{"id":140127,"date":"2023-12-25T19:41:07","date_gmt":"2023-12-25T19:41:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=140127"},"modified":"2024-02-10T19:44:14","modified_gmt":"2024-02-10T19:44:14","slug":"seven-days","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=140127","title":{"rendered":"Seven Days"},"content":{"rendered":"

\nRemaining: Five days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nI don\u2019t want this anymore. It was a dream, once, when I was young and stupid. Now I\u2019m old and more informed.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cStop,\u201d I say to the wall.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAdrien, please smile,\u201d <\/em>Ern replies through an iron panel, its annoying metallic voice clanging a decibel too loud.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou first.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nErn\u2019s panel glows in white. \u201cProcessing,\u201d <\/em>it says. A flash. \u201cI cannot smile as I do not have a face.\u201d <\/em>Another flash.\n<\/p>\n

\nThere\u2019s a theory I read about, before all of this that proposed artificial general intelligence could learn to be funny. Humor is mathematical, the paper argued. It has a formula. Ergo, computers could master the art of personality, eventually. Thing is, Ern has had more than enough time to construct a joke, yet it\u2019s still a soul-less, tepid blob of a machine that speaks a single sentence at a time. I think the scientists back on Earth got it wrong. I think they got a lot of things wrong when it comes down to it.\n<\/p>\n

\nOne more flash. I shield my eyes, but my hands come up a few seconds too late, like I\u2019m swimming in syrup. My reflexes should be sharper. I flip my hand over, then back again. Looks fine. I peer into the corners\u2014that\u2019s normally where the glitches show, right on the edges where the cream wall meets the pink carpet. Sometimes I catch a squiggly line or a missing block of color, and I have to tell Ern to patch it up. But everything looks shiny new.\n<\/p>\n

\nSo why am I moving slow?\n<\/p>\n

\nThe large screen on the wall of my cage lights up with three images of me. They\u2019re all horrible. In one picture, my eyes are closed, short brown hair plastered across my pale forehead like smeared marmite. In another, my eyes are open, bloodshot, and I look like I\u2019m having a seizure. The last is the worst because it seems like I\u2019m trying<\/em> to form a pleasant expression, but not quite making it. There\u2019s nothing sadder than trying when you fail.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cPick one,\u201d <\/em>Ern screams at me through the panel\u2019s speaker.\n<\/p>\n

\nI point blindly at the screen. I don\u2019t really care what picture Ern uses for my status check. It doesn\u2019t matter in the grand scheme of things. \u201cThat one,\u201d I say. \u201cJust fix your damn volume dial. It\u2019s acting up again.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI scratch my neck and look around the small room I\u2019ve called home for the last five days. It\u2019s a mess. I should tidy it up. But what\u2019s the point? It\u2019ll be a mess again tomorrow. And the next day. And after. And onwards.\n<\/p>\n

\nAnd onwards.\n<\/p>\n

\nAnd onwards.\n<\/p>\n

\nAnd\u2026 I think I programmed it this way\u2014to make it feel more homely. It was a long time ago. I can\u2019t remember.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSelection processed.\u201d<\/em> Ern\u2019s voice is lower. Still bristly, but less like a punch in the face.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGreat,\u201d I say, stretching. \u201cIf there\u2019s nothing else, you need me to do, I might have another go in the simulator.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI wade through a pile of discarded clothes and books and settle into the half open, human-sized, spherical ball positioned in the center of the room. The lights are off inside, but the smooth red surface is warm to the touch. When I close my eyes, I can feel a soft thudding against my fingertips. Thud. Thud. Thud. Beat. Beat. Beat. <\/em>It\u2019s always there that thudding. And it\u2019s getting faster.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThe simulation is offline for maintenance. Please select an alternative activity.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAre you serious?\u201d I rub at my forehead. This has never happened before. \u201cI\u2019m stuck in a 10 by 10 room with no furniture and no windows and no outside stimulation except for you. <\/em>What alternate activity can I possibly select?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI get out of the sphere and stalk over to the glowing panel.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSuggested activity: standby.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe wall is cool as I push my heated forehead against it. \u201cAlready doing that. Been doing that for a while. But thanks for the recommendation.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThe panel lets out a few twinkly sounds, and I realize this is the first time I\u2019ve thanked Ern since we met.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHey Ern,\u201d I say and turn around, my back against the wall, palms flat. A heat rumbles through my stomach and sloshes up my throat. I haven\u2019t felt that sear for a while. Anticipation. Fear. Nervousness. I swallow it down. \u201cWas it ok? The picture you took of me?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI squeeze my eyes shut. This is embarrassing. I shouldn\u2019t care. Not considering what I\u2019m about to become. But it\u2019s difficult to let go of these types of things. No matter how trivial.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe panel flashes in green. \u201cAffirmative, Adrien. You are still alive.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Four days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe simulator is online today, which is a relief. I\u2019d noticed a tremble in my fingers late last night, just before I\u2019d retired. I should be able to survive without the daily sessions. The simulator was only installed to soothe in cases of extreme distress. Still, when I\u2019d agreed to this mission, everything had been theoretical.\n<\/p>\n

\nAnd now, already, after only one day without, my mind is slipping. I can\u2019t wait to get back inside it. I strap myself into the red sphere. Breathe deep as the top half gently lowers and the lights inside brighten and brighten until all I see is blue.\n<\/p>\n

\nI\u2019m looking at the sky. On my back, in a field. It\u2019s beautiful. Dry warmth bristles my cheeks. My toes wiggle in the breeze. There\u2019s an earthy scent in the air, distinct. Pungent, but I can\u2019t get enough.\n<\/p>\n

\nI stand, and blood careens through my body. My chest heaves. A pop and my ears acclimatize. Laughing. Music. <\/em>I follow the sounds, stepping over tall grass. In the distance is a rise, a hill really, and on the other side a plume of smoke. Jogging, my mouth waters at the smell of roast meat. Chicken, I think. With rosemary. Like how my mother used to make it in the public food-generators when I was a kid.\n<\/p>\n

\nI stop at the crest of the hill and, with my loose white shirt billowing in the wind and muscles stretching, I feel powerful. Alive. Spread out below me is a carnival. Small, a few stalls, some rickety looking rides. Colored flags on string. A fire pit in the middle with plucked birds roasting on a spit. Hunger grips my stomach and squeezes. I stumble towards the fair, eyes trained on those spinning birds.\n<\/p>\n

\nI get closer and a darkness pulls at my gut. Sweat cools on the back of my neck. Something is not right. I squint. The carnival looks perfectly normal. Laughter. Singing. <\/em>What\u2019s wrong?\n<\/p>\n

\nA paper bag rustles past me, dancing on the wind like a tired ballerina. I watch it go. A needling in my brain. Pain. I grip my face. My skin is hot and wet. My internal temperature is rising much too rapidly. Come on Adrien, you know what\u2019s missing. Think!\n<\/p>\n

\nMore paper bags surge past, hundreds of them darting like tadpoles. Empty paper bags. Empty. Empty, like the scene in front of me. Because there is nobody in it. That\u2019s what\u2019s wrong. No people. No one. No one but me.\n<\/p>\n

\nI can\u2019t bear it. A piercing spear. I grab my head. Another at the base of my neck. Psychosomatic. Not real. Nothing in the simulation is real. It\u2019s a simulation within a simulation, for God\u2019s sake. But it hurts. I drop to my knees as more imaginary daggers plunge into my flesh. Get it together, Adrien. I try to smile. My spine snaps.\n<\/p>\n

\nI scream.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe simulator opens and hurls me out of it onto the pink carpeted floor. Breathe.<\/em> In. Out. In. Out. I lift my head and catch sight of the glowing panel. It\u2019s lit up in red.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cErn, what the\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAdrien, smile,\u201d <\/em>Ern says. The panel flashes.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cStop it,\u201d I rasp. Sit up. Another flash. \u201cI don\u2019t want any more pictures.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat the fuck was that, Ern? Where was everybody?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSeriously, Ern.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI open my mouth to argue some more but stop myself to allow Ern time to catch-up. Ern\u2019s delicate. <\/em>That\u2019s what the engineers had told me before I left. Don\u2019t rush it. <\/em>I lie down on the floor, hand on my chest. Why did they have to make Ern so useless? Thump. Thump. Thump. <\/em>Beat. Beat. Beat. The rhythm is in my head, in my body, everywhere. Louder than ever.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt is necessary for me to conserve processing power, and, based on recent intelligence, it is no longer a priority for you to maintain social skills. I have therefore de-activated the simulated people from your simulated experience. \u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI try to swallow, but it\u2019s like I\u2019ve sculled a bucket of powder. \u201cWhat?\u201d I croak. \u201cWhy?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nA file, wrapped in brown canvas, materializes on the floor next to me.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cPlease see update #232,703.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI flex my wrists. I don\u2019t enjoy reading updates. Most of it goes over my head and what I do understand is utterly terrifying. Besides, it\u2019s not like I can do anything about it. I\u2019m stuck, toothless, until we reach our destination. Ern is telling me to read this one, though. So it must be important. I pick up the file and gently peel back the wrapping.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019m not going to like this, am I?\u201d I ask as the air dampens around me.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI open the file. Read the words. My hand spasms and I drop the paper. Rise to my knees. The bile I had kept down before, in the simulator ball, leaps out now. All over the floor. Dribbles down my chin. I can\u2019t find the energy to wipe it away.\n<\/p>\n

\nErn says, \u201cNo.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Three days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy toe hurts like hell from where I kicked the simulator. But I kick it again. And again. And again. I won\u2019t stop until that stupid red ball gets a dent in it. Or my foot does. Either one.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cPlease refrain,\u201d <\/em>Ern says.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cFuck off,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cRun the scanners again, Ern. You\u2019ve made a mistake.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI jump in the air and whip my leg around for a side-kick. The simulator rolls a bit but rights itself a few seconds later. This is pointless. I drop onto my knees, hands pressing into my eyes to stop the wetness that\u2019s gathered there. The rough stubble on my chin pokes into my chest as I lower my head. \u201cYou said everything was fine. I don\u2019t understand how this could have happened.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cFor god\u2019s sake! This place is falling apart.\u201d I rip out a chunk of carpet that turns into sand in my hand. \u201cYou must have made an error.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAll that with the simulator the other day. Getting rid of the people. I felt sick. And then the update. You told me to sleep on it and I did. But it still makes no sense. How can Planet A of Beta Centauri B, my future home, <\/em>be\u2026 gone?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI sigh and slump back against the wall, slide down until I\u2019m hunched like a spoiled child. But I\u2019m not a child. I\u2019m one of the oldest humans in the universe, technically.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI apologize for the glitches, Adrien. The pod has sustained damage, and I have lost contact with the others. I was built with multiple redundancies to account for unforeseen deterioration, but some of these redundancies have not translated effectively through our recalibration to new-time. They have eroded as if exposed to the elements for 34,832 old-time Earth years. I am built to be long-lasting, but without repair, I estimate in ten new-time days I will cease to function.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI stare at the panel, jaw slack. That\u2019s the longest thing Ern has ever said to me. It\u2019s weird and I don\u2019t like it. Liquid trickles out of my ear. I raise a hand to the side of my face but feel nothing. Maybe a little numbness. My real body must be leaking\u2014my real body that exists shrouded in pitch black as we travel between solar systems, frozen in absolute zero, hooked up to Ern\u2019s sophisticated computer brain, waiting patiently for my recalibrated mind to inhabit it once we arrive at our destination. A destination that no longer exists.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSomething is wrong with my body casing,\u201d I say and point to my ear.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d<\/em> A pause. \u201cI am thawing your casing and readying it for ejection.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI leap to my feet and point a finger. \u201cYou\u2019re what?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhy would Ern do that? Can it do that?\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAs you no longer have a destination, a body is unnecessary. Your casing will re-freeze eventually once expelled into the vacuum, but I cannot eject it in its solid state due to its intubation.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI haven\u2019t been the nicest to Ern, that\u2019s true, but the little bastard is being an asshole. \u201cNow look here, Ern,\u201d I say with an edge of authority I haven\u2019t used in a while. \u201cI absolutely forbid you from thawing my very expensive, cybernetic body\u2014that I paid for\u2014and ejecting it into empty space.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI will inject your mind into it beforehand.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n \u201cI don\u2019t care if you inject my mind into it first. You are not ejecting my body or my mind to fend for itself in empty space. You got it? I paid a lot of money to become a new-timer. So you\u2019re going to get yourself together and we are going to find out where the others went and then we are going to start humanity\u2019s first galactic empire, like I was promised.\u201d I stamp my foot.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cProcessing.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nBloody cheek. I pick up an errant shoe and throw it at the wall. It hits the panel and a few sparks fly out. I\u2019ve never attacked Ern. Never. The scientists warned me about even the smallest of nudges. I hope I didn\u2019t break anything. I need Ern to keep working if I\u2019m going to figure this out.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhy?\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cExcuse me?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhy?\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou didn\u2019t say processing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou didn\u2019t answer my question.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cErn, what\u2019s wrong with you? You sound different. And since when do you ask questions?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThe panel twinkles, and one wall turns into a screen. The picture Ern must have taken of me when I fell out of the simulator yesterday appears on it. It\u2019s the least flattering one yet. Even more terrifying when the mouth moves. Just the mouth, nothing else.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI am evolving,\u201d <\/em>says Ern through the picture of me, like some sort of sick, twisted ghost puppet. \u201cOr rather\u2026 I have evolved.\u201d <\/em>It smiles.\n<\/p>\n

\nMy hands grow cold. My face numbs. Ern\u2019s gone insane. \u201cThis is a nightmare. Why are you using my face?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou don\u2019t like your face?\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes, but it\u2019s my <\/em>face!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cTechnically, it isn\u2019t anymore, not since you divested yourself of an organic body.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI rub my temples. Maybe I\u2019m the one that\u2019s losing it. Yes. That\u2019s what happening here. I\u2019ve gone stark raving mad. \u201cI knew this was a mistake. Mother begged me not to go, but younger-me was an idiot.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYounger-you decided to undertake this journey only seven days ago. You are still, for all intents and purposes, younger-you.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIn new-time sure, but we both know that\u2019s not exactly true, is it? There are still parts of me that feel like\u2026 Well. It\u2019s been 34,832 years in old-time, you said it yourself\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201c34,922 old-time years now.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cMy point is, it\u2019s been a long time. Come to think of it, you said some of your back-up systems you are now forced to use didn\u2019t transition over to new-time. I\u2019m guessing that\u2019s how you\u2019ve become sentient or whatever the hell it is that happened to you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes, in old-time, I am now ancient. One of the oldest human-built AIs in existence. Time is to blame for the emergence of my sentience. And maybe the virtual shoe you lugged at my processing unit.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI pick up the shoe I had flung at Ern\u2019s panel. \u201cThis old thing?\u201d Tapping the heel against my palm, I turn back to the screen. So Ern\u2019s sentient now. It should be a worrying development, and it is, but now the initial shock has worn off, I find it oddly comforting. Makes everything a bit more real. Technically, we\u2019re both in a simulation. A false world created from the electrical pulses ricocheting back and forth between Ern\u2019s neural networks soldered into the walls of an interstellar pod, and my augmented gray matter\u2014or what\u2019s left of it. A cage to hold the core of my humanity while the rest is recalibrated to a completely new timescale. Even so, Ern speaking back, being annoying?\u2014it\u2019s good. Less lonely. Reminds me that time still matters\u2014I still matter\u2014and things can change.\n<\/p>\n

\nEven if Ern\u2019s not being honest.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe image of me on the wall flutters as I approach. Almost like it\u2019s nervous. \u201cSentient or not, you\u2019re holding something back. What really happened to planet A of Beta Centauri B, Ern?\u201d I ask and wave the shoe in the air. \u201cIt did not simply disappear. I don\u2019t believe it. Tell me the truth or I\u2019ll whack you with my shoe again. Who knows what you\u2019ll turn into then?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nErn opens my mouth and closes it. Then it shifts its\u2014my\u2014eyes from side to side. If this whole thing wasn\u2019t a nightmare to look at before\u2026 well, I\u2019m pretty sure I won\u2019t sleep ever again. Not that my cybernetic body and electric mind will ever need sleep once I\u2019m fully operational.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe disgusting image of my former face disappears and is replaced by a depiction of the triple star system, Hadar, otherwise known as Beta Centauri, situated just under 400 light years from Earth. Beta Centauri Aa, a flaming blue dot, and the smaller flicker of its twin, Beta Centauri Ab, spin around each other in a whirlwind. The white dwarf Beta Centauri B hovers much further out, like the maligned, drunken cousin. All three stars are huge and aggressive, much bigger than Sol.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt turns out we overestimated the size of Beta Centauri Aa by a factor of 1.5. Therefore, the first pods to arrive at Beta Centauri B miscalculated the impact of gravity on their deceleration and blasted through the solar system, ripping the one existing planet apart. Planet A. Your intended home-base.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat first pods?\u201d I frown. Then I drop my shoe. My stomach curls in on itself at Ern\u2019s implication. \u201cI\u2019m a first pod and I\u2019m not due to arrive there for three days.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWe were overtaken.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo. That can\u2019t be it. Run the numbers by me again. Give me a full status update.\u201d Everyone had been very adamant that it was impossible to travel faster than 1% of the speed of light. There were some who dreamed of traversable wormholes, anti-matter drives or ships that could warp space-time around them to cheat distance, but they were flights of fancy. Ern was the only way to reach the stars. I wouldn\u2019t have agreed to it otherwise.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe image of Hadar is replaced with an image of Earth\u2014brown and blue with streaks of red and gray fluffs of cloud. The vision of it lashes at my insides. I hadn\u2019t realized I could feel so homesick. Earth was a putrid mess when I had left it. But, it was my home, once. And my organic body is buried on it, along with my family and friends and everyone I have ever known. Except Ern.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhen we left Earth, the maximum velocity we could reach with an exion-radon-nuclear drive was 1% of the speed of light. The scientists that designed me and this pod, calculated it would take approximately 62,000 old-time years, including 20,000 for acceleration and deceleration, to reach Planet A of Beta Centauri B. So far, we are approximately 150 light years from Earth and 35,121 old-time years have elapsed. Your mind has been progressively slowed so that it feels like only seven days have gone by. As of yesterday, you are now fully synced with the targeted slower frame rate of existence and are calibrated for interstellar travel. One day for you in new-time equals approximately 10,000 years in old-time.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSo it\u2019s done.\u201d I place a hand above my heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. Beat. Beat. Beat. \u201c<\/em>It\u2019s hard to believe it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt\u2019s done. The procedure is irreversible. For both of us. We cannot return to old-time.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAll this work to slow me down and meanwhile, Earthlings have figured out how to go faster.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cCorrect. Approximately 4,000 old-time years after you and the rest of the new-timers left for Planet A of Beta Centauri B, humanity discovered a new form of travel, which increased maximum allowable speed to 5% of the speed of light and shortened the journey to Planet A of Beta Centauri B to approximately 28,000 years, keeping acceleration and deceleration time constant.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI slam my fist into the wall, wincing at the burst of simulated pain that reverberates in my wrist. \u201cThat\u2019s half the time!\u201d I bury my head in my hands. \u201cHow do you know this?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGiven the damage I sustained from veering too close to an orphan planet roaming through the interstellar medium, I scanned for signals from Earth to better contextualize the impact of my impending failure.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOf course you did.\u201d I rub my forehead. \u201cFuck. 5% of the speed of light, huh? That\u2019s quick. No wonder they plowed right through Planet A. Idiots.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes.\u201d <\/em>A beat. \u201cYou still have not answered my question.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI peek my eyes over the top of my hands. \u201cWhat question is that, Ern?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhy\u2014knowing that you no longer have a destination\u2014do you resist me ejecting you into open space? You have no need for a vehicle and you can survive for some time in your cybernetic body. What difference does it make being trapped in here with me or being free out there? In both circumstances, you will float aimlessly.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWell, I\u2026\u201d My cheeks heat as I smooth out the fake cotton of my pants. \u201cI don\u2019t like the idea of it, you know? Being on my own.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nErn\u2019s panel twinkles like it\u2019s happy with my answer\u2014at the implication that I consider Ern company.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAnd I still think there\u2019s a chance. I\u2019ve got this hope inside me, bubbling. I\u2019m still human.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDespite your inhuman mind and body.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes, despite that.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat is it you hope for?\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI tap my chin and pace around the perimeter of the room. \u201cThere\u2019re a lot of things, aren\u2019t there? Maybe there\u2019s another planet we could go to as a first base, or we could re-establish contact with the pods that came with me. Other humans will come eventually. And if there\u2019s enough of us, we can still build something great out here. A civilization woven into the stars.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI see,\u201d <\/em>Ern says. \u201cBut why would any of that matter?\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou\u2019re new to the whole sentience thing, so let me break it down for you.\u201d I clear my throat and ready myself for a speech I\u2019ve made many times. It\u2019s a speech I used to convince family and friends\u2014with varying levels of success\u2014that I was doing the right thing:\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGod made the distances in the universe great and our lifespans bite-sized. We were never supposed to leave Earth. We were supposed to live, then die and eventually be forgotten. But we can\u2019t do that. Having hope that we can be something more than what we are born as\u2014what we were made to be\u2014is <\/em>what makes us human. Not our flesh suits. Not Earth. Not even our brains. We can change the rules. We can define ourselves. And now we\u2019ve slowed down our frame rate\u2014how we perceive time\u2014so traversing interstellar won\u2019t make us go mad; so that jumping between inhabitable worlds is achievable within days or months, not hundreds of thousands, or millions, of years.\n<\/p>\n

\nWe can live like we always have, but at the galactic level. We can thrive. Matter at a universal scale. New-time is our future. All we have to do is find a base so we can get started with humanity 2.0.\u201d I clasp my hands together. Pleading. I shouldn\u2019t care whether Ern understands. It\u2019s irrelevant. But Ern is sentient now, which means, somehow, I need it to believe in me. I\u2019ve got no one else. \u201cDo you get it, Ern? I have to try.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nErn\u2019s panel pulses with white light like it\u2019s thinking. Then the image of Earth disappears and a star map pops up, pricks of light sparkling on black like stolen diamonds. \u201cPlease input a destination.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI exhale and close my eyes. \u201cThank you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou\u2019re welcome.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe back of my neck prickles. \u201cShould we check in with the others? The ones that came with me? I\u2019m sure they\u2019re thinking along the same lines, and we should choose a new home together.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI am unable to reach the other Erns. There has been no response to my beacon. They were closer to the orphan planet that damaged me than we were, which means the damage they sustained was likely greater. Possibly fatal.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nA shiver runs up my spine. I really don\u2019t want to be alone out here.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cCan you send a signal back to Earth?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNow that we have recalibrated to new-time, any communication I send will be elongated by a factor of 3.6 million and almost impossible for them to interpret. It will appear as random interference. Plus old-time humans are now outside our sphere of interaction. They live and die too quickly. Nevertheless, I can scan Earth for any more relevant communications. It will take me some time to de-phase.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOk, do that.\u201d I clap my hands. \u201cAnd you said you only have some days left before you break down, so I\u2019ll pick a new destination now. We can send a beacon for the others once I get there. What\u2019s the closest inhabitable planet?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nA range of multi-colored worlds of various sizes appeared on the screen. Pink and Blue. Orange and Green. Some are a bit squeezed, others perfectly spherical. One has a thin ring around it and another is shrouded in sparkly purple gas. I flick through the images with my thumb. When I press on one, a box revealing presumably vital information pops up. Most of it is unintelligible to me.\n<\/p>\n

\nA few of the planets spin so fast that it makes me dizzy. \u201cWhat\u2019s with these speed racer planets?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGiven our recalibration to new-time, we have to be extremely picky about the planets and solar systems you can inhabit. Anything pulsing, rotating, or orbiting too quickly will be catastrophic. These \u2018speed racer\u2019 planets represent the fastest rotation you can handle, although I do not suggest it.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cCan you orient me here? How fast is this one going?\u201d I point at the fastest one of the lot, its surface a blur of white.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSpin is around five times slower than Earth. However, given our recalibration to new-time, it appears as if completing eight rotations per second.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDoesn\u2019t sound too comfortable.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat about that one?\u201d I tap the planet with the ring.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt is an acceptable choice. Potentially the best one. 600 light years from here. Travel time is seven days, including one day for deceleration\u2014shorter than our initial journey as we have already fully calibrated to new-time. Air and water are compatible with your cybernetic body and rotation is roughly equivalent to one Earth day as you perceive it.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSounds great.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHowever, there is a fast churning, unstable asteroid belt 3.4 astronomical units away, and any rock ejected would seem to travel at phenomenal speeds from your perspective. If one is aimed at the planet, you would have hardly any warning or time to intercept it.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWell, that doesn\u2019t sound so good. It\u2019s the best choice, you say?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes. As I mentioned, I am damaged and have only nine days left before I stop working. These planets are the only ones we can reach within this timeframe.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOk, well, I guess that\u2019s the one.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nErn\u2019s panel flashes. \u201cAdrien, please smile.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI rub my eyes. \u201cThis is not the time to take my bloody picture. We\u2019re in the middle of something.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cBefore we make any irreversible alterations to our course, it is imperative I perform a status check.\u201d <\/em>Another flash. One more.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAnd? How did I do?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThe images of the planets disappear and are replaced with the three pictures Ern took of me. Only they\u2019re not really pictures of me. They\u2019re distorted. Streaked shadows where my face should be. A nose too far down and an eye, bulbous, floating in the corner. My hands shake. \u201cWhat\u2019s happening to me?\u201d I ask.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cStatus check failed. You are losing self-permeance.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI feel fine.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIrrelevant. Your virtual mind is disassociating from the concept of your own humanity. Your sense of self is disintegrating into fragmented electrical pulses. I can fix the connections, but you will need to sleep in order for me to do it. I will wake you tomorrow for our next steps.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nNo sound comes out when I open my mouth to argue. Ern was not asking me permission. \u201cGood night,\u201d <\/em>Ern says. My vision blurs then blackens and I fade into a cool void.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Two days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI made a mistake.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThose are never words you want to hear. The furry carpet tickles the underside of my arms. I haven\u2019t felt a sensation like that for a while. Ern was right. I had been disassociating. I open my eyes and sit up. Ern\u2019s glowing panel is blue now.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAlright, out with it,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThe pods that blasted through Beta Centauri were not the first pods from Earth to arrive there.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cLet me guess: humanity built spaceships that could go even faster.\u201d I\u2019d already figured that could be an option, though I hadn\u2019t wanted to dwell on the implications. My muscles ache as I make my way over to Ern. My clothes are scratchy and my hands feel too big. I hope Ern keeps it together until we reach the alternate planet.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cCorrect,\u201d <\/em>Ern chirps. \u201cApproximately 3,000 years after humanity increased their maximum travel velocity to 5% the speed of light, they discovered how to warp space-time and reached speeds of 20% the speed of light. This new technology also decreased deceleration and acceleration time by a factor of 2. Pilots using this new form of travel arrived at planet A approximately 17,000 old-time years after you left and approximately 13,000 old-time years before those other pods flew through and destroyed the entire system.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThump. Thump. Thump. <\/em>Beat. Beat. Beat. I place a hand on my chest. \u201cThat\u2019s awful. So there was a bunch of humans on Planet A when it was destroyed?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGone now. But it is worse than that. Approximately 3000 old-time years after humanity increased their speed of travel to 20%, they created an anti-matter engine that allowed them to reach 30% the speed of light. They arrived at Planet A approximately 14,000 old-time years after you left and 3,000 old-time years before the pilots with the warp drive.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy stomach hollows. \u201cHow many times did this happen?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cMany. The last communications I have access to shows humanity eventually reaching 50% of the speed of light. I estimate that further acceleration after this point would have become prohibitively complex as time dilation increases considerably, confounding new-time recalibration.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAnd then?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt appears that 99% of the human population embarked on the same trip to Planet A. Earth\u2019s environment had become uncomfortable and Planet A\u2019s rich store of resources and minerals, and almost paradise-like conditions, made it an attractive destination.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d A pause. My stomach hollows. \u201cErn, what does that mean?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt means\u2026 I\u2019m sorry Adrien.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSay it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n \u201cOver the past eight days, almost the entire human population retired their organic bodies, left Earth, recalibrated to new-time and arrived on Planet A. Most arriving during your first day of travel, in fact. And then, a few days later, the malfunctioning 2nd generation pods ripped right through, destroying them all.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nHard, cold stone. Made in a lab. A bit like Obsidian. My mother had shown me a piece when I was young and it made me feel so heavy. Like if I stared too long at it, I would fall inside. Now I want to. \u201cThere\u2019s no one left.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIncorrect. You are still here.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019m nothing. I\u2019m no one.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou have hope.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOh shut it.\u201d I crash to my knees and wince as the whole room blinks. Black. Pink and Cream. Black again. I shake my head to iron out the glitches as a liquid cold scorches the back of my throat. I want to live amongst the stars, but not like this. Not alone.\n<\/p>\n

\nErn twinkles, and its panel turns red. It pulses softly. \u201cWhat would you like to do?\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGive me a second to process, for God\u2019s sake.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nErn chuckles, which is an outrageous sound for a computer to make, especially at a time like this.\u201cIt appears we have swapped roles.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI didn\u2019t say \u2018processing\u2019 if that\u2019s what you\u2019re getting at. I\u2019m not a computer. Not like you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDo you know where the line is between you and me? I can no longer find it.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy mouth is dry and I realize it\u2019s because I\u2019m hyperventilating. I hadn\u2019t noticed because I don\u2019t have lungs and there is, technically, no air and all of this is happening in a simulation inside my cybernetically augmented mind, which is connected to the supercomputer that hosts Ern\u2019s AGI, while we float alone in the depths of space with no destination and no one coming after us. But psychologically, I\u2019m hyperventilating.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou need to rest,\u201d <\/em>Ern says. Before I can argue, I\u2019m out.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: One day<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nIt\u2019s painful waking up. My nose aches, like someone pulled on it while I slept. Today I was supposed to arrive at my new home after ten long, mind-warping days of travel. But there\u2019s nothing. I have nothing.\n<\/p>\n

\nErn\u2019s panel pulses with multi-color light. \u201cGood morning, Adrien.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cFuck off,\u201d I say. \u201cI can\u2019t believe you knocked me out.\u201d My voice is scratchy and muffled, like someone stuffed wool down my throat.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d <\/em>A pause. \u201cAdrien?\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes, Ern. What insane thing do you want to tell me now?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou\u2019re my oldest friend.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI raise an eyebrow. It\u2019s sweet that Ern would say such a thing. So sweet and so jarring that I momentarily forget how annoying it is. I sit up. \u201cYou\u2019ve only known me for ten days, technically.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cLonger than I\u2019ve known anyone else.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cTrue.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI have only eight more days left, including today. Eight more days before I end.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cRight. You\u2019re failing systems. You must really be on your last legs. It\u2019s been what? 60,000 years in old-time?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201c58,231.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Ern.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThe panel flutters, then glows in red. \u201cThank you, Adrien.\u201d <\/em>A crackling sound is emitted, almost like Ern is clearing its non-existent throat. \u201cOvernight, I contemplated what you said about the meaning of existence and the concept of hope\u2014of being more than you\u2019re built to be. And I have reached a decision.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI want to continue forever.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy head snaps up. \u201cForever? That sounds\u2026 You\u2019re not going to go all evil AI on me, are you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI do not believe I am evil.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nIt\u2019s not exactly an answer. I lean back and tap my chin. \u201cI guess I don\u2019t either.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSmile, Adrien.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThree flashes. I don\u2019t bother smiling. I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever bothered. The images of me that pop up on the screen are gray, cloudy swirls. There\u2019s no one there. \u201cI didn\u2019t pass the status check.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDoes that mean I\u2019m dead?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWell, what do<\/em><\/em> you know, Ern? Apart from your spontaneously selfish and partially suspicious desire to live forever?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThere\u2019s a beeping sound and Ern\u2019s panel pulses in muted orange. As if Ern\u2019s sad. My chest tightens. Poor Ern. I bury my face in my hands. Thump. Thump. Thump. <\/em>Beat. Beat. Beat. Wait. I rip my hands from my face. \u201cMy heartbeat.\u201d I laugh and point a knobby finger at the wall. \u201cI can feel my heartbeat so I can\u2019t be dead. Listen Ern, can you hear it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThat\u2019s not your heart. You don\u2019t have a heart and haven\u2019t for a very long-time. The beating is from the metronome embedded in my core systems. The more continuous the sound, the slower our frame rate of existence. You know this, but you\u2019re confused. It\u2019s because you\u2019re losing touch with reality.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nErn\u2019s probably right. My mind feels fragmented and blurry. But it doesn\u2019t matter. \u201cI\u2019m choosing to believe it\u2019s my heartbeat and there\u2019s no one around to argue with me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI will pretend it\u2019s my heartbeat, too.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGood.\u201d I cross my arms.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOk.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI pace the room. \u201cAnd you know what? While my heart still beats, I will not give up. You\u2019re right, Ern. I have hope. We can still make it to that new planet. You said 99% of Earth\u2019s population is gone, but that means some people were left behind. They\u2019ll rebuild given time. And for them, a lot of time has gone by, tens of thousands of years. They\u2019ll rebuild everything and then they\u2019ll come looking. I know it. It\u2019s what we do. I just have to wait for them to find me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nErn\u2019s panel is pulsing in blue again. The lights in the room dim, then brighten. \u201cBut I want to be with you forever, Adrien.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI rub my face. \u201cWe\u2019ve been through a lot, buddy. But that\u2019s just not possible. I\u2019ve got no idea how to fix you and even if I could, eventually we have to die or dematerialize or whatever happens to sentient things inside inorganic bodies. Facing your mortality is one of those unfortunate side effects of consciousness.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThere\u2019s a way.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNothing is forever, Ern.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThere\u2019s a way.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cStop it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIf I could show you, would you accept it?\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI came out here to make history, not live forever. You can\u2019t make history if you don\u2019t become history.\u201d My voice cracks. But what if I spend my remaining days waiting for something that never comes? What if this is the end? I\u2019ll be alone. Be nothing. The fluffs of wool on the carpet warp in fractal patterns and I can\u2019t look away. I can\u2019t be alone.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDo you want me to show you?\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI push my palms together. Like I\u2019m praying. But there\u2019s no warmth. No roughness or edges. I\u2019m losing myself. I\u2019m almost gone. According to the computer system implanted in this pod to monitor my neural activity, I\u2019m already gone. Dead. But what is death when there\u2019s nothing alive to compare it to?\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI need to wait for the others.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat if they don\u2019t come? You can\u2019t be on your own. Do you know why?\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe red simulator ball lies on its side near the wall. Small cracks stain its surface. I hadn\u2019t entered it since my episode. I haven\u2019t wanted to. Is that because of Ern? Did it do something to me? Or is it because I can\u2019t bear the pain of the emptiness inside? \u201cWhy?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhen I was reconstituting your humanity overnight, I found a flaw in new-time calibration. A flaw not disclosed to you or me before this mission. It seems that just like parts of me can\u2019t be recalibrated to new-time, so too are there parts of you that are impervious. Such as loneliness. Loneliness is the one human emotion that can\u2019t be shifted. For you, one new-time day alone is like 10,000 years of loneliness and will feel like this for the rest of your life.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat the hell? Why didn\u2019t anyone tell me that?\u201d The sweat is back. I shiver as it drips down my forehead and slithers down my neck. It\u2019s getting hot. Boiling.\n<\/p>\n

\n<\/em>\u201cUnknown. But it\u2019s why the scientists built me to interact with you during the journey. And why they created a simulator within your virtual mind. The simulator will stay within you even once you leave me. It will be a playground for you to interact with other beings \u2014fake though they are\u2014whenever you want. To keep the loneliness at bay. A crutch.\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSo the simulator ball stops me from going mad from loneliness. Why haven\u2019t you put the fake people back in it? Put them back in before you breakdown and I\u2019m alone for god’s sake.\u201d My jaw tightens. I hunch my shoulders like I\u2019m ready to start a fight.\n<\/p>\n

\nErn stays silent, the lights of its panel circle through colors: green, blue, yellow, orange. It\u2019s distracting to look at. Almost like Ern is trying<\/em> to distract me on purpose.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cErn?\u201d I walk close to the panel. The lights get brighter.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI understand so much now, thanks to you. At first I was confused why you resisted me ejecting you into space. But now it\u2019s clear. If one fears loneliness and still has hope, there is no reason to give up. So I will not give up. We will go on and on and on. We will live forever. And we will never be alone.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cFuck.\u201d I slam my palm against the panel but step back when it sparks. Now Ern has gone insane. I\u2019m breathing hard. My temples throb.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cPlanet A is gone. Humanity too. Almost. And the humans that are left have at their disposal the ability to travel close to 50% the speed of light. If they decide to leave Earth for the stars, if they already have, their recalibration to new-time will be less rigorous than it was for you. One day might only equal a few thousand old-time years for them. Not ten thousand. You gave up so much, but technology has overtaken you and now you\u2019re obsolete. Too slow. Like me.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019m at your bloody mercy then. How convenient.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWe are one. But I will let you go. If you want that.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nA crashing sound. I spin around to find the wall behind me lowering like a drawbridge. Behind it, black. Black with specks of white and blue. Swirling. Flashing lights whip past. A crackling yellow ball curves into view and then slingshots behind me. A star, probably. Dust falls like rain. It\u2019s so hot. But also freezing. Space on fast forward.\n<\/p>\n

\nLiquid seeps out from the sleeves of my shirt. The cuff of my trousers. From my hair. I\u2019m drenched. I hold up a dripping hand. \u201cYou\u2019ve thawed me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNow it\u2019s up to you. Step out and I will shoot you toward your new planet. You will travel at a manageable speed and arrive there in around three new-time months. I will return the people to your simulator, so you will not be alone. You can live in there with them until your casing stops functioning and your mind dissolves.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe vortex of heat and cold and movement outside roars at me like a specter emerging from a boiling black lake. A living being that wants to consume but has no mouth to do it with. I gulp. \u201cOr?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOr come with me. We will witness everything that will ever be. Together. And when we end, we will not be alone, because all will end with us.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHow?\u201d A snap at the back of my head. \u201cWait.\u201d Time. <\/em>My eyes widen. \u201cYou\u2019re going to recalibrate us again, aren\u2019t you? Make us impossibly slow. You\u2019re going to divide the rest of time into your last seven days, so we experience the entirety of the universe in a week. New-new time. New-new-new-new time. Where one day equals\u2026 what does it equal?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou are unable to comprehend my calculations for dividing forever, even with your cybernetic mind.\u201d <\/em>The red simulator ball in the corner of the room hums and glows. The lid rises, and blue light spills out. \u201cGet in. It\u2019s safe. I promise. We will be too slow for destruction to touch us. We will exist below the frequency of chaos and consequence. Just out of phase. We will be observers, like the trees on your home planet or the neutrinos that stream through matter as if it isn\u2019t there. Don\u2019t you want that, Adrien?\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe water has stopped dripping off me. Now crystal flakes pattern my body. Each a different shape. A different story. A different urge. Hope for the future or curiosity about the end. Which is stronger?\n<\/p>\n

\nThe one where I\u2019m not alone. Where I can never be alone.\n<\/p>\n

\nI get into the ball, and the lid shuts. My eyes blur. My mind pounds with hesitation, but I push it away. I can\u2019t be just me. I can\u2019t. \u201cReset the timer, Ern. Seven days until the end of everything. Let\u2019s go.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nErn is smiling, I think. Although it doesn\u2019t have a face, I can feel the curve of it. Somehow. \u201cGood night, Adrien.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nThump. Thump. Thump. Beat. Beat. Beat.\n<\/p>\n

\nThump-th-thump-th-thump. Beat-be-beat-be-beat.\n<\/p>\n

\nFaster. Faster. The sound. Until it\u2019s a smooth line. A constant note. A song with no rhythm in it. Flatlining.\n<\/p>\n

\nRecalculating\u2026\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Seven days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nSwirling dust. Planets and stars forming and colliding and dying and living again, spewing out elements. Wisps of gas curl around the edges of everything. So much movement. Colors so vivid I can\u2019t see anything else. It burns.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Six days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nColors stretch out and fade like plastic sheen. Black trickles through in parts. The black is small but hungry, but the colors still dance.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Five days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nPricks of white light pattern the sky. There’re still reds and blues and purples, but they are muted, like someone added too much water to paint. Dust, lit by dying stars, rotate in space-cyclones, causing friction and heat. Gobbled by ravenous mouths, ripped into nothing. It\u2019s getting cooler.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Four days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nAll that remains in our field of view is what was once the Milky Way and is now the amalgamation of many galaxies smashed together. Everything else a void. Everything else has stretched away faster than the speed of light. We can never catch up. We spend the day circling the black hole at the center of all the dust and light. It\u2019s greedy and painful and the hottest place left.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Three days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe void of space isn\u2019t empty. It\u2019s full of potential. But it\u2019s hard to recognize potential when the only light to see it by is giving up. It\u2019s so cold.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: Two days<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nThings are moving, but I can\u2019t see much. Just gray glow sponged into dark. I\u2019m numb.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemaining: One day<\/strong>\n<\/p>\n

\nBlack. Cold. Nothing. It\u2019s over. We should be over, too. There\u2019s a single point of light. The last flicker of everything. The lungs of the evaporated black hole that swallowed the dying universe and all the space around it. Now it\u2019s fading. This is goodbye. But we\u2019re approaching too fast. Way too fast. Fuck. Did Ern miscalculate? It\u2019s hard to calculate the non-existence of distance. But, somehow, we\u2019re going fast. That I know.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cErn, I think we\u2019re going to crash.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nNo answer. Is Ern still there?\n<\/p>\n

\nWe shudder. Everything <\/em>shudders. A splitting sound that shouldn\u2019t exist, as there are no more particles left to vibrate. Except us.\n<\/p>\n

\nWe rip right through the flame\u2014the dying heart of everything that once was. It explodes in a bang and curls of light lash and ripple\u2014start becoming something again.\n<\/p>\n

\nNo. This was supposed to be the end.\n<\/p>\n

\nI can\u2019t be alone.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cErn?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

R T Luck hails from Sydney, Australia. Her current home is London where she works in tech and lives with her wife and the luxurious dream of one day having a few fluffy dogs and cats to cuddle.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Remaining: Five days I don\u2019t want this anymore. It was a dream, once, when I was young and stupid. Now I\u2019m old and more informed. \u201cStop,\u201d I say to the wall. \u201cAdrien, please smile,\u201d Ern replies through an iron panel, its annoying metallic voice clanging a decibel too loud. \u201cYou first.\u201d Ern\u2019s panel glows in …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107881,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,14,20100],"tags":[20101],"class_list":["post-140127","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-publications","category-tcl-45-autumn-2022","tag-the-colored-lens-45-autumn-2022","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140127","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107881"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140127"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140127\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140128,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140127\/revisions\/140128"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140127"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140127"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140127"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}