The breakdown he feared didn’t happen. He was alone. With new-found courage he took a few steps into the hall. There was the hatch he had to open. Beyond that was Zhenyi’s room. He had never been in it when she was still alive. Kepler went around the hatch over the shaft until he was standing at Zhenyi’s door. He opened it. A warm light came on automatically. The room was modest—it suited Zhenyi. The bed looked like it had been freshly made. Next to it, a dress hung on the back of a chair. She must have worn it back then, but he couldn’t remember exactly.
Kepler took a few steps into the room. He sucked up the air inside it. Maybe it still contained a few molecules that had once been filtered by his girlfriend’s lungs. But he couldn’t detect any particular smell. It had simply been too long in local time, even though it had only been a few weeks for him. Time dilation ruined everything. Maybe the new universe that the Curies wanted to create didn’t have a maximum travel speed. No one would have to be separated from their loved ones for long periods. Wouldn’t it almost be worth dying for that? But then those villains would have won, and they had Zhenyi on their conscience.
He turned around and was about to leave the room when his gaze fell upon the nightstand. A picture stood there in a small frame. It showed two people, Zhenyi and himself. He could remember exactly where and how it was taken—on a water world. They were sunning themselves on the only rock that protruded from the inhospitable water waste. Now he really couldn’t hold back the tears.
Kepler opened the hatch. A musty smell rose up out of the shaft. No one had been down here for a long time. He jumped and landed after about ten seconds, just like last time. The smell was so unpleasant he had to breathe through his mouth. It was high time someone aired this place out.
On his first visit, the entrances to two chambers had opened up to the left and right. Which way was left and which was right? It was almost dark, but this time he was prepared. He took the night vision device out of the tool pouch that hung on his belt. His body heat was lighting up the rectangular shaft. The entrances must be at the narrow ends.
He felt around the walls and found a kind of pressure plate, which he operated. The wall directly in front of him moved to the side. He had been leaning against it and almost fell through it. Yes, this was the chamber. But it was too soon. He still had to undress. Last time he and Zhenyi had taken off their clothes together. Now she was sitting up above, numb and stiff, cooled by the spacesuit.
Kepler pushed his thoughts aside and undressed. At least it was warm down here. He took his time placing his things in a neat pile because he didn’t want to get into the chamber yet—the worms would slither across his body again. But that was why he was here. He wanted to establish contact with the Herbae. Kepler shook himself and climbed into the slimy mass.
It felt revolting. He felt the involuntary urge to flee, his muscles tensed, but he forced himself to stay. His disgust faded. He closed his eyes. That way he wouldn’t see the way the worms engulfed him in their dense web. Now it was warm, soft, comfortable. He couldn’t perceive anything else. The Herbae accepted him. A wave of positive thoughts enveloped his consciousness. He had returned to the right place. He was flooded with gratitude.
Then Zhenyi was standing in front of him. She was whole. She was naked like him, but she was more than him.
“A goddess?” That was his voice. His thoughts were turned into words without his having to formulate them.
“Thank you for the compliment,” said Zhenyi, smiling broadly, “but there are no gods. I’m me. You know me. Don’t you recognize me?”
“I can see you. I can see your body and your thoughts. I can see so much more of you.”
“You recognize me. I’m so glad.”
“But how can you be here? I saw you get shot.”
“I tried to tell you, dearest. I’ve been here the whole time with the Herbae. I’m part of them. I’m... integrated into them.”
“And the Zhenyi who was traveling with me the whole time?”
“She’s part of me. Her body was built by nanomachines. It was never intended to last forever. But her thoughts were my thoughts.”
So that’s why Zhenyi had said she couldn’t love him. She was only a copy, the portable version of her commissioner, which was herself. “You know what she knows?” he asked.
“No. She had her own experiences, but I think what she thinks, I love what she loves.”
What did that mean for him? Zhenyi loved him? He couldn’t ask about that now. There were more important things. They had to save the world.
“And your own body? What happened to that?”
“When the Herbae found me I was almost dead. They rescued my consciousness by absorbing me. My body could no longer be used. But we’ll have time later for the past. What did you find out about the future?”
“The Curies didn’t just want to create a quasar, they wanted to bring about the death of the universe. And the Herbae helped them.”
“What are you saying?”
“Pierre Curie told me. They formulated their plan with the help of your friends.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Shouldn’t you know that if you’re part of the Herbae?”
“They don’t share their memories with me. That would overload my faculties.”
“But you were there when we found out.”
“That’s good,” said Zhenyi. “We need to take a look at my body’s memories. Please bring it to the second chamber. After that we’ll talk some more.”
He was alone again. The worms released him.
Breathless, he climbed the ladder and reached the hatch that led into the house. He rushed outside. The butler was standing on the terrace with the wheelchair and Zhenyi. He looked at him with irritation.
“Johannes, did you forget something?”
“No, Puppy. We have to be quick. I need Zhenyi’s body, completely undressed, quickly.”
The butler lifted the spacesuit out of the wheelchair and laid it down on the platform. Then he removed the spacesuit. It only took two minutes and then Zhenyi was lying before him. She almost looked alive. Only the hole in her forehead didn’t belong. This body was supposed to have been manufactured by nanomachines? It was hard to believe. It was just imperfect enough that it looked utterly real.
He took Zhenyi in his arms—the low gravity helped. Then he walked with her back to the shaft.
“Do you need help?” the butler called after him.
“Maybe later.”
He jumped into the shaft. Where is the second opening? The pressure plate mirrored the other one. He pressed it. To get Zhenyi into the chamber he had to stand her on her feet because the opening was too narrow. She leaned on him. That’s gravity, he thought. She’s dead. He carefully pressed himself backward. Finally her body lost its balance and tilted back with him.
The worms caught him and enveloped him. The Herbae accepted the dead Zhenyi as well. He thought of her as a corpse, but if she had been manufactured by nanomachines, she was anything but. She was a functioning machine. Living nerve cells lost their memories when they died. But who knew how this Zhenyi’s brain worked? If he’d understood correctly, everything they’d discovered would still be in there. She was an incorruptible witness.
He turned around. His own chamber awaited him. This time he didn’t close his eyes. The worms were his friends. They were the roots of the Herbae, who were going to help him.
“Thank you,” said Zhenyi. “I’m just conversing with my body. We’re... doing an exchange.”
Kepler could hear her as though she was standing next to him, but he could only see her shadow falling across the green stems. He looked up at the sky. It could have been the sky over the unknown planet, or any other system with a red dwarf as its central star.
“You really had some experiences.”
Zhenyi was back. They were sitting side by side on a rock. In front of them the swaying grass spread out as far as the eye could see.
Kepler sighe
d. “That’s a gross understatement. I saw you get shot.”
“I’m sorry.” She stroked his cheek and leaned against him. The illusion was perfect. He could even feel the fine hairs on her upper arm tickling him. He could sit like this for years. But he knew they would have to get back to the fight soon.
Zhenyi straightened up. It was time. “It’s true, what you said,” she said. “The Curies did use the Herbae. They calculated the process at the center of the galaxy, taking into account the most variable factors, apparently with the aim of averting a catastrophe. But their intention was the opposite. The Herbae didn’t realize this and it wasn’t what they wanted.”
“And now?”
“They feel responsible for the death of the universe.”
“Because they were used by insane, egotistical humans? They couldn’t have done anything about that.”
“No. Because it’s their own creation that will destroy the universe.”
“Their what?” he asked.
“Their creation. It was the Herbae who planted the seeds of life on many planets. They shot capsules, spores if you like, onto all planets that seemed remotely suitable for supporting life. They didn’t want to be alone in the universe.”
That sounded crazy, yet somehow possible. Humans had always wondered why all life, wherever they found it, was so similar.
“And now they’re being killed by their own creation, and the universe along with them. Now that I call tragic.”
In fact, it was so tragic it was almost funny, Kepler noted with surprise. The human mind is indeed strange. He should be distressed about death, but he was oddly serene. What kind of sick thinking was that, and what did evolution have to say about it?
“There’s still a way for us to prevent all this,” said Zhenyi. “The Herbae have calculated it thoroughly.”
“Then don’t keep me in suspense.”
“We can hardly halt the mass that the Curies have mobilized toward the black hole. But we can change the way it reaches Sagittarius A*.”
“What role are we supposed to play?”
“If you get hit in the head with ten table tennis balls or one larger ball with the same weight, it makes a difference, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We can at least destroy some of the larger objects,” said Zhenyi. “Their fragments will still be available, but it will increase the time it takes for them to have an effect on the black hole, and the effect will be weakened overall. A quasar will result, as originally planned, and the universe will remain in its metastable state.”
“That sounds good! What are we waiting for?”
The technology probably required a sacrifice. Somebody would have to push a button and then die. He was ready for that. He’d lived long enough. Dying to save the world—he was okay with that.
“The Herbae could trigger a gravitational tremor with the help of the dark matter they’ve collected in the core of their planet, a powerful agitation of space-time that would race through the universe and tear apart stars and planets.”
“That sounds anything but harmless,” said Kepler.
“It would also affect systems currently populated by humans, but not beyond what the new quasar would make uninhabitable anyway. And the universe as a whole would survive.”
That can’t be the whole story, he thought. “And what else?”
“The Herbae would have to sacrifice their world to do it.”
Kepler broke out in a cold sweat. His whole body trembled, and at the same time he felt terribly guilty—because he wasn’t afraid for the intelligent life that had created humanity, he was afraid for one person, Zhenyi, who existed as part of their consciousness.
They were silent. It was a good silence, the kind he could only have with Zhenyi. Then he had to ask. “And what will happen to you?”
She laughed. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”
“I didn’t dare. I had to ask about the Herbae. Aren’t they something like our parents?”
“In a sense, yes. But to answer your question—I’ll miss them.”
What was she saying? It could only mean she would live on after their sacrifice. “You’ll survive?” he asked.
“My body is lying in the other chamber. It’s a very good body. It’s almost indistinguishable from a biological body. My nanomachines are currently repairing the small hole in the forehead along with the control modules. I can transfer myself completely into that body, and then we can leave this planet before the Herbae trigger the gravitational tremor. We’ll just have to get out of its range quickly so our ship isn’t torn apart.”
“It’s that easy?” he asked.
“It’s anything but easy. You don’t understand what I’ll be giving up, being part of this ancient consciousness, I can’t even describe what it means to me. I have access to endlessly-detailed memories. I’m a witness to almost every stage of the universe’s development. I can watch stars being born, or see them in their death throes. It’s just mind-blowing.”
“And you really want to give that up?”
Fear rose inside him. At some point she’d resent him for what she had given up for his sake. She wouldn’t be content, especially because she would know that her paradise had been destroyed forever.
“I don’t have any other choice, Johannes. The Herbae have already decided to stop the death of the universe. Either I die with them or I live on.”
“If I can somehow help you come to a decision on this...” Would Zhenyi seriously choose to die with the Herbae?
“I truly value your help,” she said. “I want to live.”
The butler came into the house and met them at the top of the shaft. He didn’t utter one syllable about Zhenyi’s reappearance. Had he known the truth all along? Zhenyi fetched clothes from her room. When she came back into the hallway, he saw the picture frame sticking out of her pants pocket.
“I’ve arranged a vehicle for us,” said the butler.
“A copter?” he asked.
“Yes, the exact same model you flew to the surface in last time.”
“Thank you, Puppy,” said Zhenyi. “We need to hurry.”
Cycle AE8.4, Kepler-1229
“What a nice surprise,” said Newton.
“Move aside, you worm.”
Kepler smiled inwardly. Zhenyi was still furious with the physicist for not wanting to help them. But his system was well suited to their plan because it was far enough away from the quasar that was about to be ignited. And because Newton could perfectly control the climate on each of his worlds.
“I need a shuttle to one of your fertile worlds,” said Zhenyi. “And I mean now.”
“I’ve already told you it’s too dangerous. One wrong move and the whole system will be torn apart,” explained Newton.
“It’ll be more dangerous to tell me you’re not going to respect my wishes, because then we’ll fly in with the ninety-niner.”
“Please don’t,” said Newton, clasping his head in his hands. “Okay, I have a shuttle for you. It’s a special design, a two-seater with a particularly narrow profile and a powerful chemical propulsion system. You should be able to go anywhere in it.”
“Then you’re lucky you won’t fit in it with us,” said Zhenyi.
“I’ll fly the shuttle if you like,” said Newton. “It won’t matter anyway, if I’m supposed to believe what you’ve told me.”
“No, not anymore,” said Zhenyi. “We’ve found a solution. But first I need a fertile world.”
They landed on a plateau. Kepler got out first. The air was fresh, a comfortable 21 degrees. A stream was babbling nearby. Newton hadn’t exaggerated.
“Catch,” called Zhenyi.
Kepler caught the spade with style.
Zhenyi walked about ten meters to the south. She also had a spade in her hand. She began to dig. “Five by five meters should be enough,” she said.
The work felt good. The ground was soft, and Kepler studied it for a moment after turning over the first
spade-full. The brown soil was full of small creatures. It seemed to be fertile soil, well-supplied with nutrients. Were they the right ones? Zhenyi would already have discussed it with Newton.
They bumped into each other from behind once they reached the middle. Kepler left the last few spots for his girlfriend to finish turning.
“Looks good,” she said.
He thought she looked good too, despite the black streaks on her face. Zhenyi turned around and walked to the shuttle. She came back with a container about fifty centimeters high, which she’d had with her since they departed from the unknown system. She hadn’t wanted to tell him what was in it, but he had a good idea.
Zhenyi opened the end of the container. She pulled out two plates. Between them was a layer of soil, and there were grass stems growing on it, about ten centimeters high.
Welcome, dear parents, thought Kepler.
Zhenyi carefully placed the layer of soil with the grass stems onto the freshly dug ground. She pressed it down around the edges. “Get some water, will you,” she said. “The can is in the luggage compartment.”
Kepler went to the shuttle, opened the luggage compartment, took out a metal can, and then had to laugh when he saw a black-clad leg. But he said nothing. He filled the can from the stream and carried it to Zhenyi.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the can and watering the stems. Then she crouched down and stroked them gently. The stems leaned toward the sun. “Sorry, I’m sitting in your light,” she said.
“Did you bring the butler?” he asked.
“Oh, you found him? He’s going to look after the stems. We can’t take the risk that some random accident might destroy them.”
“That’s very smart.”
The Death of the Universe: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 1) Page 24