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

by Brandon Q Morris

  “Theoretically, yes,” said K. “But in practice it could be difficult. You exist in the wrong dimensions. You are macro-physical beings. You’re suspicious of quantum physics, which has no place in your everyday experience. You need measuring instruments, precise instruments, but each measurement destroys the quantum physical relationships that you’re trying to prove. It’s like trying to check the freshness of an egg before boiling it by cracking it open. The cracked egg can no longer be boiled, but you can say with some degree of certainty that the egg lying there is fresh. And usually that’s true, but there are no guarantees. By contrast, we are both micro- and macro-physical.”

  “That’s really fascinating,” said Zhenyi. “We still haven’t actually seen you, but now I believe that you’re not some product of our imagination. Can you tell us what you call yourselves?”

  “Good question,” said Z. “There is no concept of names in our world. Every individual has an unmistakable voice. Anyone near me can hear me. We always share our thoughts collectively. But we thought you might ask that. We’ve been observing you for a long time. So we agreed on the name Aterae, meaning ‘the dark ones.’”

  “After the example of the Herbae,” said Zhenyi. “That sounds good. How long have you been observing us?”

  “We were still on the galactic bridge when you ignited the quasar. Obviously, we noticed that. It’s the only quasar within a wide radius. We realized right away that you could help us to hold off the flood, at least for a while. So we had to find out more about its creators. At that time we hardly knew anything about normal, baryonic matter. To us it was something exotic, a cosmic curiosity whose purpose no one understood, and whose usefulness no one appreciated.”

  “It went something like that for us with dark energy,” said Kepler. “Physicists basically proposed its existence simply because they couldn’t find any other way of explaining the universe.”

  “We’re sorry, but we’re losing energy. We’ll now have to leave you in the care of the two biological beings that we created in your likeness. You’ll need to organize your journey tomorrow too, Kepler.”

  “Thank you. It’s been incredibly exciting comparing notes with you.”

  “Likewise.”

  Cycle IC 5.4, unknown location

  “Lift your right arm.”

  Kepler obeyed the instruction, and K then pounded on the upper part of Kepler’s arm. He was attaching a lug to it. The left arm already had one, and it was tied to the backrest of the iron seat with a rope. The structure that was going to convey him to the gravastar and back really did look like a chair. But under its seat was a thruster, about twice as large as his robotic self. He’d ride like the old Baron Munchhausen on his cannonball—except that he could steer his ‘steed’ if necessary. K had pre-programmed a course that should carry him at a safe distance around the strange object—the home of the Aterae.

  “Okay, finished,” said K.

  Kepler was now firmly anchored to his chair. He would have to endure up to 12 g of acceleration when he launched. But his body was specified for 15 g, so, even if the thruster increased his speed, it shouldn’t be a problem.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  “Launch in ten... nine... eight...”

  Even before K got to zero, the chair started to rattle at his back. The beast of prey he had saddled up was preparing to pounce. It was gathering its strength—and then it shot forward. He was flying! His acceleration sensor displayed the increasing g-force in his field of view. It stopped at 12.2 g. Kepler was flying toward something he couldn’t see...

  Couldn’t see yet, Z had earlier amended, reminding him he shouldn’t worry if it stayed that way until shortly before he arrived.

  A new countdown appeared in his view. His weightless flight would soon be over. He had already turned 180 degrees. The thruster had to work in the opposite direction now to slow him down so the gravastar could capture him. They had planned for an orbit that would take him close to the surface. It was an extreme ellipse. When he next passed the object he would be moving at his fastest speed. It was like he was rolling down a hill and, indeed, he was flying into a gravitational valley. As there was no friction, his own momentum would carry him back up the next ‘hill.’

  Only one thing could go wrong. If he touched the surface, his conscious self would instantly cease to exist. You couldn’t exactly say he’d be dead. The matter he consisted of would become part of the ultra-dense liquid that covered the surface of the gravastar.

  The thruster fired. He rolled down the slope. It was strange—although his acceleration sensor was clearly measuring the braking force, his orbital velocity was increasing. Velocity and acceleration were actually vectors with two components each, and he’d never experienced this so vividly. The thruster turned itself off again. Now it was only the gravity of 20 suns pulling him along. He imagined 20 suns lined up in a row. Their total mass was contained in an object most physicists no longer believed existed, although they had never been able to rule it out. Well, the universe doesn’t realize everything that’s scientifically possible.

  His speed continued to increase. If anything happened now, no one could help him. The others would probably not even hear him calling out, because at the critical moment the gravastar would be between himself and the ship. Everything was still black all around him. But it couldn’t be long now...

  The force hit Kepler. He was looking himself in the face. A gigantic spherical mirror had appeared out of nowhere, showing a distorted reflection of his entire figure. He looked like a four-legged insect with a fat belly, holding onto an over-sized chair. But what was illuminating him? There was no light source here. Then it occurred to him how quickly he was moving. Of course—he was falling toward the reflective surface. The heat radiating from his mini spaceship was illuminating him, and it was undergoing a blue shift so that it was visible in the optical spectrum. That must be it. Or maybe something was alive in the thin layer, and it was illuminating him so as to observe him, with just as much curiosity as he was observing the gravastar.

  But it couldn’t be the Aterae. The gravastar was prevented from collapsing by the dark energy inside it. That was where they lived, not on the surface. How many might there be? He and Zhenyi hadn’t asked their doppelgangers. It wasn’t relevant. The risk that humans and Aterae might cross paths had seemed to him to be too unlikely. After all, they lived in completely different realms of the universe. Were dolphins interested in what field mice were thinking?

  Kepler stared into the mirror. He used his visual system to assess his own reflected image. That way he could determine what the gravastar actually looked like. The black, gleaming liquid looked slightly oily. Oily patches, glittering in various wavelengths, spread themselves out, dividing and recombining. Sometimes protuberant arms formed, grasping at the emptiness, dissolving before his eyes or forming arcs by joining with other protuberances. The picture reminded him of images from the surface of an ordinary star, only in two dimensions, not three.

  What wouldn’t Newton give to be able to examine this barrier more closely! It had quantum properties, even though it covered the entire surface of a gravastar that he assumed must be the size of a small moon. Every atom within it moved in a rigid choreography, each dependent on the others. If life were ever to arise inside it—and he had no idea how, but he had once accepted that it might be possible—then these atoms couldn’t prevent it. The whole universe on this nutshell would come alive all at once—and if it took the next step, it would even become intelligent.

  How many of these gravastars could exist in the universe? There must be enough for at least one to harbor life. Humanity had only ever searched for life similar to itself. That had perhaps been its biggest mistake—that and the fact that they hadn’t overcome the difficulties in venturing to other galaxies. Humans had always thought of themselves as knowledgeable, even though they’d only researched 200 billion stars.

  His flight slowed. The mirror disappeared. It didn’t f
ade out slowly, it was instantaneous—the same way it had first appeared. It was as though someone had dropped a curtain. He was alone in the blackness again. Then his thruster fired up again. The combustion process carried him out of the gravitational potential of the gravastar, and he returned to the ship.

  He was glad the flight had gone so smoothly. He would remember it forever.

  Cycle IC 5.5, unknown location

  The universe had been a strange place since time began its inexorable course. Since the near catastrophe prior to the construction of the Gigadyson, he’d spent almost every day with Zhenyi—except for the short excursion when he’d searched for her copy on the Gigadyson. And now he was supposed to be parted from her for umpteen thousand years of standard time? The long timespan was actually not that bad, because for him it would only seem like two or three days. It was more the feeling their relationship would drift out of sync. Zhenyi would age a few months while he was gone. She would have experienced all those days without him. It was like heading into a long coma, with the knowledge that he’d be woken up again, but unreachable in the meantime.

  He touched his finger to hers. “I love you,” he transmitted through the data channel.

  “I love you too,” she replied.

  He ended the connection. There wasn’t anything else to say anyway. He put his robot arms awkwardly around her body. The last time they’d said goodbye, he’d at least been able to touch her biological body.

  “I hope you can convince one of the super-intelligences, and that we’ll see each other again soon.”

  “I miss you already.”

  “Be careful. If the system notices you’re helping the alleged criminals, they’ll hunt you down.”

  “I was just about to say that to you.”

  “I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “I know.”

  “Ready for the transfer?” asked K.

  “Yes.”

  Kepler stood in front of the wall. K pulled the spinal cable out of his lower body. His legs went numb. Then he plugged it into the port on the wall.

  “You have to confirm the security prompt,” said K.

  “I know.”

  A glowing line of red text floated in front of his eyes like an admonishing oracle.

  “Confirm transfer to destination?”

  Underneath it were the coordinates of the Terra memory archive. A laser pulse would soon transport his consciousness via numerous intermediary stations to the old home of humanity.

  Kepler opened his mouth and formed a ‘Yes.’

  There was no sound, but the red script turned green. Then he was enveloped in darkness.

  Not again, was his last thought.

  Cycle IK 1.9, Gigadyson

  This was now their fourth deployment. By now Zhenyi had mastered the procedure so well she could do it in her sleep. The shuttle descended onto the chosen area. She expanded the circular podium and the curtain extended down to the ground and was anchored there. Dark energy from the golden tank was dispersed evenly to remove the surface material. Any leftover material that remained on the surface of the honeycomb had to be swirled around a bit before she left. Otherwise it would all land in one place and that would draw more attention.

  To finish off, she had to check the inside of the maintenance shaft. She measured the top two side passages to see if the manipulation had been successful. The thickness of the walls should be precisely 3.2 meters. This measurement had been achieved for all four deployments, and Z had told her that it had never been otherwise. But the measurement was obligatory, because if there was any deviation, it would endanger the whole project.

  Man, Johannes, she thought, you definitely have the more exciting job.

  Zhenyi yawned and looked up at the sky. The ninety-niner would be about half-way to the next deployment site. This meant that she, Z, and K could all deploy simultaneously, reducing the time it took by a third.

  She switched to infrared. The signature of a dark matter drive was clearly visible. It was powered down, but it hadn’t cooled yet. That was a ship. She analyzed the outline. A ninety-niner. Were Z or K trying to pick her up? No, they would have contacted her first, and she would have refused.

  There were two possibilities. Either someone was approaching who wanted to help themselves to the dark matter reserves—an outlaw like herself—or someone was looking for her. Maybe not her specifically, but those who kept trying to alter the Gigadyson.

  A shuttle launched from the ship. She observed it with her optical system set to the highest magnification. It looked familiar to her. She herself had sat in the same model when they were hunting the criminals. It looked just like Ada and Valja’s shuttle. They must be the ones pursuing her. And the shuttle was heading straight for her. She had obviously been discovered.

  Stay calm, Zhenyi, don’t jump the gun. They can’t override the laws of physics.

  They were flying fast, but they’d have to brake before they could land. She had ten minutes. If she jumped into her own shuttle now, her pursuers would have an easy time of it, because she’d first have to match their speed. She’d wait until they landed. She simply acted as though she hadn’t noticed, to lull them into a false sense of security. And then she’d flee as quickly as possible.

  But Ada and Valja were experienced astronauts. One of them was probably waiting in the spaceship just in case she tried to get away. She didn’t have a chance against the ship. Her own spaceship was too far away, and she couldn’t afford to lead Ada and Valja to it.

  It was no use, she’d have to try to deceive them. She felt sorry for the two of them. Couldn’t some autonomous unit have stumbled across her instead? Wait. Kepler had actually talked about recordings of her taken by an autonomous unit. That is, her biological body, not the robot body in which she now resided. It was a standard model, so no one could have identified her yet. That was her advantage. She strolled nonchalantly to her shuttle and unloaded the measuring equipment. Fortunately, the shuttles were equipped with the right tools for almost any task.

  The apparatus consisted of a tripod with foldable legs and a detachable head that she would have to aim precisely. But first she had to set up the tripod in a suitable position. She chose a spot close to the wall of the next honeycomb section. Then she looked down into the space between the three legs. A green dot was projected on the ground there. She had to adjust the legs so that the dot landed precisely in the middle of a projected red bullseye. That meant the measurement head was positioned perfectly parallel to the ground.

  There. The dot was in the right place. She moved away toward the maintenance shaft, stopping just in front of it. She positioned herself so that her right eye was aimed directly at the measurement head. Then she activated the green laser in her eye. The laser beam was invisible and so weak that she couldn’t hurt a fly with it. But when it hit its target, and only then, it would be mirrored directly back to her eye. She aligned her body until she sensed the reflected beam.

  At that moment she took a snapshot of the position of her muscles. That allowed her to calculate the exact position of her eye, which enabled her to determine her precise distance from the measurement head. The distance was correct according to the Gigadyson standard—but not quite. It was half a micrometer off.

  That was because she had already removed material here, of course. The radius of the Gigadyson had been reduced by one meter, so all of the surface dimensions, starting at the perimeter, should be slightly decreased. Not much—the Gigadyson was too large for that—but enough to be noticeable from a thorough analysis. Very nice! Zhenyi was pleased. She had just found a technique that would shorten the amount of time needed for future manipulations. One single controlled measurement instead of a whole series—that would probably save half a day per set of coordinates.

  “What are you doing here?”

  It was Ada’s voice reaching her via the Gigadyson’s standard service personnel frequency. Zhenyi was startled, but she didn’t let it show. She had been so abs
orbed in her work that she’d forgotten about Ada and Valja. Zhenyi activated the sensors on her back. Behind her stood a person in a spacesuit pointing a weapon at her. Her other three hands were empty and were fidgeting strangely. Ada! Her attitude was hostile.

  Zhenyi took her time in replying. Her brain was working slowly. She was only a stupid measuring drone, a menial. She walked over to the measurement head on the tripod.

  “Stop right there,” said Ada.

  She obeyed and stood still with her head bowed, without turning to face Ada.

  “I asked you what you’re doing here.” Her tone was becoming less polite as she spoke. That was typical of humans when they were addressing lesser beings. And machines like her belonged in that category. Kepler had always spoken in a familiar tone with the butler, but that was different. The butler had never been bothered by it.

  Ada passed the weapon from one hand to another, upper left, lower left, lower right, upper right, and back to upper left.

  I really should answer her, Zhenyi realized. “Measuring unit W19,” she said in a disguised voice. “Charged with performing a damage analysis.”

  “And what have you found?”

  “Irregular surface dimensions. Material is missing. Presumably the influence of cosmic radiation.”

  “That was definitely not cosmic radiation,” said Ada.

  “The influence of cosmic radiation has the highest probability of all likely sources. Therefore a clear assessment is possible.”

  “And how high is it?”

  “Probability of the influence of cosmic radiation is 0.017 percent.”

  “That’s not a high probability, it’s an improbability.”

  “An improbability is what remains after subtracting the proba—”