“Why ‘trying’? Did they not succeed?” asked the president.
“Quite the opposite,” replied Shelby. “We think they actually did succeed and their ship, or a whole fleet of them, we don’t know which because we were only observing the operation of the portals, reached its destination and appeared out of hyperspace somewhere in the vicinity of Andromeda. After that, all the aliens’ ships disappeared and so did their portals, every single one of them.”
The president looked inquiringly at his secretary, as though he was expecting him to solve this riddle.
“But where did they go?” he asked.
“We believe that the ships were destroyed, and so were the portals.”
“What? All of them simultaneously? How is that possible? What was the reason for it?”
“It looks as if we were right in believing that civilisations at a more advanced level of development than even our guests exist in Andromeda. The nature of the consequences of the super-long-distance throw argues in favour of the theory that ‘our’ aliens, by making the leap to Andromeda, triggered a defence mechanism protecting the civilisations there against invasion from outside the galaxy. Apparently this mechanism reconfigured certain fundamental constants of our Universe, thus making the existence of cosmic catapults and portals, at least those based on the principles used by the aliens, impossible. This led to the destruction of the portals and the aliens’ ships.”
“Why the ships?”
“Their ships are, or rather were, built on a very interesting principle. What we see is not the actual spacecraft, but a local anomaly in the space-time continuum existing partly in our world and partly in another dimension, within which the interior of the ship is concealed. This explains many puzzling things about their spacecraft.
“For example, their ships move in space without any visible indications of the effect of inertia. They are capable of decelerating and of achieving fantastic speeds virtually simultaneously.
“Furthermore, we were very surprised to learn that their ‘hull plating’ has a temperature no different from that of a vacuum. This is impossible for a system in which energy conversion takes place, particularly in the quantities required for space engines of such power.
“It also explains why our most powerful weapons were ineffective against their ships. There is no material known to us in the Universe capable of withstanding the strike made against the first contact ship.”
“But that ship was thrown from its orbit, so it must have felt the effect.”
“Who knows if it was thrown out by the explosion or if this was only simulated? In any case, such a strike could not have been withstood by any material object in the Universe of such dimensions and density without damage to its integrity.”
“So how did these ships exist and move about in space?”
“They created a gravity funnel in front of themselves, enabling them to reach fantastic speeds. Physically, the ship falls into a pit, as it were. Unfortunately our knowledge of their ships is scanty – not that it matters now, because apparently the existence of such devices is no longer possible in our Universe.”
The president was gradually becoming calmer. The way the situation was developing, it was not as hopeless as it had at first appeared.
“Professor, before all these events, you suggested that an advanced civilisation exists in Andromeda. Why did the aliens not work this out themselves and avoid such a stupid blunder?”
“Perhaps they supposed or knew that they would arrive in a populated galaxy, but incorrectly judged the reaction of the races there.”
“But why did they not manage to counteract it? Surely they must have thought of taking some sort of precautionary measures?”
“Either they were taken by surprise, or the civilisations there are at a higher stage of technological development. This, by the way, is highly probable, seeing that Andromeda offers greater possibilities for development than the Milky Way. It is much larger, much more active, and has much more mass. Comparing the two galaxies is like comparing a city to a village. The city has more people, they are better educated and richer, and they have better chances of creating something technologically complex.”
“How is it at all possible to reconfigure the fundamental constants of the entire Universe? I still remember our physics teacher at school saying that if the fundamental constants in our Universe changed even to the slightest extent, life here would be impossible.”
Shelby nodded.
“You are right. I would go further: not only life, but the stars around us too. The parameters of our Universe appear to be precisely calculated in such a way that they permit the existence of the world we see around us.
“But we know that this is not the only possible set of fundamental parameters. Yes, they must be very finely tuned, but there can be an infinite number of variants. Therefore it is difficult to undertake a reconfiguration, but it is not impossible.”
The president suddenly got up from his chair and unhurriedly walked over to a small fish tank standing in the corner of the tent. Many multicoloured fish were swimming in the attractive pale blue light illuminating the tank. He looked at these fish for a few seconds, then knocked lightly on the glass, frightening a shoal of red fish with yellow stripes. They scattered and, in the blink of an eye, disappeared into the undergrowth of the water-plant forest.
“For every big fish, you can always find an even bigger one,” he said, and turned back to Shelby and MacQueen. “So the aliens are left without their portals and ships?”
“Exactly, Mr. President.”
“When was the first portal built?”
“They began building the array about 200,000 years ago, apparently after they had gained sufficient experience of galactic colonisation and economic power, and the first portal was built about 700,000 years ago, sir.”
“Seven hundred thousand years,” muttered the president, who was now pacing around the tent immersed in thought. He felt the alcohol in the brandy he had drunk reacting pleasantly in his head, making him more inclined towards adventures. Just like during his studies at university...
“So they have been thrown back to their Stone Age, have they?”
“It’s quite possible that at this very moment they are experiencing the collapse of civilisation. A highly developed civilisation is ill-suited to the destruction of its important infrastructure. It’s also possible they are losing their status as the dominant race in the Milky Way, and will collapse into numerous local civilisations.”
The president turned towards Shelby and smiled a rapacious smile.
“Nature abhors a vacuum, does it not, professor?”
“Yes, sir, but...”
“They no longer have ships, they no longer have portals, and their economy has been destroyed, whereas we at this time are experiencing a golden century of progress. We have wonderful ships, we have remote manipulation technology, and now we also have the hemisphere, giving us more energy than we ever dreamed of. And we don’t have officious aliens dictating their terms to us and not allowing us to approach them, for fear that we might, God forbid, copy their technologies!”
Shelby looked at the general sitting next to him and then at the secretary. They were no less dumbfounded by the president’s words than Shelby himself.
“You want to challenge the aliens?”
“Good God, no! I haven’t gone out of my mind yet. But as you yourself have said many times, professor, our behaviour, our history, our evolution – these are not things that happened by chance, but the result of the objective laws of nature.”
“Quite right. We behave as others would do if they were in our place.”
The president paused briefly and looked into the eyes of the professor, who calmly withstood his gaze. Behind Shelby’s mild manners and inoffensive appearance, a strong character was concealed. The president gave him a kindly smile.
“Professor, I only hope you will prove to be right again.”
# # #
Join my spam-free mailing list to receive info on my new releases by sending an e-mail to
[email protected]
The prequel of “Beyond the event horizon”:
“THE CONTACT”
An excerpt:
The spacecraft reaches Mercury at the intended time and begins sending signals to determine the precise orbit of the planet. The experiment begins that evening. A command is sent to increase the speed of Mercury from the Experiment Control Centre at the moon base. Three hours later, the International Space Station, scientists at the moon station and also many other groups of scientists on Earth, register an increase in the diameter of Mercury’s orbit round the Sun by two percent. Once the experiment is over, Mercury’s orbit is slowed down to its previous level.
Soon after, a Chilean observatory observes a space object moving from outer space which could potentially collide with Earth. Precise calculations of its flight trajectory are not yet possible because it is so far away, and the orbital telescopes, even those in orbit round the gas giants, are currently being used in support of an experiment testing remote manipulation technology. In view of the low speed of the object, the time for it to reach the Earth’s orbit is estimated as hundreds of years, so a low priority is given to clarifying its trajectory. Nevertheless, the instruction is entered into the central computer for a second observation of the object a week later, to confirm the low priority status.
At the next observation session, the object is not detected. The telescope control system probes the space sectors in the region of the assumed location. The unidentified space body is eventually detected, but its actual position differs greatly from that initially assumed. Following its programmed instructions, the telescope computer corrects the calculation data and raises the priority for finally calculating the trajectory. The third observation session is appointed for 24 hours later.
The third observation session reveals an even greater calculation error. The Chilean telescope’s automatic control system has to notify the scientific personnel...
US link “THE CONTACT”: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00LKOY6IC
MY OTHER BOOK:
Entangled (a short story)
Aaron has cheated death once more... the heart attack didn’t kill him, just made him contemplative, walking the corridors of his life’s memories. Read Aaron’s incredible journey, written in a comfortably lazy, lyrical style that evokes all the senses – all the tastes, aromas and sweet touches of life.
Entangled is now available on Amazon for free
US link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J9GV08M
An excerpt from “Entangled”:
Aaron came to, opening his eyes with some difficulty. He could dimly make out the contours of the room. His surroundings lacked any distinct detail, just random grey-coloured silhouettes and strange shapes which, when looked at more closely, merged into familiar objects.
He tried to raise himself up off the bed to see more but was unable, his arms were not up to the task - his muscles simply refused to do their job. He would have to settle for just moving his eyes. Moving his head also proved impossible. An impotent weakness enveloped his whole body.
OK. Now he understood. It was a hospital. Aaron had absolutely no memory of how he had ended up there, which meant it had happened again. His doctor had warned him that sooner or later it would happen, and it looked like that time had come. He had had a heart attack. The second in two years.
Aaron could feel his teeth chattering as if he were freezing to death. But he was well covered, he was warm, so it was not from cold. It had been the same last time. Maybe fear? No, he was not scared of death. The worst was already behind him. The very fact that he was lying in a hospital bed looking at a hospital ward meant that this time around he had survived again. Everyone died at some point, and one day it would be his turn, but not this time. This time he had pulled through.
In a way, he was already getting used to the thought of his death. After his first heart attack, he had not been himself at all. Back then, the first time round, when he had also come to in a hospital bed, the doctor had told him what had happened and he had almost broken down. He knew that his life would no longer be the same ever again. Tears had run down his ageing, wrinkled cheeks and he had been unable to stop them. This time, however, it was bearable.
Suddenly, the door swung open and a doctor came into the ward, followed by a nurse. Aaron could barely make out the outlines of the newcomers, but he could distinguish the silhouettes and hear steady footsteps. In a hospital, only the doctors walk with such confidence. The patients are too weak and visitors tread softly, trying not to make too much noise. They practically walk on their tiptoes. The doctors, however, are a different matter. They stomp around like soldiers on parade. Also, he could smell them. A smell that only doctors in white coats give off. Even with his sense of smell, dulled by noxious vapours after forty years in a factory, he could tell them a mile away.
"Good morning, Aaron! How are you feeling?" said the taller and leaner silhouette. His voice was encouraging. The atmosphere in the ward seemed to lose some of its melancholy and become more welcoming.
"Sister, would you open the window please? It is a little stuffy," said the doctor.
Aaron watched the second, smaller silhouette obediently move over to the window, pull at the sash cord and open it with a rattling screech. Noise from the street burst into the ward. The twitter of birds, the conversation of passersby, the clicking of heels on the pavement. After a moment, Aaron could feel the cool air flowing in from outside. First it touched his cheeks, then it blew down his thinning, grey hair to his shoulders, and soon it enveloped him completely, hugging him in a cold embrace that he could feel even through his warm blanket. The chilly freshness was more than welcome. It had a particular smell, which for some reason he always associated with the smell of watermelons.
Suddenly he saw an image of himself many years before, also springtime, arriving home from work with a bag containing an enormous, stripy watermelon. He had only been married for a short while and he and his wife had just moved into their first apartment together. Their firstborn could already sit up unaided, and Jessica was pregnant with their second. Hearing the front door close, she popped her head around the kitchen door.
"Ah, it's you. Wash your hands and sit down. Dinner’s on the table already," she said to him, her words coming out in a rush. In one hand she held an empty baby bottle, having only just finished feeding the baby.
The food was already waiting for him on the table, and there was a wonderful smell rising up from the steaming plate. Jessica rocked their child in her arms. The baby was looking at the enormous watermelon in his father’s arms wide-eyed, as though it was an unknown miracle.
Aaron washed the stripy fruit, wiped it dry and took out a large knife. No sooner had he sunk the knife through the thick skin when a crack appeared along the back of the watermelon. The small kitchen was immediately filled with its aroma, an aroma that was the very essence of freshness. He cut off a small slice and tasted it.
"How sweet it is. The baby will love it. Do you want some?" he asked his wife.
"Go on then."
He cut two pieces from the very middle and carefully removed all the seeds, then gave one to Jessica and held the other out to his son. He opened his mouth obediently and Aaron fed him a piece. The boy ate the juicy fruit noisily and happily. As he chewed, he looked at both his parents in wonderment.
"Do you like it, my little teddy bear?"
Their teddy bear reached out towards the table where the fragrant watermelon sat.
"You want some more?"
The child laughed. It would have been impossible for him not to have liked the sweet delicacy. Aaron cut another piece. They stood like that in the small kitchen and watched as their tiny
little son ate watermelon for the first time in his life. Aaron hugged Jessica from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and stroking her stomach. In her seventh month of pregnancy, she was gradually starting to look like a watermelon. And that is what he called her - my little watermelon.
Jessica came up with the nickname herself. Six months ago when they had been planning their holiday, Aaron had not been able to get time off at the beginning of the summer as he had wanted, only nearer the end. His wife was already pregnant, so did not like the idea of having their holiday three months later than planned.
"I'll be bobbing about in the sea like a watermelon," she’d said at the time, and Aaron had laughed, imagining what she was going to look like. It really had been funny, and her description proved to be spot on.
Now, however, he was standing embracing his wife and looking at their son. Jessica tilted her head back slightly and her brown hair brushed against his face. He could smell her hair and feel the warmth of her body. And in her arms their first son sat quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from the watermelon. Aaron knew he would remember this moment for the rest of his life.
US link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J9GV08M
Albert Sartison, 2015
Beyond the Event Horizon - Episode Four Page 8
