by Jack Ketchum
He needed to get to the bridge for some reason. Probably when he got there everything would make itself known. He went west and touched the wall plate. His fingers glided through. He felt this but did not look; he wouldn't look at any part of his body, no matter how small, ever again. His fingers met the plate a moment later, as though the real plate lived inside the wall, a mixture one part reality and one part concept.
After a pause, the door slid open. The command center was a hollow landscape of catwalks and windowed computer rooms. Nothing operated. High above on the vaulted ceiling, light globes looked like distant suns, readying for collapse. Something far away pulsed. He ignored it and went up the center catwalk.
Room after room, he checked for supplies in cupboards and in trunks. Plenty of food rations and water were left. This was good. He did have the urge to eat and drink sometimes. But had he eaten recently? Did ghosts eat?
"I'm not a ghost." His words tumbled backward and forward like a collision and counter-collision. He hurried into the hall, disgusted with his lot and searching his mind for an answer. Why had he gone up to the second floor? What was he after?
The bridge. He nearly slapped his forehead but stopped. He needed to go down to the ramp. He disregarded the countless footprints tracked in the dust, for they were too long and pointed to be his. His footfalls landed heavily, plaintive hammers in a labyrinth forge.
Up the ramp, he noticed the bridge airlock had sealed and an alarm-light slapped around like an orange and white cyclone in the hall. He walked past the obnoxious blaring light into darkness and sidled up to a display that fried away the gloom: Error in atmospheric configuration; airlock disrupt, program change, or failure. D1ZNNi00-s(0iE)subnet.12: HW-9 Partition pneumatic plug disengaged. User command 12/567 during atmospheric system diagnostic.
Concepts climbed the treacherous ascent to his brain. The HW-9 partition ran on the port side of the ship and its pressure lines serviced all airlocks therein. Someone, maybe even him, had fouled up during system-check and flattened the plug indefinitely. That meant the ship had never made light speed. The contingency programming overrode auto-navigation when any life support system failed. Had he once known this?
The assemblage of logic was born too quickly for Py to question its origin. His eyes stretched to their limit, which felt like ten oblique expansions. His D-Chamber must have had a natural seal long enough before displacement began, but when the ship's pressure changed, his hatch opened. His lone chamber was connected to the HW-9 partition, unlike the other chambers on the starboard side. It seemed possible that if he found the pressure line control guidance manual, he could seal the partition. With the right protocol he could do this inside the D-Chamber and displace with the others. The ship would resume its intended itinerary and all of this would be over.
He had to search for the guidance manual. And fast. With the other plugs engaged, the pressure would intermittently throw all the release valves at once. That wasn't good for the ship's structural integrity. Repeated pressure release could weaken other systems and rupture the lines. Probably give the ship one hell of a quake too.
The fuzzy sound of clinking beakers returned to his ear. The guidance manual had to be in the lab somewhere. He ran. Py's heart tripled as his feet dropped faster on the powdery floor beneath. Freedom became a desperate taste on the tongue as his last move came nearer.
Something waved in the corner of his vision and he jerked to a halt. Across from the lab was a black room. Had he just seen someone in there? There had been movement, he was sure. Long footprints on the dusty floor went inside. His eyes strained, bleary and ineffectual, until they discovered the truth. There was someone inside the room, grinning at him from the dark.
"Hello?" he attempted. His own words corrupted his ears, sounding hoarse and randomly arranged. Lello-He.
The watching man did not reply. Py wanted to continue on, to get the guidance manual, to go back into the D-Chamber and finish this, but he wanted to see this man more. He needed to see someone. There had been too much loneliness, past and present, to forgo an opportunity at another face.
He reached for the light dial on the wall. Breathlessly, carefully, his fingers wiggled out and spun it. The dial met his touch a second later and the room brightened.
In the lavatory mirror, he saw himself. He saw Py.
Strings of muscle, both long and spiraling, drifted every direction like a cosmic explosion prior to disconnection. Two eyeballs curled in and out of shape, white spheres that unraveled to silver waste. Py shouted and his neck muscles bunched together and stripped away in strands. It took a minute to realize he was screaming and that his heart filled, pumped and drained into ether. When it beat faster the heart sucked in and turned inside-out, over and over in reptilian dances.
Thoughts forced consciousness down. His brain floated through the atmosphere, so much a meaningless sea plant in a cruel current. Memories were crushed by dread. Py knew this moment would not disappear in his mind, though. It would latch on forever—it was the foundation of his life beyond certainty. He would remember not to remember what the mirror had showed him.
He threw his conceptual hands to his hypothetical face and roared. Everything twisted inside, his limbs pretzeling and bones breaking and reassembling. Pain and peace seesawed. He saw the rollercoasters of vermillion and thatches of slimy, colorful organs colliding in the mirror's reflection. With little sense remaining, he spun the wall dial down, so that this barbarism would not light in his eyes for a second longer.
Something sloshed into the hallway.
What was its name this time? What was the name this ghost represented? A mongrel shape tumbled into the lab. Its helix-arm slashed the walls for support. In the dim illumination, horror bridged confusion. The thing fell to the floor. Its soul was still entwined in antimatter. It felt its arms slip apart and some awareness returned. While it attempted to uncross the legs, it threw painful glances around the room. A wall calendar above the caustic storage showed a cartoon strip of a walking pi symbol. How did one spell that? Pye? Pai? Perhaps Py?
The curdled thing tried its legs again. Thing?
That is...Py, yes: Py knew that if he unfolded his legs, if he stopped this perversion, something good was bound to happen. That was his mind's sole passenger, only the primitive resolve: no touch is good.
His legs uncrossed finally and he got to his knees. Everything dropped fathoms inside him and struggle was lost like a fleeting itch behind a barrier of numbness. Had he been looking for something? Yes, something needed fixing on the ship. He was the mechanic. He had to fix all broken things.
The ship's blueprints lay scattered on the floor. He must have been looking these over. He browsed carefully and considered. The pages fell, one after the other, past engineering specs, plumbing, water and air, and a guidance manual for the pressure line control system. How had it gotten mixed in with the blueprints? He slipped the thin manual under the stack to get it out of the way.
Py remained there for a time, trudging through musty reasoning. Answers were on the ship somewhere, even if he hadn't found the right questions yet. Perhaps the bridge would tell him. He would go and see, and avoid any mirrors. But what had been in the mirror? Something bad? He could not remember.
The silence was murderous. Am I a ghost?
A cold moment later, the spacecraft shuttered and the empty beakers shook.
—Richard Salter
Richard Salter is a British writer and editor living near Toronto, Canada with his wife and two young sons. He edited the short story collection Short Trips: Transmissions for Big Finish Productions and is now working on World's Collider, an apocalyptic anthology. He has sold over twenty short stories including tales in Solaris Rising, Gotrek & Felix: The Anthology, Phobophobia, Bigfoot Tales and Machine of Death 2. Visit him online at www.richardsalter.com
—To and Fro
By Richard Salter
Tuesday April 10th
Major breakthrough today. Marie had an ast
onishing leap of pure guesswork and managed to freeze a coffee bean. It doesn't sound very impressive, I know, but really it's a big deal. We injected the bean with a radioactive isotope with a rapid half-life. Then we switched on the field for 20 seconds. When the field was switched off, we tested the bean and discovered that the radioactivity had decayed as if only two seconds had passed, not 20.
So what does that mean? Quite simply, we practically froze the bean in time. It aged 10 times less than everything else. I would never say something like this on any of my official recordings for the project, but hot damn! Yeah, this is my private journal so I can say whatever I want. When you've been working on something for two years of your life, it feels amazing to make a breakthrough.
Tomorrow we're going to try 30 seconds and we'll keep expanding it from there. Once we've frozen the bean for an hour, it's time to move on to the next phase of the experiment. That's when things get really cool.
One day we will announce our results to the world. One day when we have achieved true success. Who knows if the final tests will work? Today's accomplishment is one step on the journey, but a significant one.
***
Wednesday April 11th
Today Mr. Franklin stopped by to see the first results of his investment. Mr. Franklin is an internet billionaire. He's about 40—though he looks better than most men 10 years his junior. He's gorgeous and toned, with a roguish grin and a sharp dress sense. He's divorced, apparently. When he made his fortune, the rumor is that his wife dumped him and took half of it. Poor guy. At least he still has all his hair. And, er, half of all that money. Anyway, whenever he visits I make sure I'm wearing my sluttiest skirt and high heels, and the lab coat that best shows off my figure. Marie says I'm being obvious, but I tell her men don't get subtle. She should be encouraging me. If Mr. Franklin and I get married, I'll get half his fortune and Marie's research has guaranteed funding for as long as I live!
Mr. Franklin was looking especially dishy today. He was wearing one of those tailored suits and a swanky tie. He stared at the coffee bean like we were insane. He nodded and smiled when I explained to him that the bean had been frozen in time. It was, to all intents and purposes, one hour younger than everything else in the world. I don't know if he fully understood, but he graciously congratulated us on our breakthrough and promised us another lump sum deposited in the research account. Marie estimates we'll have the results he is looking for in about a year. At this rate, I reckon it's going to be much sooner than that, but she's wise not to oversell it. We've had setbacks before.
He stayed for longer than I thought he would. He took us both out for a really posh lunch, which was beautiful—the best food I've eaten in a while. Then he told us to keep up the great work. Well, after a glass or two of champagne the afternoon was pretty much a write-off. I swear when he said goodbye his hand lingered on mine for just a touch longer than is appropriate. Marie thinks I'm imagining things but if anything I'm a realist. I know he has his pick of every hot young thing that passes his way. A girl can dream, though.
***
Thursday May 3rd
Another breakthrough today. This one is beyond exciting. I got to call Mr. Franklin and tell him personally. He's in Milan right now, but he said as soon as he returns to Chicago, he will stop by and take a look. I can't wait to see him again.
Oh, right, the breakthrough. Today we were able to do more than just freeze a coffee bean, or the orange we froze for an hour last week. This week, we took our humble coffee bean and sent it back in time. This is what we've been trying to achieve all these months! The theory has become a reality. It works! Sure, the coffee bean only went back one second into the past, but for a moment—just for a moment—two beans occupied the same space. I've never seen anything like it. Marie joked that they might explode but no, they co-existed. It was the strangest thing. The coffee bean seemed hyper-real for a moment, like it was more real than anything else in the room, or indeed the universe. Then its double disappeared as it was sent back in time, and we were left with just one coffee bean 1.24 seconds older than the rest of reality.
Let me just repeat that, because I'm having trouble believing it myself. Instead of "freezing" the bean for an hour so that it didn't age, and ended up younger, we actually sent the bean back in time one second, so it in effect lived the same second twice. That now makes it older than everything else.
It's so exciting. Tomorrow we will try to send it back two seconds into the past. Eventually, if we get good enough at this, we can send it back far enough that it will actually start to appear on the "launch pad" before we even place it there. How weird will that be?!?
***
Wednesday June 6th
After weeks of not really getting anywhere, today we made a giant leap. We've been increasing the amount of time we send the bean back in time, but only by increments of .01 of a second. Hardly noticeable and certainly not impressive to the eyes of a billionaire internet mogul with amazing dress sense and a chin cut by diamonds. Sorry, got distracted.
So today, just in time for Mr. Franklin's visit, we managed to extend the field to send the bean back a whole five seconds. It doesn't sound like a lot, but now we are actually witnessing the impossible. This time, Mr. Franklin was seriously impressed. I felt like I was 15 again, back in high school, when my favorite teacher, the dreamy Mr. Hockley, was assessing my science project. I had built a miniature power station that actually powered a dolls house, right down to the desk lamps and the mini fridge! He was so impressed he gave me a gold star and shook my hand—lingering just a little longer than appropriate...
But I digress. So, right in front of Mr. Franklin's eyes, I held a coffee bean in my hand just inches from the launching pad. To his astonishment, an exact replica of the bean appeared on the pad. Three seconds later, I placed my bean into exactly the same space, where it had that hyper-real quality again. Two seconds after that, it returned to normal. That bit wasn't impressive, but the bean appearing out of thin air before I placed it on the launch pad—now that was impressive.
Mr. Franklin told us that this achievement alone would make us the most famous scientists on the planet. He urged us to continue. We would make history, he said. He sounded excited. He hugged us both in delight. His hug with Marie was a little awkward, but I didn't care because then he embraced me like he meant it. I can't decide which one was the highlight of my day, the successful time jump or the hug. Both were pretty awesome. He told us he'd dreamed of travelling in time since he was a little boy, and had always vowed that one day he would be rich enough to fund the finest minds in the country to unlock the secrets. He knew he was not good at science, but if he could enable others, that would feel just as good.
He truly is a wonderful man. And he smells so good too! I hope he isn't gay.
After he left, Marie said something to me that gave me chills of anticipation. Okay, she complained that Mr. Franklin hugged me for far too long. But as well as that, she said that any day now, something could arrive on the launch pad out of thin air, sent back by our future selves to this point in time. It can happen at any time, now that this breakthrough has been made. When that day comes and something arrives on the launch pad, we will know for certain that our research will uncover the secret of time travel. It must, or else we could not have sent ourselves anything. The future has been unlocked, she said. I find that so exciting! I wonder what we will send ourselves! I hope it's more exciting than a coffee bean.
***
Thursday June 7th
I have a date! A week Saturday. And guess who asked me out? OMG, it's Mr. Dishy himself. He sent me an e-mail today, saying he enjoys spending time with me and would I like to go to a very swishy and expensive restaurant. Okay, so he didn't actually call it a very swishy and expensive restaurant. That was me paraphrasing, but who cares? I'm so excited! Saturday can't come soon enough!
Marie just tutted. She seems kind of sullen about it. I think she has a little secret something for him too. Frankly, who
the hell wouldn't? She is more his age, but that's never stopped me before. A little competition between co-workers? Bring it on!
***
Saturday June 16th
I'm home! He kissed me goodnight but was the perfect gentleman. I never give out on a first date! So we said goodnight and he kissed me and I stopped worrying about my shoes and whether they were posh enough for the restaurant, and oh my God I might be in love. Too soon to say that I suppose, at least not to his face! It'll be our little secret, you and me, dear journal. Harriet, you'll say, I won't tell a soul.
***
Tuesday June 26th
Everything is a mess. The whole thing is in ruins. I don't know how we will ever get over it. I'm not talking about me and Mr. Franklin—sorry, Craig—that's going just swimmingly. In fact, we went out three times last week and again on the weekend.
It's the experiment that's kaput. Maybe I should explain.
Today we tried to send a pineapple one day back in time—or at least we will tomorrow. How do I know that? Well we planned to. But also, the pineapple arrived this morning. There was a metal pin on it with tomorrow's date so we know where it came from.
Problem was, the pineapple itself was bad. Rotten. Not just gone off, but different. We sliced it open and it was rancid all the way through. No maggots or anything, but not a bit of it was a golden yellow color. It was like ashes.
It was a bust.
Marie was devastated. She asked me not to tell Craig for the time being, at least until we've run some more tests. I'm seeing him later tonight—it'll be tough to hide my disappointment. Maybe there was something wrong with the pineapple?