Impermanent Universe

by Vern Buzarde

  Tess dug her pen into the notepad on her desk. Transmission? What transmission? And the cabin’s temperature fluctuations were obviously getting worse. She craved precision, and this felt messier every minute. There were too many minor problems occurring, seemingly portending something more ominous. The glitches appeared to be accelerating in frequency. And now some transmission?

  For the last three nights, during her brief vodka-induced half sleep, she’d dreamed of the small spaceship hanging from a giant black rope, rotating slowly. But the end of the rope was unravelling. This was no random dream of an overly taxed brain. Her subconscious had tuned in to some frequency she hadn’t quite caught up with. Tess’s mind was searching for patterns, and it was in puzzle-solving mode, something she couldn’t turn off. She touched the small medallion hanging from her neck. It was the Buddhist symbol for impermanence, made of sterling silver and inlaid with strips of aquamarine. Ryan had given it to her on her thirty-fourth birthday, just before he’d left. She’d never taken it off.

  Tess closed her eyes and tried to tune out the conversations around her. For some reason, she thought of her father and reached into her pocket to touch the Zippo cigarette lighter he’d left behind all those years ago. He’d been popping up in her thoughts and dreams more than usual, something she attributed to the increased level of anxiety.

  The project team consisted of forty-three specialists, seated at workstations facing the video feed. Tess wondered if everyone felt the same dread, made cryptic by the fact that there were no major problems to justify concern. The team’s protective attitude toward the two astronauts was something Tess had found unexpectedly touching, an emotional bond they shared and probably always would.

  Something’s here. Lurking… waiting.

  She pored over the results from the simulations they had run on Virgil, the onboard computer. She had overseen the development of its programming, and there was virtually nothing about its code she wasn’t familiar with. As a result, she found delegating problem-solving to others virtually impossible. It simply wasn’t an option.

  The diagnostic tests revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The system appeared to be functioning perfectly. The problems with the ship’s environmental control had to be something mechanical. Tess checked the time, then checked it again. Even though approximate transmission times were displayed along with the rest of the information, Tess felt the need for a backup.

  Thirty-three minutes had passed since their last transmission to the Essex. Ryan was physically farther from Earth than any human had ever been before, and knowing that caused an unexpected level of discomfort she couldn’t explain. A new, unfamiliar emotion her subconscious seemed unable to grasp, something it wasn’t designed for.

  But even at that distance, she could still feel his presence. He was a part of her, connected even though he was seventy-eight million miles away. She could still feel the warmth of his body, hear the unique way he laughed.

  They had gone to Memorial Park for a long run the day before he went into quarantine, something they did regularly. The molten southern Texas September heat that Saturday afternoon felt like a spiritual cleansing for them both. He had asked her if she saw how the light was changing. Although it still felt like midsummer, the sun’s rays were different, as if moving at altered angles. The glare was reduced. Some colors faded, others were sharper and more dense. Fall was around the corner, and he could see it in the light. Ryan was the only person she’d ever known who sensed it the way she did.

  Afterward, they had spent most of the night awake, holding each other close. There had been little talk outside of his occasional attempts at humor. Neither wanted to discuss the danger inherent in the mission. Both were content not to acknowledge the obvious, something outside the norm for each of them.

  Nick was speaking to her, but the words had not registered. She startled and said, “Sorry, Nick. What did you say?”

  “I just asked if you wanted a coffee. I’m taking orders.”

  “No, thank you. I have enough caffeine in my system.” What I could really use is a drink.

  Although it was still morning, the days had blended like spilled watercolors, barely distinguishable from one another but forming an otherworldly motif, an abstract homage. One that seemed to have no end. Tess was experiencing a depth of emotion she couldn’t have foreseen. She felt almost as if she couldn’t fully wake up.

  Lately, early in the morning hours as she lay in bed, she had begun to imagine the events of each day in comic book form, each scene paneled and summarized, complete with dialogue, as dark questions flittered through her mind. Questions about the fragility of life even under the most normal circumstances, let alone the level of vulnerability resulting from venturing millions of miles into space.

  Why are we doing this? We’re not ready.

  Nick smiled. “Tess, it’s going to be fine. I know you’ve heard the spiel a bunch of times now, but I’m gonna say it again. These types of minor glitches are normal. That’s the whole idea… If everything went perfectly, we wouldn’t learn anything. If there were any major issues, we would have seen them way before now.”

  Tess wasn’t interested in another pep talk. “I just have this feeling. Something I can’t quite define, but it’s really… it’s something. Nick, you know I’m not the nervous type, but something—”

  “Trust me. It’s all good,” Nick said. “They’re almost to the halfway point. They’ll be there in less than thirty-six hours, then we’ll turn ’em around. Once we execute the bounce and they head home, a lot of your stress will disappear. This is a normal psychological reaction. Your anxiety is tied to the magnitude of physical separation. It’s not a situation one’s mind can prepare for. Take a breath. Relax. They’re big boys. Sure about that coffee?”

  She shook her head and forced a smile, eager to get back to her screen.

  “He’ll be back here serenading you before you know it.”

  Natalie was hovering, an unnatural smile frozen on her face. They had known each other since MIT, and she had always seemed steady. Tess raised her palms impatiently.

  “This isn’t your fault, Tess,” Natalie said. “The path to enlightenment is a complex puzzle. We all either evolve or regress. But you have to choose.” Natalie lined up a handful of dominos on Tess’s desk. “These are for you. There are six. So you can remember them.” She reached down and pushed the first, causing them to tumble in sequence. She scooped them up and walked away.

  Tess cocked her head and squinted, realizing she would have to confront Natalie. Either there was a substance-abuse problem or some mental issue. But it would have to wait. She returned to her monitor, scrolling through pages of code and opening the access log to Virgil’s software. There were hundreds of lines, her name next to the dates and times, which wasn’t surprising since she was the primary gatekeeper.

  Wait, what? Something? Tess concentrated, trying to recapture the nebulous thought.

  Date. Time. She scrolled the dates and times recorded in the log. There! February 2, 4:15. Her name. Three days ago. But that wasn’t possible. She had been running in the park, as she did every day at 4:15. Whoever logged on that morning remained until 4:29. Tess hardly believed it. How could she have missed it? How did they defeat the security system? Whoever it was had to have gained access with her password, which she changed daily and never wrote down. It was impossible.

  She pulled up Virgil’s code, scrolled several pages, then froze. The code had been altered. One line, the modification easy to miss, but it was a sequence she would never have written. Not that way. And one meant there could be more, almost certainly were more. The potential ramifications were too awful to contemplate. Virgil’s system had been breached.

  “Reestablish contact!” Tess yelled. “The system’s been compromised! Virgil has been hacked! We have to let them know NOW!”

  All motion in the room stopped.
r />   “Ready to transmit, Tess.”

  “Ryan, do not reinitialize Virgil! Ryan, listen to me carefully, I repeat, do not reinitialize Virgil! Virgil has been compromised. I can fix it… but I need time to figure this out. Do not update Virgil’s software!”

  She set the timer on her phone. Since the message wouldn’t reach them for at least seven minutes, she could only hope they had found a glitch in the mechanical system and hadn’t started to reinitialize. But deep down, she’d suspected the numerous problems weren’t random. There was a design, some dark plan, stealth expertise almost impossible to contemplate. But how? Why? Who?

  Tess’s dread blossomed in her gut and nearly made her retch. She turned her mind to the problem at hand: How did someone get into the system? And without her discovering it. Was it someone on the team?

  The wait was excruciating. Tess’s heart pounded harder than she would have thought possible. She trembled, her scrambled brain attempting to make sense of it. The same questions screamed inside her head, demanding attention. Who had hacked the system and what was their intent? A multitude of theories formed, and she shook, realizing all of them conveyed a sense of impending doom.

  Fear of losing Ryan was always there, buried deep. The unfathomable horror, even before the mission, the price of finding one’s soulmate. His loss was the only thing she ever really feared. And now he was hurtling through space in a tiny fragile container that was little more than a durable tent, seventy-eight million miles from anyone who could help. She regretted everything about this. How could she have been so delusional to think she could protect him? Her sense of panic was stifling her ability to think clearly, and she used every ounce of energy she had to focus.

  Images popped onto the wall-sized screen. They were watching the events from seven minutes, thirty-eight seconds ago. Ryan and Don were still going through the mechanical troubleshooting procedure, methodically checking off each line item. Tess checked her phone’s timer. Her message would arrive in four minutes, twenty-two seconds. Ryan stopped what he was doing and stared, like he was listening for a noise, then turned back to the task at hand.

  “Okay, that was the last one,” Don said. “Everything’s functional and in compliance. All systems integrations test green.” He asked Ryan, “Do you have the software update procedure?”

  Tess sat in cold silence. Nick was on the phone with the NSA, feverishly explaining the Essex’s onboard computer system had somehow been hacked. “Taken to its logical conclusion, it’s likely all systems have been compromised.”

  Armed security guards entered the room, preventing anyone from leaving. Two men in suits and ties circulated, confiscating cell phones. As one approached her, she hissed a litany of curses and tried to wave him away. She checked the timer. Three minutes, five seconds left until they got her message.

  The wall monitor blinked, and the image vanished, leaving the dull, dark screen hanging in terrible silence. The window had slammed shut again. They weren’t going to see what was happening—no, what had already happened.

  Tess’s brain felt like it was splitting in half, her emotions conflicting, churning. The helplessness and panic were unprecedented. She’d never felt like this. Not even close.

  The screen blinked several times, and the video returned. Ryan handed something to Don, then turned toward the camera. “Houston Control, we’ve run the mechanical systems integration tests and everything checks out. We have not reinitialized Virgil yet. For some reason, we don’t appear to have the latest revision. Will await your input.” Ryan pulled out an orange tube and squeezed its entire contents into his mouth like a kid eating toothpaste.

  The control room erupted in applause. Tess smiled at the man holding the box, her doe eyes dancing as she dropped her phone in the box. She got up to stretch, rubbing her temples, trying to clear the rocket fuel adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her relief was almost intoxicating. Until she realized the danger hadn’t passed.

  Although they had averted potential disaster for the time being, the threat was still serious. Their next steps were critical. She had to discover the extent of the damage as well as find the fix. Tess yelled for her team and told them to meet her in one of the conference rooms. Her urgency was clear.

  One of the suited men stopped her. “Sorry, ma’am. No one leaves this room. And no one enters. We’re going to be here for quite a while. I would suggest you all settle in and get comfortable.”

  Tess’s eyes flashed, and she started to respond but was interrupted by the familiar popping of static, then Ryan’s voice. He was pushing a sequence of buttons on Virgil’s control panel, reading from a list. “Houston Control, please disregard. We found Virgil’s updated procedure and are initiating now. I am commencing reinitialization starting in three… two… one.”

  The screen died again, the blackness seeming to have swallowed all hope.

  Tess made herself breathe. She forced her emotions down again and called for her team. She cleared everything on either side of her workstation, dumping it on the floor. The modified line of code was highlighted on her monitor.

  “There!” She pointed. “We need to run the simulation again. Run it with—”

  The wall screen blinked, stuttered, then went dark again. Tess’s brain was trying to decode the brief images and sounds, unable to discern exactly what she had seen, but something had changed. Just over a minute later, the two astronauts appeared again in their space suits.

  Randy Geiger, the project navigation coordinator, said, “Nick… the Essex, it’s changing course. On its own.”

  Ryan’s voice was faint through the control room speakers. “Houston, not to use a cliché, and it’s something I’ve never actually wanted to say, but we have a problem. We have a big problem.”

  The screen flickered, words distorted like they were being smothered by a hive of bees or completely lost.

  “—tor… unresponsive. Environmental systems… unintelligible… Manual override is not functioning. We are in emergency mode. Repeat, we’re experiencing total systems failure.”

  Tess stabbed keys, typing commands, fighting to take control of Virgil directly. She had to, or they were doomed. They would suffocate or freeze to death in a matter of hours. If she was able to take control of the computer, she could make herself believe they had a chance. She transmitted the command, then barked orders at her team, searching the voluminous lines of code for something alien.

  The room was now locked down. Multiple guards armed with automatic weapons formed a gauntlet across the back wall. Nick was talking in hushed tones with several men, two of whom wore military uniforms, three others in suits. Two vested German shepherds were on alert.

  Several of the project team looked around nervously, anxious to help but not sure what to do. Nick gathered senior members of the team and leaned against the table where Tess sat. His hands were trembling, his breath stale. “Sweet Jesus, how could this happen?” he asked. “Can you do anything? Modify whatever it was that contaminated Virgil?”

  “I sent the command to initiate direct interface just over thirteen minutes ago,” she replied. “When it’s established, there’s an order to send a list of all modifications. Once I understand the extent of the breach, and if I can establish control, there’s a chance I’ll be able to salvage the basic life support systems. But with the delay—”

  Her computer chimed, indicating a message from Virgil.

  ACCESS DENIED

  The wall screen flickered, and two white space suits appeared. The glass visors of their helmets were covered in a thin film of ice. The air and temperature indicators blinked amber—meaning levels below acceptable ranges.

  “Houston,” Ryan slurred, “our situation deteriorate… by… min… Main oxygen backup… somehow depleted. Temperature currently minus 198 Celsius. Heat coils in suits fail…” Their images were clear now, but his voice had stopped. Someone behind her qui
etly sobbed.

  This isn’t supposed to happen to them. Not them. Not like this.

  “Tess… right now… I’m going to believe you’ll be…” What came next was unintelligible. “Don’t let me—”

  She could hear him, struggling to breathe. Tess wanted to cry. She reached toward his image.

  “Don’t stop—” More static.

  Then the screen went blank.

  Goodbye? Not like this! Tess felt her mind and body separating. Seven minutes had passed since he spoke those words. The delay made this more horrific, tainted somehow. She closed her eyes, trying to summon some magic pause key or a rewind button.

  A hand on her shoulder, familiar this time. A whisper in her ear. “Tess, did you hear me? I said the light’s different here. Don’t you think?”

  3

  Natalie slid her hand off Tess’s shoulder. “I never get tired of this. It’s like looking at someone else’s dreams.” She moved in front of Tess and turned toward her, blocking the view of the painting. “You are a star, my beautiful friend. God, it’s really not fair. Nobody is supposed to be so damn good looking and talented. Part of me hates you. I really do. But I love you more. Much more. Enjoy this evening. Your life has changed forever.”

  “What?” Tess whispered, feeling as though she was submerged in the painting, soaked in its colors and textures but now being dragged out like some soggy revivalist from a baptismal tank.

  It was centered on the main wall, the obvious focal point for the evening’s event. She stared, mesmerized by the way her creation looked here on the sterile white background under the precise lighting of Michael’s gallery. He had strategically positioned her signature piece, Anicca’s Portal, for maximum dramatic effect. She stood completely still, willing herself to break the trance, reconnect with what was happening around her. Don’t get lost. Not now.