The Death of the Universe: Ghost Kingdom: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 2)

by Brandon Q Morris

  “Zhenyi? Can you hear me?”

  Crackling... Otherwise nothing.

  “Valja? Ada? Anyone there?”

  No one answered. In fact, he was inside a Faraday cage many light-years across. He should have thought of that. The Gigadyson was deliberately constructed that way, so that all energy was trapped inside it to be converted and made available to humanity. And the radio gave off nothing more than electromagnetic radiation: energy. Even if he increased the intensity, it wouldn’t make a difference.

  An unnatural calmness came over him. He was alone. His own momentum was carrying him in toward the quasar. He was slowly falling. His body would crumble to dust before he reached the quasar. At some point the others would notice he wasn’t responding. They would come after him and rescue him. They’d just need a long cable. So he had plenty of time.

  No, he didn’t. He felt the heat rising at his back. He took the safety line from his hip and wound it around his left arm. About 10 meters, he estimated. So, Ada, Valja, and Zhenyi would have 30 meters between them. Were there extra safety lines on board the shuttle? He couldn’t remember having seen any. The spider they had landed on the surface was a universal transporter, not a personnel transporter. Why would it have lines on board? He estimated that he was already 15 meters away from the hatch. His friends would have to rescue him as soon as possible.

  “Zhenyi? If you can hear me, I’m in a pretty dire situation,” he said over the radio.

  He got no answer.

  Oh, man, you are such an idiot, Kepler. What do you care about this body? The robot was just a vehicle for his consciousness. It didn’t matter if the others couldn’t reach him. As soon as they appeared at the hatch, he could use them as a relay to transmit his consciousness via the radio link to the control station and then back onto the ship. He would wake up again in his own body. And after that he would never leave it again. Kepler was relieved. Now he just had to wait.

  He set his body into a slow rotation. Since he was here, he may as well use the remaining time to marvel at the panorama. What human had ever had this opportunity? He should count himself lucky. The quasar at the center reminded him of a huge animal, greedily devouring everything that came near it. Humanity was basically feeding on its excrement and holding its feet up to the animal’s fur to warm itself.

  But he had forgotten one thing. Now and then the animal whipped its tail around. And that wasn’t made of soft fur, but hard radiation, and those who were warming themselves on the pelt had better stay out of the way of the tail.

  Kepler lifted his arm to look at his universal device. It wasn’t there. It was on the forearm of his spacesuit. How could he persuade this body to give him information? He focused his thoughts on what he wanted. When would the rotating jet of the quasar next hit this point on the interior of the sphere? He didn’t have limitless time after all. If the spurs of the jet, which partly consisted of charged particles, were to catch him, they would roast the robot’s electronics. His consciousness, of which he was so proud, would then have no place to hide. There would be nowhere for it to escape to.

  A timer appeared in his field of view. The digits were counting down. When they reached zero, the radiation levels would be so high that his robot body would fail. This kind of jet was not a narrowly defined phenomenon. He wouldn’t even see it coming. The radiation would simply increase in strength until it was too intense for the robot’s shielding.

  The five digits were now at 01665. That was less than 28 minutes. Zhenyi last heard from him ten minutes ago. Surely she wouldn’t sit around waiting for longer than half an hour? That wouldn’t be like her, it really wouldn’t. She would be here before that. But why hadn’t he worked all this out earlier? Because he hadn’t intended to stay in the interior any longer than necessary. The internal failsafe system of the sphere had lulled him into a false sense of security.

  The hatch would close a quarter of an hour before the radiation got too intense. And that would have been enough time to take a few samples! After that, no one would be able to open it until the storm had passed. But that meant that he didn’t have a somewhat-comfortable 28 minutes left to be rescued, he had to subtract 15 minutes—so only 13. How could he ever have been so stupid as to forget to attach his line? That hadn’t happened to him in billions of cycles! Was it because he was borrowing a strange body, of which there were millions of exemplars? Should he have taken better care of his own unique body?

  There was another problem. If he had to transmit his consciousness via radio, that would take a while. The countdown was now at 01424, which was 23 minutes. In eight minutes the hatch would close. A laser transfer from the spaceship to the control station was very efficient. His consciousness only needed a pulse of a few seconds. But the robot radio wasn’t designed for such large amounts of data. Kepler calculated the transmission time. He estimated six minutes—in the best-case scenario, if the radio signal wasn’t disrupted from outside. But a surging particle stream from the quasar could significantly disrupt any radio transmission. So six minutes was very optimistic.

  Zhenyi, you should show up at the hatch right about now, he thought.

  Or now.

  Now would also be good. I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life!

  Maybe now?

  The open hatch was a black hole on the shiny interior surface of the Gigadyson. The gravitational force had now pulled him more than 30 meters into the interior. The available safety lines would no longer reach him. The hole was getting smaller and smaller. In his imagination it became a reset switch for the giant computer that was creating the quasar at the center as a pure simulation. Many electronic devices had that kind of tiny switch. A pointed instrument was inserted into it to trigger a button that restarted the device. The gigantic computer would shut itself down, then boot up again, and the quasar would disappear because the programmer forgot to put the quasar simulation in the startup folder.

  There was a beep.

  The sound was alerting him to the fact that the countdown had gone below 01000: 16.65 minutes. It was time to say goodbye. In less than two minutes the hatch would close. He couldn’t salvage his consciousness in that short a time, even if Zhenyi, Valja, or Ada were to appear at the hatch right now.

  It was nice to know you, Zhenyi. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to get to know you, Valja and Ada. Now that he’d articulated those thoughts, they were in the world. They had become information and therefore immortal, because information couldn’t be destroyed. What would happen to that information when the electronics that preserved his spirit evaporated? Maybe the quasar would consume it, to be eternally remembered in the event horizon of the black hole that was in its belly.

  But was it also possible that his thoughts could somehow reach their target? That was a comforting thought. Just as the matter that he was made of could at some point find itself part of a star or a living being, his thoughts could also nourish another consciousness. Did people always succumb to such strange ideas just before death? He wasn’t dead yet, but it was certainly an interesting experience.

  What about his backup? Another version of himself existed in Terra’s memory stores. But would that be right? His last backup had been made several hundred thousand years ago, before the near catastrophe. Was that even him anymore? And would Zhenyi be able to reconcile herself with this earlier version of his personality? It was missing a large part of the time they had shared together. No, that wouldn’t work. He hoped she would not resort to the backup, that she would just let him die.

  Was this the right time? But that was the wrong question. He could be proud of himself—after all, they had rescued the universe together. But it was a shame that he had to leave now. It somehow seemed to him that the real story was only just beginning.

  00945—15 minutes and 45 seconds.

  The countdown seemed to be slowing. Maybe that was another phenomenon that you experienced when you were dying. The quasar left his field of view again. His body was rotating very slowly. He
could see the dark hole that would soon be covered again by the hatch. In his last few minutes, the interior surface of the Gigadyson would look beautiful from his perspective. It would gleam and engulf him in reflected sun fire.

  The hole had grown bigger. That was impossible! But it kept growing. The hole couldn’t be growing. It was getting closer to him! Something was pushing him back toward the hatch. His imagination must be playing tricks on him. That must be the delirium of a dying man. Gravity couldn’t have suddenly reversed. Kepler closed his eyes briefly. The robot couldn’t actually close its eyes, but he turned off its optical sense. Then he turned it back on. The hatch was undeniably closer.

  00920.

  The hatch would close when the countdown reached 00900.

  Then he’d be dead.

  But it was only another ten meters! Nine, eight, he could count them, every second brought him almost a meter closer to the hole. Only three more meters, and the countdown was at 00912. Kepler stretched his arms out in front of him as far as he could. He reached for the edge of the hatch. A force was pushing him from behind.

  Only two more meters, one meter, then his metal fingers hooked onto the edge of the hatch. He grabbed on so tightly that he scratched it, but he didn’t care now. Kepler quickly swung himself inside. His body reached the shaft, but his hand had gripped the edge of the hatch so powerfully that it wouldn’t let go. The joints must have been damaged. Not now!

  00902.

  Kepler couldn’t free his hand. He tore with all his strength, but the mechanical fingers clung on, as though they were welded to the shell.

  00900.

  The hatch closed. It moved into place with such force that the steel fingers were severed. Kepler clenched his teeth together. The pain would come soon. But nothing happened. The robot didn’t feel anything. There was just a red signal in his field of view telling him that his right hand was no longer functional.

  Then he was pulled upward.

  “Man, Johannes, what the hell were you doing?” asked Zhenyi.

  She hauled him up through the passageway as though he was badly injured. His body was almost entirely functional, but he was happy to allow himself to be carried. He had no desire to think right now. The others could do that for him. He was probably in shock. His consciousness had almost died. He was alive, but what had happened couldn’t unhappen, and it had left a deep impression.

  “Everything’s fine,” was all he said when Ada, Valja, or Zhenyi asked him how he was, or—a little later—what had happened.

  He knew quite well that this answer didn’t reassure them, but he couldn’t manage anything else just yet. He looked at Zhenyi. Even in her robot body she was beautiful. The three of them decided to take him to the control station in the shuttle. He felt like he wasn’t even there. It was a wonderful state to be in. The others were thinking and acting for him, and all he had to do was watch them.

  It wasn’t until he was on board the control station that he came back to his senses. Ada had just received the results from the analyzer and was sharing them with everyone. His immediate surroundings disappeared from view, replaced by a 3D map of the shaft and its surroundings.

  “I’ve marked the locations Johannes took samples from,” said Ada.

  Several points lit up. Kepler focused on a spot near the entrance. The sample from there only contained substances that either existed in the shell of the Gigadyson or had obviously been deposited from interstellar space. He moved to a sample inside the shaft, marked with a reddish light. Ah, it showed a few molecules of rubber, a long-chain hydrocarbon found in astronauts’ boots. Ada had obviously already marked all the unusual sample sites.

  Deeper in the shaft the analyzer had found another rubber sample. Shortly before the hatch, however, there was another molecule that belonged to the category of synthetic fibers. There were also metallic deposits directly by the hatch.

  “This is exciting,” said Valentina. “It looks like someone climbed down there wearing boots. So, not a robot.”

  “Or someone wants us to think that,” said Zhenyi.

  “The metal by the hatch,” said Kepler. “That could be the flexible shroud of a dark matter hose. Titanium and magnesium. That’s quite typical.”

  “You’re back with us? I’m so glad,” said Zhenyi. “I was really worried. We were all worried. Don’t you want to rest a bit?”

  Something touched his arm. Kepler refocused his attention from the model of the shaft back to reality. Zhenyi had come over to him and squeezed his arm. She really had been worried. Kepler’s face became very warm. He hadn’t realized how good it would feel to know that.

  “Thanks, my love, but this is all too exciting,” he said.

  “Up to you.” Zhenyi let go of him.

  Kepler returned his focus to the 3D model of the shaft. Ada had now added a replica of a hose. “There’s one more sample further up that shows increased metal content,” she said.

  “That would fit,” he agreed.

  “But the pipe’s contents must have flowed into a container,” said Valentina. “Where was it?”

  “It was flying in low orbit over the Gigadyson,” said Zhenyi.

  “One moment,” said Ada.

  The representation flashed a few times.

  “Now you can see it,” said Ada. “In the samples from the surface there’s a significantly higher proportion of interstellar dust. That must have been caused by the chemical thrusters of the unidentified ship.”

  “Which means we have evidence that a ship was here,” said Valentina.

  “So we’re dealing with thieves?” asked Zhenyi. “Someone’s helping themselves to the supplies without paying?”

  “That’s what it looks like,” said Ada.

  “Then we should see if FF02 is of the same opinion,” Zhenyi added.

  Kepler had forgotten that they’d rescued the autonomous unit. They would surely be able to solve the puzzle with the data from that.

  “I’ll play back the last few minutes,” said Ada.

  All at once Kepler was floating in space. He was looking through the camera eyes of FF02 and he sensed her curiosity. Up ahead of her she had discovered a heat source that was typical of a medium-sized spaceship. She approached the target. She detected movement in the honeycomb section where the maintenance shaft was located. She measured the infrared signal. They must be humans. Robots were colder.

  She had to be careful. The presence of humans on the shell of the Gigadyson was generally prohibited. FF02 must identify the intruders—there were two—and send their data on to the system. Then they’d be apprehended as soon as they stopped at any kind of official station, to refuel, for example.

  FF02 continued to close in. She maintained a consistent flight attitude so the intruders wouldn’t notice her. Her cameras were sufficient to identify the humans from this height, even in spacesuits. An individual revealed so many patterns, in their movements on the ground or in space, by their gestures, that you could distinguish them from all other humans. The astronauts were bending over the shaft. It looked like they were pulling on something. Then they stood up and a kind of snake crept out of the hatch. No, it wasn’t a creature, it was a hose. The intruders were trying to...

  The video was cut off. To Kepler, it seemed like he was falling into nothingness. Then he stumbled back to reality.

  “What happened?” asked Zhenyi.

  “FF02 must have been shot down at that moment,” said Ada. “If you’d concentrated on the heat sensors instead of the cameras, you would have noticed the thermal effect on the unit’s solar cells, just before it fell.” Her tone was slightly admonishing.

  “It’s lucky we have you, sweetheart,” said Valja.

  “That makes the case seem pretty clear,” said Zhenyi. “We’re on the trail of hardened thieves. It’s a pity FF02 couldn’t identify them further. Then we’d be able to fly home.”

  “How do individuals get the idea of helping themselves to something that belongs to humanity as a wh
ole?” asked Valentina.

  “Sorry,” interjected Keppler, “but I still think there’s something else going on. Why didn’t they completely destroy FF02? Wasn’t it possible that she had already identified them? Or are we not the first ones to have seen her recordings?”

  “We are, Johannes,” said Ada. “No one else has been here. The encryption can only be cracked by the system itself.”

  “So they had every reason to destroy the head of the fallen probe.”

  “Maybe they were interrupted and had to cut things short,” said Valentina.

  Maybe. Should he tell them about the strange force that had pushed him back to the hatch? They might think that was wishful thinking. But it must tie in with all of this, so he couldn’t stay silent.

  “I’m still skeptical, because something crazy happened to me inside the sphere and I can’t explain it,” said Kepler.

  He described his experience to the three women. They reacted with skepticism, as he’d predicted.

  “That’s interesting,” said Zhenyi. “Are you sure that you actually drifted back out? You did seem a bit... disoriented.”

  “That’s because I was going to die. And then I didn’t.”

  “Situations like that can make you believe things that are impossible,” said Ada.

  “I believe you,” said Valja.

  “And what brought me back to the hatch?”

  “The pressure of the radiation on your body. You did say the jet was coming closer. That means the radiation pressure would have been slowly increasing. It pushed you back out. In the low gravity that’s not impossible. Whole ships sail through space using radiation pressure.”

  Yes, he supposed, that might be one explanation. Kepler did a somersault in the robot body. He factored in its weight and profile. The calculation didn’t add up. “Sorry,” he said, “but if it was the radiation pressure, at this size I would’ve had to weigh only a hundred grams—or the radiation would have to have been a hundred times stronger than it actually is.”

  “Maybe you weren’t as far from the hatch as you thought,” said Ada.