The Death of the Universe: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 1)

by Brandon Q Morris

“Shame,” said Kepler. He shouldn’t have externalized his memories of school.

  “Yes, especially for this one,” said Zhenyi.

  The gas ball of Jupiter was replaced by a slightly smaller gas planet. Kepler couldn’t believe his eyes. The planet had rings!

  “Who decorated it like that?”

  “Its moons. At least, that’s the short answer.”

  “Oh, how beautiful,” he said. He wasn’t just referring to the image of the former ringed planet, Saturn. He also meant Zhenyi’s hand on his. No, not also. Especially. Please, fate, let this hand stay where it is for a while longer.

  Zhenyi used her other hand to pick up her wine glass. “A toast?”

  Kepler raised his own glass and looked at Zhenyi. Then he lowered his gaze and looked into the red liquid in his glass, almost the consistency of blood.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Zhenyi.

  “I... I don’t know.” He looked at her directly. She smiled. Man, why couldn’t he come up with anything other than this stammering nonsense right now?

  Zhenyi held her glass up to his. He clinked glasses with her, creating a melodic tone that echoed through the control room. It seemed louder than the life support system.

  “To saving the world,” she said.

  “To us,” he said.

  “To the future,” said Zhenyi. She was still smiling, and it wasn’t a strained smile.

  Kepler put down his glass and bent forward. Was this the right moment? He wouldn’t find out unless he tried. He leaned closer. Zhenyi closed her eyes. He puckered his lips.

  Zhenyi opened her eyes again and her smile vanished. “Sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”

  Kepler reddened. It wasn’t the right moment. There would never be a right moment. He was an idiot who was imagining things.

  Zhenyi’s hand stroked his. He looked down with wide eyes. Her fingers were moving tenderly over the back of his hand. What did that mean? Did she want it, or didn’t she?

  “I...” he said, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Sh... sh...” she said, placing a finger to his lips. “I like you, Johannes. You’re good for me, you ground me. I can talk to you, argue with you, and I can also be wonderfully silent with you. But what you want can’t work. Not now.”

  Not now? What did she mean by that? Was it a good idea to ask, or would that be completely wrong? He certainly wanted to avoid putting his foot in it. Pressure wouldn’t help, he couldn’t react by whining, but he also couldn’t be happy about being rebuffed—so what, then?

  “I understand,” he said. He’d never told such an utter lie.

  Zhenyi thanked him with a smile, as though she hadn’t seen through the lie. And she even left her hand on his. So, had that been the right response? Kepler took a deep breath.

  “We’ll reach Terra tomorrow,” Zhenyi said, as if he didn’t already know.

  “Yes, it’s nearly time,” he replied.

  Then they were silent, and it felt completely right.

  Cycle ZX3.5, Terra

  The moon passed them by. It looked like an enormous artificial satellite, because it was completely covered in technology.

  “The antenna’s huge,” said Kepler.

  “Terra is one of the few systems in the Milky Way that can be reached from almost anywhere with a direct laser link,” Columbus explained.

  “Wouldn’t it have been more efficient to drag the planet closer to the core of the Milky Way?”

  “Oh, this isn’t the original position of the solar system,” said Columbus. “I thought everyone knew that. It was Le Corbusier’s first masterwork, bringing the system more than 50,000 light-years closer to the core.”

  “Then humans must have previously lived really far out. I had no idea,” said Kepler.

  “There are theories that suggest that’s why humanity didn’t become extinct,” said Zhenyi. “At some point in the distant past, Sagittarius A* is supposed to have experienced a massive eruption, which sterilized all the systems within its radius.”

  “Do you believe that?” asked Kepler. He’d heard of such theories but they contained so many contradictions that they’d never prevailed.

  “No,” said Zhenyi, “those are fairy tales told by scientists who couldn’t come to terms with the fact that we’re apparently alone in the cosmos for no reason whatsoever.”

  “Excuse a Secretary’s stupid question,” said Columbus, “but isn’t there a reason for everything?”

  Zhenyi gave a short laugh. Kepler knew that laugh well. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she was being haughty.

  “There is no reason,” she said. “There’s the relationship between cause and effect, but that’s completely different from a reason or a purpose behind everything. Cause and effect are defined by the laws of physics, and those are the way they are because that’s the way they randomly came into being after the Big Bang.”

  That’s exactly right, thought Kepler. But it sounded much more meaningful coming out of Zhenyi’s mouth than if he’d formulated it in his own thoughts. Was there a reason for that? Was there ever! Charisma—she had it, and he didn’t. Even the Secretary was hanging on her every word.

  A glistening X drifted across the screen. It was moving from left to right. The guard station, of course. Shouldn’t they stop there? Columbus, who was controlling the ship, wasn’t making any preparations to go into orbit.

  “The guard station,” said Kepler, pointing at the screen from which the X was about to disappear.

  “Oh, what a tragedy,” said Columbus. “But the fact that you... I mean unknown persons disintegrated the Guardian has saved us time.”

  “So, is Terra now completely unguarded?”

  “Why would you think that? No, several autonomous AIs regulate access. The Guardian was just a kind of tradition—an ancient AI from those times, created especially for the interaction. Its programmer overshot the mark a bit, if you ask me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The overblown symbolism! Sometimes it appeared as an angel. Can you imagine, Kepler? As though there were still gods in this universe.”

  Of course there weren’t. But something about Columbus’s manner made him want to contradict him. He shook his head but said nothing.

  The shuttle set them down at the end of a valley cut deep into the mountains. Kepler was wearing his spacesuit. He didn’t want to take any risks. Minus 40 degrees was forecast. A veritable heatwave. Zhenyi claimed to be able to cope well with the cold. She’d draped herself in a wool coat and was wearing a hat pulled low over her forehead. The butler wore his tuxedo. Zhenyi had asked Columbus to stay on the ship, but the Secretary insisted on accompanying them, for their own safety. Columbus had also opted for a spacesuit.

  The valley was shaped like a bathtub. It was one of the few places on Terra where there was still enough oxygen to breathe. That was due to the ventilation slits in its sides, through which the air was continually renewed, and the underground heating, which prevented the atmosphere from being frozen and stripped away.

  Zhenyi had insisted the shuttle shouldn’t drop them off directly in front of the big gate. It was one of seven entrances to the subterranean storage halls—and the only one that had been opened in the last few thousand years. If they were going to find traces of the Curies, it would be there.

  Kepler turned down the heating in his suit because he was sweating—the unusually high gravity on Terra weighed them down—and these were the conditions under which their forefathers were supposed to have voluntarily stood upright on two legs, instead of staying close to the ground?

  He had to remind himself that it used to look different. The ground that was now brown and cracked used to have grass and herbs growing on it. It must have been comfortable to walk on with bare feet. Unfortunately he’d externalized his own memories of those times. It was strange—the memory stores behind the big gate knew more about his own past than he did. But it had been necessary. No human brain could cope with so many memorie
s. Before externalization became standard, many people had suffered memory breakdowns. Their thousand lives had inundated them and thrown everything into turmoil.

  Kepler had a breakdown like that in his past, he still knew that much. But he had offloaded the memories of it long ago, so they no longer troubled him.

  They were standing in front of the gate. He felt like a dwarf. The iron gate loomed maybe 80 meters above them. Had it ever been opened? That would be an imposing sight—one they wouldn’t get to experience.

  For visitors, there was a small door, which Columbus was now rattling. “The door AI won’t accept my access authorization,” he grumbled.

  “Why? Doesn’t the Convention have access to everything?” asked Zhenyi.

  “Apparently the Guardian has to verify it,” said Columbus.

  “But there is no Guardian anymore,” Zhenyi responded.

  “That’s what I said to the AI,” said the Secretary.

  “There must be a way in. If necessary, we’ll blow the thing up,” said Zhenyi.

  This was what Kepler had been afraid of—this trip was going to add to their list of criminal offenses. No AI could stop Zhenyi. Kepler scraped at the ground with his foot.

  “If we open the door by force, we won’t be able to close it again. That would put the whole archive in jeopardy,” said Columbus.

  “Then think of something else!” Zhenyi pleaded.

  “I’ll talk to the AI again,” said the Secretary.

  And then the door swung inward after all. What had happened? Had the AI somehow heard Zhenyi’s threat and opened the door to avoid damage to the archive?

  “How did you manage that then?” asked Zhenyi.

  “I... I don’t know,” said Columbus.

  “Doesn’t matter. Let’s make use of the opportunity before the AI changes its mind.”

  Zhenyi entered the memories of humanity and the others followed her.

  Directly behind the door was a short passage with several other doors leading off it.

  “If anyone needs to use the toilet,” said Columbus, pointing at one of the doors. “There aren’t any sanitation units in the memory stores.”

  They shook their heads.

  “No one but me?” asked Columbus.

  He got no answer, so he opened the door and disappeared behind it.

  They waited. There was an uneasy silence. The passage was filled with an electrical humming sound.

  Kepler checked the temperature. Four degrees. He took off his helmet and clipped it onto his belt. “He’s taking his time,” said Kepler.

  “I guess he’s being thorough,” said Zhenyi.

  “Maybe he’s hightailed it?” Kepler suggested.

  Zhenyi pointed at the exit door behind them that had closed automatically. “He’d have to go through there. You saw, there weren’t any other doors.”

  Zhenyi was right. The Secretary was just taking his time. Then the door opened and Columbus came through it. He’d taken off his helmet too. “I’m back,” he said.

  “Let’s move,” said Zhenyi. “We’ll go get the logs.”

  They had been climbing up and down ladders and marching across transparent walkways for two hours now. Kepler had gotten used to having to look down into the abyss. The archive seemed endless, and that impression was reinforced by the fact that only the area directly around them was lit. Above, below, in front, and behind them were only the glowing red eyes of the computer that was administrator of the data stores of humanity.

  His daughter must be here somewhere. Kepler got goosebumps when he thought about her. He knew nothing about her anymore, except that her memory was stored here. She had pursued him so much that he’d had no other choice. And now her ghost seemed to float through the giant archive. He shook his arms to get rid of the thoughts, but it didn’t work.

  “Are we nearly there?” he asked, turning to Columbus, who was behind him.

  The Secretary nodded. “The log storage area must be somewhere around here.”

  Every change to the content of the memory stores was recorded in the logs. If the Curies had been here and changed any data, the system would have noted this fact in the logs. The logs could be manipulated too, but this change would also be recorded in the logs. And if someone deleted the memory of the change, then that would create another entry. It was an endless chain. They just had to find where it started. The Curies would have hidden it well, but if it existed, they’d find it.

  “How can you tell we’re nearly there?” asked Zhenyi.

  “With the navigator on my universal device.”

  “And without the tech?”

  Columbus stood still. He was obviously looking for something. Then he pointed to a spot on the railing. “Here, these are the coordinates of the storage group,” he said.

  A long numerical sequence that no one could memorize. If the technology failed, they’d be lost. Had anyone ever gotten lost in the archive? Kepler took a deep breath. He should have left the spacesuit behind at the entrance. It was getting warmer in here.

  “Come on then,” said Zhenyi.

  The group moved off.

  In front of them was a particularly long walkway that led over an abyss. Kepler looked down. The bridge was transparent, like all the walkways here. He put his hand on his heart to calm himself.

  “Are you okay?” asked Zhenyi.

  Kepler responded to her concern with a smile. “I’m fine,” he said.

  The bridge led to an endlessly tall tower ranging out of the depths and looming over their heads with no apparent top or bottom. A circular walkway ran around the tower, with more bridges leading off it to the left and right. Kepler felt like an ant balancing on a blade of grass. He held himself steady on the railings on both sides. The bridge had a gap in the middle. Zhenyi chose this of all places to pause and swing back and forth. The bridge swayed with her.

  With each sideways movement Kepler felt like his heart was dropping out of his ribcage. “Can you please stop doing that?” he asked quietly.

  “Oh, sorry, you’re completely pale. Shall we take a break?”

  A break? Here? Zhenyi is nuts! “No, I’m okay. Let’s keep moving.”

  He carefully climbed over the narrow gap in the bridge. Everything seemed stable now. They were approaching the tower. Kepler fixed his gaze on it so he didn’t have to look down. Soon the tower revealed itself to be a bank of computers. It was insane—this thing was a giant computing tower. Why was it separated from the rest of the stores like that? Security reasons? The log data must not be destroyed under any circumstances.

  He’d made it. He stepped onto the platform that ran around the log tower. He leaned his back against the tower and let himself slide down. Now he needed a five-minute break. Columbus was still standing on the bridge. He was bending down as though tying his shoelace. But he was wearing a spacesuit with boots. There was nothing to tie.

  She seemed to have noticed the Secretary’s hesitation too. “Columbus? Are you coming?” asked Zhenyi.

  “I... no, that was it for me,” said the Secretary, slowly walking backward.

  “What do you mean?” asked Zhenyi.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t support your illegal operations. Terra’s security system will detain you, and then you’ll be judged according to the law.”

  Zhenyi gave the butler a signal. The butler stepped onto the bridge.

  “Best you call him back,” said Columbus. “He’ll be damaged.”

  “Puppy, quick, the Secretary wants to escape,” called Zhenyi.

  The butler broke into a sprint, but at the same moment the bridge started to fold downwards.

  “Puppy, watch out!” called Zhenyi.

  Kepler’s back was glued to the tower. He had to do something! Columbus couldn’t be allowed to get away with this! But there were about thirty meters between the Secretary and himself, which nothing and no one could overcome. If they were lucky, they’d be brought before a court. Otherwise they’d just die of thirst here on this pla
tform.

  The butler ran for his life as the bridge was lowered. His legs were moving at an unnatural speed, but the surface was too smooth, he couldn’t get a foothold. Puppy slipped down as though in slow motion. He tried to grab hold of the end of the bridge, but there was no edge, nothing to hold onto. Kepler imagined him falling, and then he really did fall, flailing his arms wordlessly.

  “Puppy!” yelled Zhenyi.

  The butler disappeared into the darkness. Zhenyi wept like a child.

  “I’m sorry,” said Columbus from the other side. “But I warned him.”

  “I’ll find you and punish you,” said Zhenyi. “I swear it.”

  “Don’t forget that everything you say may be used against you,” said the Secretary. “Threats like that will only result in your incarceration for life.”

  “Columbus is right.”

  Kepler’s head whipped around. The voice came from the side. A figure in a spacesuit emerged behind Columbus.

  “You won’t punish the Secretary, Zhenyi,” said the someone.

  Kepler recognized Pierre Curie’s voice. How had the Curies gotten here?

  “Ah, the Curies. That’s good,” said the Secretary. “Thank you for intervening, but I have everything under control here. The criminals have been secured.”

  “And I thank you for that, Columbus. You’ve executed my plan perfectly in a way befitting a Secretary.”

  The Curies lifted their right arm. Nothing else could be made out at that distance.

  “Please don’t,” whimpered Columbus.

  Then there was a bang and the Secretary crumpled. His legs kinked, his upper body flopped forward, and he collapsed like an inflatable doll that had just had the air let out of it.

  Cycle ZX3.6, Terra

  “Excuse me, Johannes.”

  “Yeah, what’s up?” he asked sleepily. Kepler managed to open his eyes. Zhenyi was pushing his shoulder away from her. What was she trying to do?