bright yellow star rises again. Her eyes go wide even though that much light should have made them squint, then thoughts enter her mind as if something is forcing them through a syringe stabbed smack dab in the center of her bulbous forehead.
Take your time, let wisdom blossom like these flowers—for what you know now, what you think you understand, may be the very ideas sending your civilization toward demise.
Hello.
It’s late here and I couldn’t sleep. And maybe that’s not the best way to start a conversation with someone out there, someone I’ve never met—but it is what consumes me. So, I’m sending some of my personal experiences your way. Can my life help others? I don’t know and I don’t intend to be preachy, but maybe, just maybe…
I’ve learned that the universe is ever evolving and any number of things can send the whole deck of cards crashing down. Be it from within the highest tiers where the oldest and wisest once verged on making an unwise decision—myself, along with a few others; the highest card on a paradoxical pile, which from another point of view, is also the lowest. Perhaps we wanted more, or power, or something different because we had gotten used to things. In the process of our ascent we eventually found ourselves trapped. The only way out was to meld with the nothing at detriment to all else—nine of us were about to decide for all and everything that was. We were about to end it. But, by some incredible stroke of chance, luck maybe, or even a helping hand, the slightest feather of a nudge, a light came out of the darkness, darkness that had been disguised as perfection, and it came when it was least expected, yet most necessary.
On the lowest tiers, too, a card can get swiped from the bottom of the pile, sending everything into the void. A tipping point, crossing the line, and once triggered it spells catastrophe. Most never saw it coming, most won’t.
I’m here now, back again. Life flourishes in this three-dimensional plane—and not merely because of, or for happiness. Pain is life, life is pain. And the ever-evolving nature of forces meant to keep things in check, meant to limit intelligence and technology, as well derail the maligned mindsets of premature civilizations, can and usually do end up destroying our fragile house of cards, our mushrooming civilization, one striving for the pain-free existence.
We could have prevented it, I think, looking back on things.
But it just went astray. Everything can when none are willing to take a chance, turn thoughts into actions, or fight the coming nothing and stand up for what they feel in their hearts—perhaps one needs to be secretive enough, powerful enough, and capable enough, and, conducive to goodwill with good intentions, even if it is guised as nascent, reckless hate, a shroud that must eventually be fought head-on, then peeled away like the layers of a snake’s skin. That was me.
But I’ve learned much since. The hatred can be suppressed by transcendence; all are necessary steps toward enlightenment. But there can only be seekers of enlightenment, not an enlightened one; it will always be just beyond grasp and one mustn’t get lost searching for it. I understand now, yet realize how little I really do. The learning never stops.
I am Herald. I am speaking to myself, quietly while looking out the window at a brilliant stew of countless stars, galaxies, and nebulae. To whomever has found this message, I’m no more special than any of you out there—just a regular guy spilling some beans. If by rare chance you happen to encounter these thoughts, which I’m recording as the love of my life sleeps peacefully beside me, as we journey to a new world, then this message in a bottle must have found you against all odds: a trillion to one, more—or something, the something, might just have nudged it your way.
I’m optimistic. I’m happy now. And I’m going to try and save all, not just some, next time, if there is a next time. In hopes there is a force out there, one that might deliver this to the right person, I’m saying this. I need to say it and am doing so out loud, to hear myself speak these words.
Words to live by? Perhaps. For me anyway. A far contrast from my old words, my old self. I’m here with friends, family, and Ana, my wife, the love of my life. She’s asleep and looks like an angel, such a beautiful soul. I truly, to the depths of my being, love her.
I want to be here for her, at her side forever. But I think, if we are to continue to live, as we have recently chosen something over nothing, we need to shine with a light of goodwill toward others. Respect, gratitude, alongside thoughtful, careful progress. Henceforth we must act when needed, and love one another. No longer can we be a force that conquers and controls and forces the universe into submission.
And you, yes you too, the one listening to this. Get up. Let too your unique voice and actions be heard and you can make a difference. Countless civilizations do not receive any semblance of a pleasant outcome—unless responsibility is exercised. The most common result is always the same: wipe, then they’d never even existed. Not a trace to be seen, heard, or perceived in any way, be it past, present, or future. Gone. If you do nothing.
But I know what we must do. We will push forth. We will continue to meet test after more difficult test, head-on. We must continually improve ourselves and succeed, be seekers of enlightenment while retaining objectivity. We must overcome our inner demons and hateful thoughts, a never-ending battle.
Now, we will police these failsafes, as well help other civilizations to understand something that cannot simply be told; it must be learned, painfully—but still, we must try. The anti-life factor is becoming stronger and ever more capable with each passing eon—and dynamically it’ll become more capable of destroying the entire house of cards. Soon it will challenge the integrity of every dimension, and possibly spread beyond even that.
More impossible than my first mission by a million-fold. When it all started…
I had actually planned to pop open a beer and sit alone on a mountaintop somewhere in Colorado. I imagined myself every single day, just sitting there, smiling, watching it burn. But I did overcome that, and with perhaps some unknown, unseen, universe-manipulating helping hand, I didn’t step out alone in the end. I found love and was nudged to the good side of the line, and, I was able to keep myself there ever since, mostly.
More impossible than my second mission too. I had thought it was unfathomably, undeniably impossible. But with action, rather than just sitting on ideas, I succeeded. I created the lending program, in turn saving some, not all. With good friends, and love, and help, I managed. We managed. Against the odds.
And together many of us went on to explore other dimensions. Eventually possibility itself hit a brick wall. But it takes just one. Amy, she is so amazi
ng. My daughter, she saved us all. We managed to escape and here we are. Here I am. And the view I’m seeing right now is with new eyes. It’s humbling, awakening—infinity. One can never see the same combination of stars twice just as, they say, one can never step into the same river a second time.
This glorious view, my friends and family, and the fact that I know the others made it out—Q, and Jerry and the printed Jim, Noit’s son, Samyreux, Taleena’s daughter, Yelowan—it’s empowering me in new ways. I feel alive just like the first time, in my office at the window, when it all began. And this new and growing tribulation, the evolving failsafe, be it a trillion-fold more complex and ingenious, will not succeed. We will find the others, our friends and fellow beings. And I will continue to take action and together our force for good will evolve just as powerfully as the failsafe, and we will triumph—because we believe.
Faith is the most powerful emotion in the universe, second only perhaps, to love. With those two, and some pain along the way, you too, my listener, can overcome anything. Now that you have found and absorbed the information in this capsule, you know. But, you must choose for yourself what to do with it. Decide, and go. Take action. Believe in yourself fully and undoubtedly. Be dauntless. Stand up, shoulders straight, head held high, and do what you need to do.
Something happened. Tariah thought differently as the gold sphere before her stopped gleaming. It went gray, yet her thoughts were anything but. She imagined a tree in her mind and colors swirled around it like the rare breezes that lured families out of their homes. The tree was flashing, living, its branches growing, twisting, arcing into themselves in ways beyond the realm of anything she had known or experienced before. It was lightning. It was white. It was brighter than the brightest white fathomable; omnipotence—and its electric shocks set her mind ablaze.
