This would be a good time to get out if I can. I've just thrown the engines to full power. I hope it works, but I won't know until I get a read from the Explorer.
The problem now is communications. I can't talk to the Gravity Explorer directly—our time rate difference is too large. Now we record our words and send them to each other as data files. But this layer of processing makes it all but impossible to have a simple back-and-forth conversation.
They say it will take them a couple of hours to calculate how the engines will perform at my current position above the black hole. I'll be nothing but nerves until I hear the results. But then, I'll only have to wait half their time. A small consolation.
While I'm waiting, I find it comforting to train my telescope on the Explorer. It looks bluer than normal, of course.
I can't help but concentrate on the sounds of the engines. Every little variation, real or imagined, sends my pulse racing.
* * * *
Entry 71
Explorer Clock: 14 May 2048—19:29
Capsule Clock: 13 May 2048—05:53
I've just received news from the Explorer. My vessel will slide further in before the engines bring it to a stop—to the 300-percent level, they think. Worse, there is no way the engines have enough power to get me out. The Gravity Explorer can't do anything for me either. They're waiting for instructions from NASA, and it will take them two months to hear back. I'll only need to wait weeks. Little consolation!
I trust NASA, though. I've got to. They'll get me out.
I hate this.
* * * *
Entry 73
Explorer Clock: 26 Jun 2048—05:37
Capsule Clock: 29 May 2048—06:05
I can't just wander my cramped quarters and do nothing—not without going insane. I'm studying up on the Richardson Effect. Maybe I can think of something. Sure, once NASA gets the news from the Explorer, they'll put everything they've got on it, but it's not life or death for them.
* * * *
Entry 75
Explorer Clock: 30 Jun 2048—20:14
Capsule Clock: 30 May 2048—17:46
I can hardly cope with the torrent of data coming in from Earth now. When I'm not studying or sleeping, I watch transmissions from my wife and daughter. Jennifer is a little older each time I look at her. I wanted to be able to see her grow up, but not this way.
"It's hard not to feel compassion for the creature,” signaled the Keeper, his attention locked on the translation cylinder.
"Very hard."
* * * *
Entry 76
Explorer Clock: 02 Jul 2048—05:40
Capsule Clock: 31 May 2048—03:36
I've got an idea how to get out of this. Theoretically, it should be possible to divert power from the Richardson Field to the engines. This is touchy since if I divert too much, the field won't be able to protect me from tidal forces. If the field fails, it would be like dying on the rack—stretched for hundreds of miles—a nasty death.
I'm pretty sure I can build the control circuit to channel the Richardson Field. It won't be easy, though, as first I'll have to make the tools. Then before I even start building, I'll have to salvage field-programmable logic array chips from back-up computer boards—tiny surface-mount chips.
I've located the right computer board. It has an awkward triangular shape, but it'll do.
I don't think I'm going to tell Mark about this. He'd want me to let NASA handle it, especially since I'll have to cannibalize for parts. But deep down, maybe I don't want to tell him because he might find a flaw in the plan.
"Triangular?” signaled the Keeper. “That's the sculpture, isn't it?"
"Yes,” signaled the Librarian.
* * * *
Entry 77
Explorer Clock: 02 Aug 2048—04:49
Capsule Clock: 08 Jun 2048—12:27
I've just heard from NASA. They've said all the right words, but what it comes down to is that they'll whip up a rescue mission, but they can't say when. I'm not surprised. I know how NASA works.
There's even worse news; they've calculated that the Capsule will sink a good bit further into the gravity well before stopping. They can't predict exactly how much. But it's not going to make my rescue any easier.
So it comes to this: either I get my field diverter circuit built, or I'm stranded here—maybe for years.
* * * *
Entry 79
Explorer Clock: 3 Sep 2048—5:25
Capsule Clock: 16 Jun 2048—12:36
I've just gotten devastating news from the Explorer—although I can't say it was unexpected. NASA says they have to return to Earth. I'm okay since my food and oxygen will last a long while, at least by their time. Time though, is getting to be a tricky concept to keep on top of.
I can't bear to think of the Gravity Explorer going back, leaving me alone here. I'll be isolated in space, but in a real sense, isolated in time also.
There is some good news, relatively speaking. They'll detach their antenna array and leave it. That way I'll still have contact with home.
Mark really doesn't want to go. I can hear it in his voice. But then, he has a family too, and he has no choice. He tells me that if it looks as if my provisions are likely to run out, just take the Time Capsule a little deeper. That'll give NASA more time to get together the rescue mission.
My Field diverter board is coming along, but at a glacial pace. The work is more like art than engineering. I've had to laser-melt the solder from the backup computer boards so I can reuse it for my diverter. And I'm using first aid tape for insulation. It is tedious beyond measure. I'm racing time. For every hour I work, over four hours go by on Earth. And it'll only get worse. And I can only work on the board for four or five hours at a time before I start making mistakes. I have to take breaks, agonizingly long breaks.
The Keeper paused in his scanning of the cylinder. “He struggles for his technology the way we struggle for our art."
The Librarian pulsed agreement.
* * * *
Entry 80
Explorer Clock: 03 Sep 2048—15:48
Capsule Clock: 16 Jun 2048—15:01
The Gravity Explorer is gone.
* * * *
Entry 85
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 25 Jun 2048—17:18
I've been watching Earth transmissions, but it is hard. I feel that the half-hour spent watching an occasional sitcom is a waste of time, days and weeks of time. And the news programs are less interesting to me now since I'm losing touch with the context. It's hard keeping up. I feel like I'm drowning, events flashing before my eyes so rapidly, I can't pause for breath.
I saw myself on the news today—moving slowly, as if through molasses. I'm beginning to feel like history.
The engines seem to be working well, thank God. I wish I could move my ship into orbit around the black hole and not have to worry about the engines. But then I'd lose my line of sight with the antennas and wouldn't be able to communicate with home. I couldn't bear that.
Anyway, around a three-hundred—meter horizon-diameter black hole, that orbit would be too fast to be stable.
But above all, it is the diverter board that obsesses me—that little triangular circuit board that is my link to home. When I'm working on it, I can hold off the despair.
"Who is that God, he thanks?” the Keeper signaled.
"I'm not sure, Keeper. Perhaps you should ask a Theon."
"That is what I was afraid of."
* * * *
Entry 86
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 26 Jun 2048—09:00
I look at myself in the mirror and see that I'm ragged and exhausted. It's hard for me to sleep. I don't want to, and when I do succumb to sleep, months pass.
* * * *
Entry 88
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 28 Jun 2048—09:00
Jennifer is getting married.
A
s my ship sinks into the abyss, Earth-time moves ever more quickly. I've watched as my little girl has grown up: going from Brownies to Girl Scouts, discovering boys, going off to college and now is about to get married. (I'm really happy for you, Jennifer. He seems a nice guy—not much younger than me, actually. At least I don't envy his youth.)
* * * *
Entry 89
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 30 Jun 2048—07:49
I'm afraid my wife has aged badly. I hate myself for it, but I find I'm becoming repulsed by her wrinkled face surrounded by white hair. It feels as if I've married a grandmother. “Grow old along with me.” God, I wish I could.
Mark, my twin and soul mate, is becoming an old man.
Needless to say, NASA has not sent out a rescue ship, and I've grown tired of asking them why. Either they don't have the technology or they don't have the money. Even if they did send in a ship, there's not much for me to go back to. My colleagues are dying like flies.
Damn it! When will this diverter board be done?
* * * *
Entry 90
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 01 Jul 2048—09:00
I don't have video communications anymore and have to make do with old-fashioned audio and text transmissions. Not that the news from home is good. My wife has died, and my brother is near death. Jennifer is 64, almost twice my age. She calls me by my first name now, as “Daddy” seems increasingly inappropriate. At my current rate of time flow, she'll die within hours. I don't know if I can take that. I love her dearly, and she's my last connection to Earth.
I've finished the diverter board. Now I've got to wire it into the Richardson Field controller. It's straightforward, but it requires precision. One slip and it's all over.
* * * *
Entry 92
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 03 Jul 2048—10:26
I'm utterly alone. The Earth link has gone down. I don't know why. I guess after a century or so, the antenna-targeting servos were bound to fail.
Why am I still updating my log? Jennifer's dead. The log was for her. Habit, I guess. Something to do. An attempt to keep my wife and daughter alive in my mind. I don't know.
The diverter board is connected. All I have to do is to turn it on. But, I'm afraid. What if it doesn't work? I'll either die or be left without hope, and I'm not sure which is worse.
I'm staring at the little triangular diverter board—my three-sided salvation. I hope and pray.
I've got to stop temporizing. I'll have a cup of coffee and throw the switch.
* * * *
Entry 93
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 03 Jul 2048—11:31
It didn't work.
"I go dark for him,” signaled the Keeper, “even though if it had worked, I assume we'd never have gotten the journal. But still, I grieve."
The Librarian emitted a field of shared empathy.
* * * *
Entry 95
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 05 July 2048—01:16
I've come to grips with the failure of the diverter board. I'm alone but I have humanity's works all around me: ghosts of humanity. I feel like a ghost myself.
Since I've lost contact with Earth, I don't feel as if events are rushing by anymore. I have time—all the time in the world.
I talk to myself and play chess passionately—not against the computer, but against myself. Is this schizophrenia? I wonder if my mind is going. I'd hate that since my mind is all I have left. I find myself humming Bach fugues, using the drone of the engines as counterpoint. The engines are a comfort. They seem alive.
But why after all these thousands of years, has no one come to explore this black hole? Even if they've long forgotten me, what's happened to humanity's drive for exploration? For that matter, what's happened to humanity? I'm plagued by the thought that there may have been another Dark Age from which the Earth has never recovered. Why else would they have given up on the universe?
After all that has happened, I don't know why this troubles me so much, but the constellations have changed. The stars are drifting out of position and the sky that I've watched since I was a small boy is turning alien. Orion, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia ... I have the urge to reach out and put the stars back where they belong.
At least the Sun will pretty much stay put. The black hole and the Sun are in fact a weak binary system. The black hole will stay in the solar neighborhood indefinitely.
* * * *
Entry 96
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 05 July 2048—13:00
One more isolation—this time from myself. Apparently, the magnetic pulse from the diverter board scrambled the computer's hard drive. The programs are okay; they're on ROM. But my journal has been trashed. I've worked hard to recover as much of my log as possible—committing it to paper this time. I don't know why I feel so attached to this journal, especially as I'm the only one who'll ever read it.
Now I'm printing out hard copy of the entries as I write them. There's a comfort in paper.
* * * *
Entry 97
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 06 July 2048—15:12
The Sun has just gone into its red-giant phase. Its diameter reaches out to the Earth's orbit. The Earth is now a charred cinder.
Since there is little else to do, I've been making astronomical observations—measurements of the time rate of change of the Hubble constant. (My little girl is gone, so I can write like an astrophysicist again.) Mark was right. The universe will die the entropy death of expanding into nothingness. Gosh, I'd like to tell him that, but he's been dead for billions of years. I know the answer to the ultimate question of cosmology, but there is no one to tell.
* * * *
The Keeper quivered in surprise, an electromagnetic aura of excitement radiating from his body. “Billions of years? Are you sure of the time unit?"
"Completely."
"This is wonderful, fantastic, great!” He flowed over to the Librarian. “Do you know what this means?"
The Librarian exuded shared joy. “Yes, Keeper. But I didn't want to spoil the thrill of your discovery."
The Keeper threw excited electromagnetic spikes to the extremities of the lab. “The Theons are wrong,” he signaled. He grew dark, then focused on the Librarian. “You must publish the journal immediately. If the Theons are shown wrong that the universe was created one million years ago, then they're totally discredited. We can outgrow this idiotic idea of Artistic Creation."
"Agreed, but...” The Librarian emitted a soft aura of tentativeness.
"Not you too, Librarian."
"No, no. Of course not,” signaled the Librarian. “But I do wish there were an aesthetically pleasing explanation of the origins of life on our world."
The Keeper's aura clouded. “Yes. It is a vexing question.” It brightened. “Now about that journal..."
"Yes, of course. I'll beam it directly to the Disseminator. Do you wish to scan the rest of the document before I do?"
The Keeper paused. “No. I'm too excited to scan more at the moment. I'll absorb the rest when it hits the ether.” He exuded a contemplative aura, then set the cylinder on a lab table. “Still, I'd like to meet here again tomorrow—at first light plus two, if that is possible for you."
"Yes. Certainly."
Shortly after dawn-major, the Keeper stormed into the lab. The Librarian awaited him.
"The cursed field-dead Theons,” the Keeper signaled, choppily. “They claim the journal is a hoax and the craft a clever fabrication. They cite the lack of an alien body as proof."
The Librarian, his aura showing dejection, signaled, “I know. The Theons have always been better at dissemination than we've been."
The Keeper showed agreement. “I'm afraid so. With this claim of fraud, they'll be stronger than ever.” He flowed to the lab table and took up t
he cylinder. “In the frenzy,” he signaled, “I didn't manage to finish scanning it."
"There's not much more,” signaled the Librarian. “Please feel free to scan it now."
"Thank you."
* * * *
Entry 98
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 07 July 2048—11:22
It's almost funny. I was going over the diverter board. There was a cold solder joint—a damned solder joint. It was an easy fix. Took fifteen minutes.
It still didn't work. When I hooked it up, the board emitted a wild assortment of electromagnetic field signals. All the computer and video monitors go crazy when the diverter is on.
But the tragically funny part is that the diverter diverted me from finding the solution. I worked the math (I can't understand why NASA didn't come up with this) and found that if I used an escape pod, I could maneuver it in front of the Time Capsule. The Capsule's Richardson Field should shield the pod. I could simply blast free of the black hole. I can't allow myself to think about it—to dwell on billions of years of what-ifs.
I can escape now, but there's no place to go. Escape is pointless.
* * * *
Entry 99
Explorer Clock: ERROR
Capsule Clock: 08 July 2048—09:33
It will be quiet soon—like the still of a mountain valley after a gentle snowfall. Very soon now, I'll turn off the engines. After a short while the Time Capsule will pick up speed, plunge through the event horizon where time in a sense stops, and then fall to the naked singularity at the center. I wonder how long the Richardson field will protect me from being crushed or pulled apart by tidal forces. Maybe forever—whatever that means.
I feel somewhat better now that I've made a positive decision. Strange, but until now I'd never considered suicide as particularly positive.
I still have enough scientific curiosity left to wonder what it'll be like going through the event horizon. It's a small, vestigial curiosity, though, as I have no one with whom to share the experience. “No man is an island,” somebody said, John Donne, I think. I almost want to laugh. How could he have known? How could he have possibly known?
It's funny. As I die, so too will the universe. It will not outlast me. Strangely, that is a comfort.
Analog SFF, November 2006 Page 12
