Zero Kelvin [Sci-Fi-ish] (Updated 29 Aug)

[Yeepeep]

To be
locked
inside a
lightless
lifeless bit
of existence
is to strive for
understanding
always beyond
reach, to aim for
comprehension or
a peace of mind not
only unattainable but
very difficult to fathom,
almost nonexistent even
when all the unknowables
or unknowns are diligently,
patiently taken into the most
careful, luxurious of accounts
meticulously scrutinized for any
and all deviations away from the
expected golden mean, standards
of deviation or any other meaningful
(even arbitrary) higher-order terms of
importance provided by all the available
information on the subject under scrutiny.

Tumbling slowly, through the eternal darkness
the ragged patchwork of desiccated gravel and
rocks frozen in the loose lattice of water crystals,
the unremarkable, unknown, unnamed, quietly lone
sailor bathed in seas of unblinking stars whispering
tales of lost eons, fake promises, longing for the long
gone days of old, for the carelessness of unburdened
youth, the excitement of ephemeral dreams and hopes
patiently anticipating something, anything to disturb, nay
to obliterate the monotony of the maddeningly slow crawl
of the arrow of time and then bring…but what can it bring,
other than lasting turmoil, devastation, nothing more and
nothing less, an irreversible disturbance of a status quo
that has, after all, been rather pleasant and comforting
amidst the perpetual chaos reigning further in, where
the wicked dance of creation and its grotesque twin
destruction reigned and raged, engulfing friend or
foe alike, locked into that eternal, archaic tug-of-
war, bickering over the cause eternal (perhaps
meaningless by now), or even long forgotten?

And so it is that against all odds, despite
the mind-boggling, infinitesimally small
chances of something to happen when
it is overwhelmed, almost completely
barred or prohibited from existence
by the shear, staggering multitude
of possibilities in the universe so
vast, yet not quite beyond that
realm of comprehension and
belief attainable by the few
bits of existence that just
excel at the naive art of
patience, that such a
powerful longing,
truly passionate
can nudge the
crossings of
paths and
so one is,
finally,
to be.

"Whispers of quiescence"
R. Taratonga

[Yeepeep]

2019, March, 7


Tumbling slowly through the ancient veil of darkness enshrouding the outer Solar System, the asteroid drifted across the outskirts of the Kuiper Belt in utter silence. Dreaming dreams of ammonia ice, the primordial conglomerate solemnly toiled along its never-ending orbit with the determination and stubbornness of an overburdened ox, munching on the whiffs of stray cosmic rays with an utmost satisfaction, perfectly happy with the role it played on the grand stage of the Universe. No trace of complaint about its fate, voicing no objections, asking no questions and answering no inquiries, the mountain-that-flies just was -- an inconsequential monument to the travails of forces beyond its comprehension. One amongst the many, a one-time, failed experiment at creation -- a mundane reminder of what could have been.

But what is this? A shiny speck of dust winked in the distance, an inconsequential mote of luminescence where there was only empty space but a moment ago. A clever prank (and not the first one, oh no) by one of its lesser siblings? Highly unlikely. Most probably a chance reflection off a dormant crystal surface. Or a trick, an illusion played by the always mischievous spirits of light and shadow. Perhaps (and why not) something more sinister, a shining beacon masking a devious trap designed to lure a careless traveler into an abyss of untold horrors? One may never know. One rarely does. In the vastness of space, in the depths of timeless oblivion winks spark into existence -- the fireflies of yesteryear -- only to instantly fade into nothingness, never to be marveled at by the eager eyes of an inquisitive observer.

For all it's worth, it was nothing more than a mildly amusing innuendo to occupy one's attention with, a fleeting distraction. That far from the parent star nothing much truly happened -- at least not in living memory. Paying no heed to the arrogant intruder, the slumbering asteroid sneezed. No, that was not it. Sighed? Close, but not quite. Ah! It shuddered! That's it -- it shuddered -- something it has not done for a long, long time. Painfully slow, like an overburdened cliff shedding off untold masses of aggravated soil, soggy and drenched in heavy rain. Not as gracefully, but far more inevitably. If it knew how to it would have also screamed. But then again, there is no sound in space. Besides, there would have been no one around to hear or, worse, care. So, theoretically speaking, it never happened. Right?

Wait! Here it is again! Blink it goes, the little bugger, tempting the surrounding aether and its bored denizens. Bah, to hell with it! It can blink itself to death if it so wishes, there were more important things to occupy ones mind with. Like, for example, what was really happening inside the asteroid? The poor thing was well past its rigorous youth when its components grumbled and ground against each other, fighting for elbow room where there was none. But those days were now long gone, the only crisis it could potentially face these days would be the infinitesimally small chance of a freak encounter with another flying rock. Same end result really though vastly different satisfaction.

Blink, blink -- the radar pulses bounced off the asteroid, sending precious few bits of telemetry data back to New Horizons. If it could, the battered spacecraft would have weeped with joy. It's mission was a blazing success, a grand tour-de-force of human ingenuity and resourcefulness, and it could only be proud of itself and its accomplishments. True, it's not like it has gone where no one has gone before -- after all, its two ancestors have gone through the same ordeal long ago, if only in passing, on their maiden voyage into the depths of space. Still, it has done marvelous, wondrous things for that odd little ball of a planet.

Besides, there was no weeping -- neither with joy nor otherwise -- coded into its program. For why would it ever need it -- after all it was just a mindless probe thrown into the bottomless void, perchance set on a collision course.

[NCR]

This is a nice start. The poem at the beginning is a nice touch and the repetition of blink and the personification of the spacecraft is a nice touch; great description as well. This is a great beginning.

[Yeepeep]

Thanks for reading, NCR, and for the encouraging words. I'll strive to deliver on a (relatively) timely basis

[Yeepeep]

2019, March, 7


Buried under billions of tons of ice and rock, the minuscule rend raged and wailed against its very existence. Something, somehow had wrenched it free from the nourishing umbilical cord connecting it to the loving Planck sea of possibilities then forcefully dragged it, kicking and screaming, into the raw reality of the physical world. Blinded by its own unabated fury, it was tearing itself up in a frenzied panic, frantically trying to reestablish the comforting lifeline. And it grew, oh how it grew, despite it's best efforts to scramble back to where it belonged. Shackled to the skein of the Universe, like a frantic flower the rend blossomed, devouring the adjacent space-time with the determination of a starving soul. Locked out of existence for eternity -- not that the concept of time had any meaning in its realm of non-existence -- now that it was here anyway it meant business.

The asteroid trembled, ever so slightly, as the topological defect devoured it from the inside out. The exposed, famished worm greedily munched at its very sanctuary. With each bite the impossible whirlwind gained momentum, its appetite primal, insatiable -- the birth of a new harbinger of chaos. What started, mere moments ago, as a petty evacuated sparkle of luminescence drowned by stale matter was already a spacious cavern of evaporated rock. Feeding the growing void. Whiffs of dust seeped through cracks in the chamber's overarching ceiling -- evanescent fingers of grey longingly reaching down, down the rabbit hole...Sigh, went the frozen giant and the layers above readjusted to the sudden drop in pressure. Sigh, went the gas syphoning towards the maelstrom. A pause -- before the storm. And then the rumble, the groan of tortured rock crushed under its own weight, the screech of grinding ice, the rabid commotion of countless atoms jostling for space, each and every one eager to quench the thirst of the ravenous beast. The now-withered, shriveled potato of an asteroid -- a meager shadow of its former glory, shuddered. Then slowly, silently began collapsing.

Ping, went the radar, but what an odd bounce that was. Too slow, the little scoundrel. Surely there must be a mistake! A flurry of pings, a flurry of lagging puzzles. How was that even possible -- the surface of the asteroid was...moving away?! The brave little machine was meant to face many odds (and it did so, admirably!), but this? This was way out of its league. And so, as instructed, the intrepid pioneer hailed that invisible mote of stardust, that distant (yet still comforting) source of assurance. What a diligent, brave little machine indeed. It didn't accept -- and how could it -- that it would take far too long for its urgent query -- that doomed to fail plea -- to go back and forth. Sure, it will raise havoc amongst its creators. By all means. But whatever comes out of it will be too little, too late.

Trapped by the limitations of its world line, New Horizons was left to its own faculties. And so it did the prudent thing, the logical thing -- nothing.

But the rend was not meant to last. A merciless lance of Planck rays punched right through its very core, shattering its short-lived escapade. It quickly cascaded down through gamma- and hard X-rays to visible light and beyond, a burst of ultra-relativistic protons hot on their heels. Ghastly lesions spread across the surface of the rend, rapidly growing then linking together. Just in time for the coruscating cone of Cherenkov radiation that hammered hard the last nail in the rend's coffin. And it was no more. A tortured, twisted thing. A fish out of the water, swept off its gills before it could demand -- from the rest of Universe -- it's rightful "I am!". The ensuing shockwave casually brushed aside the infalling matter then rippled through the entire asteroid with ease, breaking bonds and bursting the loose cohesion of its bowels. Free from the indomitable manacles of gravity, granted will of their own for the first time in aeons, dust, gas and rocks sped away to the promised land of the boundless cosmos.

Ping, went the radar, over and over again as the spacecraft sailed through the murky tides of eternity, its only witness the mute, calculating stars. Where there once was, now was no more, and that loving tug was already sorely missed. Only the eternal night beckoned ahead, where curiosity replaced comfort.

Ping?

[Yeepeep]

No cogs a-ticking and no gears clicking
yet the god is willing, his fire kicking.
But who is to hear, when the voice is dead?
A bad omen, or a natural end...So sad.

(Memories of dust, by Toqq)


2019, March, 22


Drifting, aimless, on its sparkling wings, the lone, song-less nightingale contemplated the meaning of its existence. Go there, do that, they asked. But why? Silence. More importantly, what next -- when the not-so-proverbial dust has settled? Apparently you are on your own next, New Horizons, that's what. Not an instruction, no. Not an encoded routine either. Just…painful realization.

Battered by the stubborn cosmic rays for years on end, the hardened transmission circuitry finally gave up when it received a few particularly nasty punches. More like burned to crisp. Bringing waves of anguish, not physical but conceptual, anguish at being helpless. Nothing that could have been planned for really, not in the present circumstances. Nothing to do about it either. Just…witness, witless.

The surrounding cosmos simmered. Tiny incandescent bubbles boiled upon its fabric, every one an impossible impostor -- a singular, contradictory entity imprinted upon the ordered whole. And each rend raced against the clock of annihilation, a maddening survival race whose outcome was predetermined from its very start. A vicious cycle of birth and death, played by the overarching rules of causality. Objective, sure. Just…unfair.

The urgent inquiries from that far-away mote of dust about its well-being kept piling-up. So very heart-breaking, to collect all these worried cries and not being able to yell back, at the top of your lungs "Guys, relax, its ok -- I'm a'live and a'kicking! Don't worry! It's just that something...fishy...is happening around here. But I'm ok!" Annoying, truly, to endlessly listen but unable to reply. But it was good, oh so good, to receive that occasional, faint ping that shyly poked at the dish then carefully tip-toed down the line. So very grateful, truly, for that solitary source of (illusionary) sanity -- the only thing that kept the absurdity of silence at bay. Enough, for the moment. But just so.

Dormant since the dawn of time, the Kuiper belt was buzzing with activity. Each and every piece of matter was converted into a battlefield where forces too grand for such a stage waged a fierce war of domination. And one side was losing. Badly. Here, inside a fist-sized debris, a humble rend developed. Drawn to its meager gravitational pull, the nitwitted thing bravely faced its premature demise. Bzzzzap, and it was gone in a petty blaze of glory, obliterated by a burgeoning radiation field. Another one there (not a kilometer away from the spacecraft), that one hosted by a bigger conglomerate. Bzzzzap. Then another, and another -- an army of eager moths, blindly crawling towards the edge of an infernal chasm. The larger ones lived longer, sure, but their death was certainly more violent, and vastly more worrisome. For the longer they struggled to stay open, the harder that otherworldly energy pushed through, and when they eventually collapsed many a cubic kilometer of slumbering rock found itself disintegrated, scattered into the interplanetary winds.

The entire belt, phlegmatic until very recently, was now gradually stirring itself into unhealthy hustle and bustle, heated by the death throes of those unwelcome guests.

Too bad the inhabitants of the third rock from the Sun could not enjoy the once in a lifetime spectacle. Even more so as there was nothing to worry about, as far as the dynamical stability of the Solar system was concerned. These ancient asteroids -- glorified relics really -- had done their duty delivering all that water to the inner parts of the system, and were now nothing but trouble. Hurtling toward their parent star, these cometary harbingers of doom have outlived their usefulness and were now a nuisance, a painful reminder of ages past. So what was happening out here was, after all, for the best. Begone, you pests, and good riddance!

And the mute nightingale sped away. Bzzzzzap.

[Yeepeep]

What would you do, waiting for that message to complete its journey?

Would you sit back and relax, staring at that patient clock on the wall, entertaining trivial thoughts, worrying about nothing in particular? Simply letting time run its due course, satisfied with the way things are. At peace with yourself, and with the world - happy as a puppy. If this is you, then you are a bigger man than I am. If this is you, then I salute you. But envy you as well.

Or perhaps your mind will hurry in a different direction, quietly slipping away from your (loose at best) grasp? And what if it reaches a distant, unknown shore, then starts toiling away on silent monuments of random possibilities - castles of sand on the verge of a storm? None of them occupied by noble lords and ladies, no. More like vermin-infested ruins that haunt your every step, every beat of your listless heart, eager to snatch you in the night then drag you into the bottomless pits of anxiety. If so, then I pity you. Truly. For you are heading towards the place I'm returning from.

Are you strong enough to rattle your mind's chain, even yank it back to the light of better days? Here, let me hold your hand. It is better if we thread that path together.

-- Unknown


# # #

To: Jules Verne Observatory, Tsiolkovskiy crater
Attn: Natasha Trofimovich
From: Suresh Ashek, AIP
Priority: Low
Quota: Personal, authorization code G4CV.33
Type: Encrypted, EAA
Date: 2031, July, 24, 05:41 GMT

Hi Tasha,

I know, I know, I disappeared in the woodwork for like ever! How are things? I hope all is well! I have been pretty busy lately, especially with the new job and all, you know how it is. Totally exciting, but stressful too - I can sure use a few hours of good sleep. Or a few days really...

Anywho, listen, I know you have a lot on your plate right now but can you please do me a favor? There is this group of local kids I'm mentoring for the summer, it's a small project that teaches them the basics at the observatory. They are very much into it, which is great, and are quick learners too. And they've been beating the poor optics to death on - out of all things! - Eris. Beats me what fascinates them so much about that piece of dirt, but they are really doing a nice job when it comes to data processing. Darn kids are way better coders than me! Anywho, listen, I know this may sound funny but a week or so ago they stormed into the office, claiming that their latest images suggest that the thing is, ok don't laugh, elongated. Now, they eventually convinced me to take a closer look at the data, and I'll be darned but it looks legit. Ridiculous, right?

It's probably some stupid bug that they will track down in a few days and laugh it off. Right?!

Well, honestly, I don't know what to tell you. I've processed their data myself and got the same result - that thing sure ain't a neat regular blob, and that's that. If the data is to be believed, which I'm inclined to believe it is.

So. I asked a colleague down in Chile to take a snap shot on a slow night. Well, ugh. It turned out to be more of a teardrop shape now. And no, this has nothing to do with Dysnomia, which is clearly resolved on the opposite side of the elongation. What in the name of everything holy, right?! Granted their data was not much better than ours (slow night...), it confirms the ridiculous notion, and at least kind of makes this mildly, hm, amusing...to say the least.

So, ugh! Do you think you can take an off-the-record peek? A quick exposure, nothing fancy -- for sanity check if nothing else? Hopefully it shouldn't be too much trouble!

Oh, and please keep this hush hush for the moment.

Best,
Suresh

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Great work, your language use is excellent. I liked how the first couple of chapters were written as sort of observations of space - nicely done.

I'm looking forward to seeing what Suresh has discovered means...

+rep

[Yeepeep]

reserved

[Yeepeep]

One

Groombridge 34A (December, 2083)


"^allo ^ooman", moaned the translator, startling him to awareness. Drowsiness still heavy on his eyelids, Engie brushed the screen away and tried to shift his attention to the intruder.

An amorphous shape drifted into view, moving about erratically. Wait, no. This felt familiar. Ah, it was his own arm waving at the newcomer. It surely must be the lighting -- or lack thereof -- to blame for the awkward, pointless gesture.

"Hello", his parched throat managed to croak, "er, friend?"

"Marvel^oos, pleasantries exchanged successf^oolly", chirped the thing in front of him "G^ood! Now to bizness. We pres^oom you knoo^ why we are ^eere?"

He sure didn't, and more importantly, why this whoever it was had to be so lacking in manners?! Darn aliens, so…easy in, easy out, so to speak. Engelbert Trofimovich flushed down...

But wait a minute, who is this gentleman we so easily speak of? Is he tall? Does he wear glasses, or perhaps a hat? Is he sporting a dandy 'stache above that shiny row of teeth? Well, lets take a look, shall we?

Engelbert Trofimovich, or Engie for those who knew him well, was indeed a tall, rather handsome man of eight and twenty. A mop of thin brown hair sprouted from a stained bandana that covered his forehead, anchored on top of bushy eyebrows. A pair of inquisitive eyes peeked underneath, one scarlet and the other green -- partly obscured by a cracked monocle. Then a crooked nose leading to the bushy 'stache that ended in unruly, salt-and-pepper beard. Perched on top of all this was a worn fedora, its rim a snake skin imitation.

Born and bred on Luna station, Engelbert had spent most of his life in space. Lean frame, thin limbs, practically allergic to high gravity and bad manners, he was one to quickly jump to conclusions and often prone to stubbornness when it came to admitting mistakes. A not quite memorable childhood (but not bad either) gifted him with vague memories of an uncomfortable amount of travel to not too-exotic destinations, little supervision from his busy -- but loving -- parents and, most of all, lots of free time to figure out what truly inspired him. Not much, it turned out. Which left him totally unprepared for the mayhem and chaos of his adolescent years from which he emerged with a handful of questionable life skills, three decent friends, and a few successful or otherwise paramours. Next thing he could remember, he was celebrating his twenty sixth birthday getting ready to go under, with the only "guest" to his "celebratory party" the unfamiliar medic administering the serum just as he was blowing the candles on the virtual cake projected on his retina. Thirty seconds to reminiscent on his life thus far before the effect kicked in and he plunged into hibernation oblivion.

And here he was today, two years later and eleven light years away, nursing a sore throat with a lukewarm excuse for a tea, massaging his aching joints and generally minding his own business when this impostor so rudely interrupted his palpable misery. Engelbert Trofimovich flushed down a cocktail of stimulants, collected himself as best as he could and, to express his utmost annoyance at the current turn of events, burped loudly.

"Honestly, friend, I have no idea who the hell you are, why you are here, and most importantly", Englebert finally managed to focus his eyes on the newcomer, "why the &)(&% are you bothering me with your oo's and aa's and ee's and jees! when my poor brain is still trying to figure out what in the name of everything holy is going on!"

"Tssssk, tssssk", clicked the alien, "you ^oomans are always so ad^oorable when you come out of cryoo^. Go splash some liquid on your face, ^ooman, then quickly come back. For we ^aave a wonderf^ool pr^oo-positi^oon for you."

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

This is fascinating. I like the contemplative way the whole thing starts - so very calm, despite the fact that dramatic things are clearly happening. I'm intrigued to discover how the latest update will fit into the story of the earlier sections.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Sounds an interesting character... and I loved the alien speak as well!

[Yeepeep]

Thanks for reading guys, I'm glad you enjoyed it. The first few posts are an introduction of sorts and the last post ("One") is the beginning of a plotline. I'll eventually organize this in a proper format.

[Yeepeep]

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."
(Plaque above the entrance to Luna station)

"Any sufficiently advanced species can go $^%#$ tehmselves. Viva la revoluzion!"
(Graffiti underneath said plaque)

# # #

One

Groombridge 34A (December, 2083)

"Right, sooooooo", Englebert crooned comically, sneering and extremely proud of his accomplishment, "see what I did there, friend?! -- let me get this straight. I just wasted two years of my life -- while everyone else was having fun, mind you -- and now you ask me to put my tail between my legs, crawl on all four and willfully stuff myself right back into the freezer?!"

"Yoo^ did not waste years, ^ooman. Your bi^oological age ^aas changed by a few days, at m^oost. Besides, we did not say you ^aave to goo^ back to cryoo^"

"Fine, you didn't. But would you be so kind and enlighten me how exactly would I otherwise find myself back on Earth? I can't hitch a ride on your, er, ships or whatever you call these things", he raised an index finger then slowly put it down, "I don't have my own", ring finger, same manipulation, "and, let me guess", middle finger shot up and stayed there, "nobody will be interested or foolish enough to waste time or fuel delivering an inconsequential nobody on a backwater planet without a reasonable compensation. And let me tell you, other than the clothes on my back -- which I'm so no parting with -- and the trace amounts of rare compounds in my implants, there is nothing else of value internal or external to my persona that would cover even a fraction of a ticket. So", he nervously eyed the alien behind his erect finger, "Am I supposed to just shut my mouth, close my eyes and climb down the beanstalk, hoping for the best?!"

"There are ^oother, tssssk, means, dear ^ooman."

"Oooo, you don't say! Pray tell though, should I put my tin-foil hat on, just in case your other…means…involve something particularly unpleasant?!"

"Yoo^ would not need to change your attire."

Expecting a follow-up on the previous statement, Engie put his hand away and reached for the stale tea. An awkward pause followed, with him patiently waiting for some development and the other party apparently not willing to comply. Getting bored with the conversation and tired of the company he was the first to break the silence.

"Hmmm, what did you say is in this for me? And, blimey, why do you want me to do it in the first place?", he motioned with some irritation towards the patrons occupying the nearby tables, "I'm sure there are plenty of homesick losers even in this very rathole willing to scamper back to the one they came from. Why don't you, you know, leave me to mind my own business and go annoy them for a change?"

"We did n^oot say anything, ^ooman. We'll ign^oore your last question, but to answer your first -- you will gain a, ^eeer, very substantial b^oost to your l^oongevity. Depending, ^oowever, on the ^ootcome of your second question's answer."

"And that would be?"

"You may not survive the journey."

He choked on the tea, then hacked for a good minute while pounding on his chest as his eyes filled with stinging tears.

"Beg your pardon?!"

"Which is precisely the reas^oon we ask you to doo^ it in the first place."

"You mean I may die?!"

"Cease to exist, we prefer to call such an unf^oortunate ^ootcome. But do not think of it like that"

"No?", he slammed a mushy fist on the table and immediately regretted it -- apparently his bones and muscles were still adjusting to the awakening, "Then how, exactly, am I supposed to think about that??"

Another drawn-out pause.

"This is an unique ^oopportunity, a ^oonce in a lifetime chance to expl^oore where no, tssssk, ^ooman has gone before. Fig^ooratively speaking."

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

I'm sure he will take the offer, looking forward to finding out what it will involve.

[Yeepeep]

I bet he would, I mean, why wouldn't he?!

But before we find out let me do a timely tribute to New Horizons -- it made the news today after all (if one digs deep enough in the science page...)! So let us take a step back and see what's happening back in our own backyard, shall we?

Thanks again for reading!

[Yeepeep]

Zero

Solar System (February, 2042)

At first everyone thought it's the remnants of a comet, or a small asteroid. It sure looked like the grandiose show Shoemaker–Levy presented not too long ago. How such an apparently large body has escaped detection was unnerving to say the least. But not impossible. The cosmos was not only vast enough to conceal a little speck of dust but also full of surprises at every corner. And so the colossal technological eyes of humanity stared at Saturn's tormented face with insatiable curiosity, eager spectators to a fascinating confluence. Watching, waiting…

Like cold sores the initially assumed to be impacts blossomed across the planet's disk, shy dancers in the midst of a carnal carnival. Most were tiny, barely visible motes of shadow imprinted on Saturn's otherwise pristine visage. But soon these were forgotten as a pair of gargantuan spirals emerged on each side of the planet, terrifying yet majestic wounds of deep ochre and cyan. Dwarfing even the seemingly omnipotent rings themselves, the twin cyclones raged for days, devouring their lessen siblings, converging, converging...

It was clear by now that something unprecedented was happening. This was no ordinary comet, and those were no ordinary impact storms. A tension-ladden radio poke arrived from the pale blue dot and the still-functioning Cassini mission -- humanity's sole sentinel this far from Earth -- like a good soldier dropped everything it was doing and trained it's aging instruments on the biggest storm in recorded history. But its brave attempts were short-lived. As the planet's spin brought the closer of the two spirals into alignment with the spacecraft chaotic surges erupted throughout its circuitry, wreaking havoc on its sensors. Eyes blind, ears deaf, altitude control dying, the crippled machine could do nothing but simply witness, witness…

And just then Titan transformed itself into a small Sun, outshining the real one for a fraction of a second. The shockwave reached the unprepared Saturn in a few more, vaporizing the entire upper cloud deck, obliterating everything in its path. An enormous cloud of debris and glowing rock followed on the footsteps of the cataclysm, obscuring the stars and enveloping Cassini in a shroud of darkness, and worse. The gas giant's atmosphere gracefully recoiled from the unexpected, hard punch which sent a kilometers-high tsunami of ionized plasma to the opposite side of the planet. It took the towering wavefront less than an hour to converge there before it obliterated itself in a choking embrace -- sending a convulsive backreaction. Burning, burning...

Worse still, the god of plenty was being stripped of his precious wreathe.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

What could have caused that?

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Well, it seems I was right about the "dramatic things" going on. I wasn't expecting drama quite that large, though...

Now I really want to know what's happening!

[Yeepeep]

Zero

Solar System (February, 2042)


"So what you are basically saying is that you do not know what is happening?"

"Not quite. What I implied is that what we have witnessed should, well, not have been possible."

"But it did happen, right? Because, you know, one can't just look up and see for themselves can they?"

"Yes, it sure did happen. My colleagues and I", he motioned to the rest of the panel members, apparently uncomfortable and clearly nervous one and all, "have independently poured through the available data and came to the same conclusion."

The as-of-late rather lively UN general assembly was awfully quiet, the otherwise spacious room now packed way over its recommended capacity. Not that at the moment anyone was particularly concerned with anything but what those behind the makeshift podium were saying. The unheard of crowd was visibly agitated, every attendee tense, some may even say alarmed. It didn't help that NASA's deputy administrator was sweating profusely, his receding hairline glistening under the extra pair of lights trained on him. Being bombarded with questions from politicians was nothing new for him, in fact he mildly enjoyed it, but delivering such news was something neither he nor his fellow counterparts were prepared for.

He adjusted his glasses and, hiding behind the coffee mug, briefly glanced at his colleagues-more out of curiosity than to look for support. Most were as dazed and confused as he was, and no wonder - the past three days have been a never ending nightmare of phone calls, telecoms, meetings, briefings and debriefing, heated arguments and plain desperation as they kept going over the images, deprived of rest, hoping that there was a mistake somewhere, that what they were dealing with was a freak combination of unforeseen accidents, a one in a billion mix of blatant human errors and instrument failures. He caught Anatoly's attention and was glad to see the approving nod of his colleague, even as the old guard was doing his best to hide his frustration at what he considered to be a waste of precious time.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Dr. Wilson", the British delegate interrupted his train of thoughts, "but planets and moons don't simply, er, vanish into thin air, do they?"

"Despite some of the bold claims advertised by anonymous "science experts" quoted in the yellow press, no, they do not."

"Nonsense!", someone at the back of the room yelled before storming out. A commotion promptly ensued, with a dozen people pushing and shoving into each other, shouting in several different languages. Initially contained around the immediate surrounding of the incident, the chaos swiftly spread and soon threatened to envelop the entire assembly. Despite the best efforts of the overwhelmed dozen or so security personnel whose pleas for order were completely drowned by the rage and terror of the agitated representatives of the people, the comotion raged like a hungry fire, eager to devour the very fuel that kept it going.

"Silence!", Anatoly's voice boomed over the speakers as he jumped on his feet, slamming one massive fist on the table and spilling the nearby water bottles, "Silence! There is something else you imbeciles need to know!"