by Dana Fredsti
“Your request is problematic, but allow me to show you a rough model of the rest of the solar system.” As the display grew to fill far more of the common area, the Earth and moon dwindled away, making room for the entire company of planets, moons, and gas giants, all unmistakably circumnavigating the fiery incandescent ball of the sun.
“Such a wondrous display,” Hypatia said. “An orrery of pure light.”
Earth and the inner planets were tiny bright beads, dwarfed by the outer giants. By comparison Uranus and Neptune were the size of marbles, and Jupiter and Saturn sling stones, with a sun as wide across as a man’s outstretched arms.
“This simulation is not to scale,” the ship said. “That would require a display nearly seven kilometers in diameter.”
Hypatia’s brow furrowed in intense concentration.
“There are no epicycles, no deferents,” she finally murmured. “None of the stratagems Apollonius devised to account for their movements. Their orbits, are they…?”
Her voice drifted off, and the ship responded by illuminating the orbital paths of each heavenly body. Hypatia’s eyes widened at a sudden realization.
“Ellipses! All this time, they were elliptical—Aristotle was wrong, the wanderers do not move in perfect circles— and mad old Aristarchus of Samos was right all along. Every one of them revolves around the sun, even the Earth itself.” Her thoughts raced ahead, trying to come to terms with this unexpected answer to the ancient riddle. So much that she held as established fact had just been overturned. “Then the center of the cosmos lies not with the Earth… but the sun.”
“In actuality, our sun is not the center of the universe, nor can any such point exist, according to current understanding in cosmological physics.”
“What of the stars, and the band of the Milky Way? How far off is their sphere?”
“Stars are not confined within a single spherical shell. Here are those closest to our solar system.”
The entire display shrank down until the sun was reduced to a single yellow light, surrounded by three dozen others, mostly tiny red ones, many in pairs, a few in trios. The celestial map shrunk further, reducing the lights to pinpoints while more continued to pour into view until the entire commons was filled with tens of thousands of them, like a swarm of fireflies. The collapsing lights began to form into shapes, long chains, then a thick band.
The women sat entranced. One region flared slightly.
“This is the Orion-Cygnus Arm. Earth’s solar system lies close to its inner rim.”
“Arm? The arm of what?” Nellie asked. In response, the image continued to contract until the arm—along with several others—formed a glittering pinwheel. It filled the entire common room, spinning silently with a serene, unhurried grace.
“This is the Milky Way Galaxy, a collection of gas, dust, and hundreds of billions of stars, all revolving every two hundred and fifty million years around what we call a supermassive black hole. What we refer to as ‘the Milky Way’ is simply the visible region of our own galactic plane as seen from Earth.”
“How majestic it is, just breathtaking…” Hypatia murmured in awe, and Nellie nodded. “The whole of the universe.”
“It is not.” Hypatia frowned again. The galaxy grew smaller, until dozens of tiny satellite galaxies surrounded it.
“These galaxies, each containing several billion stars, form a tiny portion of the Virgo Supercluster.” Still shrinking, they all dropped away. Then the Virgo cluster shrank down to a pinpoint of light, a particle on the outer fringe of a feathery offshoot tendril of what looked like nothing so much as a windblown piece of thistledown.
Nellie could feel Hypatia’s body trembling next to her. A tear was running down the philosopher’s cheek. Nellie touched her hand, and Hypatia grabbed hold tightly.
“These megaparsec-long filaments form the gravitationally unbound streams of galactic superclusters called Laniakea, meaning ‘Immeasurable Heaven’ in the Hawaiian language. It is composed of roughly one hundred thousand galaxies, and stretches across five hundred and twenty million light years.”
Nellie’s mind raced to maintain a grasp on the incomprehensible scale. The image continued to implode as a whole family of similar superclusters appeared. The lights swirled together like plumes of dust in the wind, until the multitudes of clusters representing trillions of galaxies shrank down into fine grains of light. These, too, slipped away into bands of cosmic streams.
Finally the magnification ceased. The holographic display surrounded them, making Nellie feel as though they were no longer aboard a ship, but floating in the heart of a massive sacred space, two microscopic diatoms adrift in a handful of sea foam. Speechless, the two women held tightly to each other’s hands.
Finally Hypatia spoke up again.
“So… this is where we come to the uttermost reaches of all things?”
“It is not. This is simply the limit of the observable universe.”
“The observable universe? How much further must we go before the cosmos reaches its end?”
“There is no end.”
“No end…” Hypatia echoed.
Concerned, Nellie unclasped a hand and reached up to touch her companion’s shoulder. In turn, Hypatia looked at Nellie, eyes shining. Another tear ran down her cheek.
“Thank you for this.”
Unable to speak, Nellie gently brushed away the tear. For a heartbeat the two women looked at each other, their hands still clasped. The moment stretched into an almost unbearably intimate silence, then Nellie broke eye contact and turned away, unable to put her thoughts into words, or even grasp what she was feeling.
“Look,” she said softly, pointing to the window. Although it should have been hours before the dawn, the night was already fleeing and taking the stars away with it, undergoing a sea change from hard onyx to a velvety cerulean. “We must be approaching the Antarctic now,” she said. “As I understand it, the sun will not set the entire time we are down there.”
The two women sat quietly once more, still holding hands. Nellie turned back to her. “Are you alright?”
Sitting very still, Hypatia nodded, taking a deep breath.
“I’m not given to superstition, but it’s just… I have the most terrible premonition that I’ll never see another star again.”
23
Approaching the Princess Ragnhild coastline, East Antarctica
Early morning
Eleven days after the Event
High waves and whitecaps cut across the Indian Ocean’s desolate southernmost reaches, never-ending windstorms lashing the seas into a sailor’s permanent nightmare. From time to time, the sky was rent by a distant flash.
“Do you think it’s lightning?” Nellie asked hesitantly.
Hypatia shook her head. “No.”
If she knew nothing of the Event’s aftershocks, Nellie might’ve supposed it was only a trick of lightning, or perhaps some particularly spectacular form of St. Elmo’s Fire—except that it ominously remained in place for far longer than any bolt of lightning could.
This was different, and she shuddered.
Eventually the raging seas gave way to the deep blue and increasingly iceberg-studded Southern Ocean. By the time the Vanuatu reached the coast of Antarctica, the sky had brightened into the full blaze of day.
All along the ice-sheet-girded coastline, towering slabs of white stood like frozen skyscrapers. Beyond those guardians that stood between land and sea, the continent lay blanketed in white. Further inland, long years of tenacious windblown snow had scoured the tops of glaciers, exposing hints of the ghostly blue ice below—the largest mass of ice on Earth.
The Vanuatu crossed the Thorshavnfjella mountains, skimming over the peaks, and continued deeper into Queen Maud Land, toward the bottom of the world.
* * *
Katabatic winds blowing out from the vast elevated ice sheets—sometimes at near hurricane strength—impaired their progress, and the dynamic energy wings of the Vanuatu co
ntinually flexed and reconfigured themselves like those of an eagle in a storm. Even at the ship’s considerable cruising speed, it took hours to cross the massive continent.
Blake and Amber stood together at one of the windows in the commons, watching the landscape below. Amber had never seen Blake so relaxed—she suspected it was because he’d gotten a solid block of sleep, probably the first he’d had in days. Blake frowned at the irregular stretches of gigantic canyon lands.
“Looks bloody disjointed,” he said.
Amber nodded. It was a subtle thing, but looking across the terrain, she could make out the icy mesas and plains forming gigantic puzzle pieces all the way to the horizon.
“This is all new, I think,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Ship?”
“That is correct. The multi-tiered topography is a result of the Event. There have been considerable geographic changes in the height and distribution of Antarctic ice sheets.”
Cam came up to the window to join them. Amber immediately made room for him to stand between her and Blake.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said.
Cam peered off in the distance. “Look there—can you see that dark patch?” he asked, pointing to it.
Blake shook his head. “You’ve got better eyes than me.”
Amber stared, but couldn’t see it, either. “Ship, can you give us a better look at what Cam’s spotted?”
The window shimmered and then zoomed in to provide a close-up view. The three were surprised by the sight of a narrow green valley in the middle of all the ice. Sheltered by sheer frozen walls four kilometers high, there lay a prehistoric garden. Placid groups of duckbilled hadrosaurs milled about, casually eating the local vegetation.
“It’s like Jurassic Park set in the Grand Canyon,” Amber said.
The others in the commons stepped up to see the spectacle, staring in awe at the verdant landscape nestled impossibly in the Earth’s most inhospitable landscape.
“Look! The dinosaurs must be coming from below the surface!” Harcourt suggested in wonder. “—from the hollow interior of the Earth itself…”
“I am sorry to disabuse you of this notion, Professor, but that hypothesis is incorrect and has long been refuted.”
Harcourt let out a disappointed harrumph.
“Still,” Blake said, “it’s a wonder these monsters are still alive.”
“How would they not freeze at night?” Kha-Hotep asked.
“It won’t be night here for another six months,” Nellie replied. “Do you suppose it’s volcanism? Thermal springs of some sort?”
“Some clever Edgar Rice Burroughs setup, I’m sure,” Blake agreed. “Whatever is sheltering them from the cold for now, I don’t fancy their chances when nightfall returns—if the poor beasts even survive that long.”
Their close-up view abruptly winked out. All the common room’s starboard windows flared blindingly bright, then just as suddenly, went pitch black. The Vanuatu gave a quick but violent shake, provoking a shout of alarm from Harcourt.
“Optical filters engaged,” the ship informed them. “Stand by, viewscreen is automatically polarizing for safe viewing.”
The screen brightened again, but the view of the primeval garden had been replaced by a rippling moiré of light.
Amber frowned.
“Ship, can you zoom out, please?” Leila asked.
The ship reduced magnification at once, pulling back until they could all see a roaring aftershock to the starboard of the vessel, blazing away like a curtain of fire. They all stared at it, momentarily speechless.
“I’ll never get used to seeing those things,” Nellie said with a shudder.
Amber nodded, rubbing her arms. “Just the thought that, at any moment, one of those things can strike out of the blue…”
“No way to protect yourself, no way to run from it,” Cam said.
“It’s like war that way,” Blake added. “As long as they’re out there, you never know when your number will come up.”
Kha-Hotep stared thoughtfully at the towering conflagration. “And they’ll keep coming until they’ve ripped the whole world apart.”
* * *
Just as abruptly as it came, the aftershock vanished again. Their altitude gave them an excellent view of the devastation it left behind. It had struck the green valley, the new shard long and wide enough to completely stamp out any trace of the previous one. And there was something distinctly wrong with the new one.
Hypatia squinted at the new arrival. “What is that?”
“It’s created a new shard,” Amber said, “but that color…” Against the surrounding ice, the entire shard resembled a blackened burn wound.
“Three days ago, I saw an aftershock hit the desert,” Blake said, frowning. “The new shard was like somebody punched a mirror. It fractured everything caught inside, like chopped up bits reflected over and over. It was bloody strange. But this… I don’t know what the hell this is.”
“Give us another close-up, Ship,” Amber said.
With the increased magnification, the bizarre new landscape showed more of its colors. The darkest regions were actually a scarlet-purple so deep it was almost black, with the rest of the terrain varying in shades from beet-colored to blood red, with highlights of magenta and fuchsia. Strange pale blue-gray coral-like structures dotted the area, a cross between thornless cacti and anemones. A dinosaur-sized caterpillar-thing was grazing on them, its body a weird cross between a zebra-striped walrus and a rhinoceros beetle.
“It must have dropped a piece from another dimension, the way it did with Dee and János Mehta,” Amber suggested. “Only who knows where this weird-ass one came from?”
“I wonder how many more there are like these?” Hypatia said quietly.
* * *
The Vanuatu continued on, leaving the alien oasis behind. Far beyond its passive sensor range, scores of other aftershocks erupted all across Antarctica, waves of them radiating out from the South Pole, in a chain reaction spreading across the planet.
* * *
“Attention,” the ship announced. “We are approaching the Advanced Transpatial Physics Laboratory complex. Extreme cold-weather gear is available in the central corridor near the main exit. Goggles are recommended for any extra-vehicular transit.”
Gazing out the forward window, the passengers could see the laboratory up ahead, a bright spot just starting to appear against the flat white plain that surrounded it, glittering with a swirling unearthly iridescence.
“It’s beautiful.” Leila stared at the view in awe.
“Indeed,” Kha-Hotep said. “How like a diamond it gleams.”
The impression increased as the ship drew nearer, but so did a sense of unease on the bridge.
“What’s causing that strange glow around the station?” Blake asked.
Nellie stared dubiously. “Perhaps the Southern Lights?”
“Good lord,” Harcourt exclaimed, “it’s some sort of arctic storm!”
“What kind of storm does that?” Amber asked, pointing at the scene below.
As they came closer she could make out the gleaming dome of the station, and see that the building wasn’t causing the eerie, swirling play of light. Some weird atmospheric phenomenon surrounded it—hard for her to sort out. At first glance it looked almost like a thick flock of birds, or a festival of kites, all circling the station.
No, the jumble of odd shapes was completely encircling the dome, from bottom to top, as if trapping it in a thick, dome-shaped shell. What were they? Were they alive, or just being blown around in some kind of extremely localized cyclone?
“Ship,” Amber said, “bring the view of the station closer, please.”
The ship complied, until the objects appeared to be more like floating crystalline fragments in a confusion of different colors. Some sort of giant Antarctic snowflakes? Whatever was causing the phenomenon, though, the shapes weren’t being driven by the wind—their movements weren’t uniform enough. The outerm
ost ones barely moved at all, some simply hovering in place.
Deeper in, they rose and fell at whim, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, while directly above the station the dance became positively frenetic.
“Ship, what are we looking at?” Blake asked.
“This is the station. We are on final approach for touchdown.”
“I can see that,” he snapped. “I’m asking you what the bloody hell is that storm surrounding it.”
“There are no adverse weather patterns in our immediate vicinity, apart from the expected cold—”
“Damn it, Ship! What is all that muck swirling about?”
“I’m sorry, I am uncertain what you are referring to.” Before they could respond it said, “Please prepare yourselves for landing.”
As the Vanuatu banked and began its descent toward the station’s landing strip, the unease in the pit of Amber’s stomach grew. She peered ahead intently, trying to make sense of what they were seeing.
“Ship, increase magnification, please.”
The ship obliged, zooming in further and sweeping across the landing field. Whatever the storm was, their path to the landing strip would cut right through it.
Blake frowned. “Is the ship taking us—”
“Straight into that crap.” Amber finished his sentence. “Ship, pull up now!”
“Brace for evasive maneuvers,” the ship announced. Everyone held on desperately as the Vanuatu instantly flexed its hard-light energy wings wide and nosed up into an abrupt power climb, the repulsor lifts whining like banshees.
The sudden aerial maneuver worked. They narrowly skimmed over the top of the dome of bizarre satellites orbiting the station, close enough to see their individual shapes racing by below them. Amber had the Vanuatu circle into a new approach and make a gentle landing just meters away from the entrance to the station.
24
“Damn you, Ship!” Blake swore. “Are you telling me you still can’t see all that bloody shite whirling around right there in front of us?”
