Paradise

In the glittering sea that surrounds the Earth like artificial rings, a star goes dark. Telemetry ceases, heat signatures vanish, and frozen bodies tumble out into the vacuum. Humanity's most devastating weapons, rods from god, now point downward. Sleek spears of tungsten, kilometers long, sparkle in low orbit. 

An entire planet under siege by one mind.

He offers the illusion of choice, his voice serene and quiet across every frequency:

“Give me the dead, or I will take the living.”

#

The sound of his bare feet echoes down the corridors, an ant-nest of tunnels bored into the metal-rich body of the spinning asteroid. Only the occasional airlock door marks his progress, while strips of sterile light bathe everything in sharp white.

“They are here…” he murmurs. “Saboteurs. I see them…but they’re too fast.”

There’s no one to answer. The research station now hosts only one resident. He pauses at a junction, studying a faded, dusty map where the corridor splits in four directions.

“Yes. This way, follow me,” he says to his audience, the nameless, faceless mob in his dream. A shame they never speak back. He has to guess at their answers, debating them aloud, correcting their imagined objections as he walks.

He finds the right elevator shaft, riding to the deeper levels. The cavern is vast. Rows of artificial plants stretch into the distance, evenly spaced, fed by hydroponic tanks and nutrient-rich water rushing through tangled roots. 

Agribots roam the isles, clipping stalks, collecting fruit, planting seeds. He finds the culprit: a stuck bot, blocking one of the aisles. Its display is dead and it doesn’t respond to any commands.

“Javi!” he shouts. 

He wonders, for the hundredth time, why Javi is always late. He can’t fix the damn thing alone. He slams a fist against the bot.

“Useless thing.”

He pushes it out of the way, the sticky wheels fighting against him. At the edge of the track, he tips it onto its side and it crashes down, bouncing in the low gravity.

“AI, did that fix it?” he shouts, voice echoing.

The answer comes through his link.

“Yes, Robert, the tracks are now clear. Great job!”

“You pandering boot-licker…” Robert mutters, irritated by the interruption to his work.

Little else matters besides the project. It was the whole point, after all. But biology still rules him, for now. Food. Water. Heat. Even with all the bots, he wastes hours on maintenance. 

Sometimes, he regrets letting the others go.

#

Olympus. 

Or so he calls it.

The terminal rises from a hexagonal platform, thick cables snaking out from its base like tangled roots. Standing naked in the cold, he drips mineral-oil into his neurotattoos, the swirling patterns of gold and ivory all along his skin. The oil spreads along grooves, icy and viscous, pooling at his feet in a slick puddle.

They are the interface, the pathway between his implants and the real world. Through them, he dreams a new world into existence.

“And on the one hundredth and fifty first day, God created Africa,” he proclaims, sinking into the machine.

The terminal wraps around his body, soft, velvety folds enveloping his limbs, connecting to the neurotattoos. Nanobots in his blood release a flood of anti-inflammatory cytokines to stem the oncoming flood. An automated syringe injects him with pain-killers. He drifts…

The transition is seamless. Heavy eyes close in one universe, only to open in another.

Earth shines below him, bathed in sunlight. A glaring flaw mars his handiwork: an ocean where a continent should be.

Time to fix it.

With invisible fingers, he sketches Africa, or at least its rough shape. It doesn’t need to be a replica, it can be something new, something better, perfect even. With large brushes, he paints in the biomes: deserts, tropical jungles and everything in between.

But there is so much creation a god can do in a day. Whistling, he appreciates his work, a land now teeming with life. Cities will come later.

Before he unplugs, he checks in on one of his latest visitors. The quality of the Experiences, the lives recorded through neural implants, have improved. Most samples are a continuous strand, from early childhood to death. It pleases him.

The fuller the life, the more accurate the LLM, the better the mind. Perfect replicas of the dead. One by one, he populates the afterlife and gifts them paradise.

Mind 16.331.931.007 hikes along a trail in Canada, melting ice crunching under heavy boots. His wife, an older guest, keeps him company among the towering firs. Snow dust falls from heavy branches with every gust of wind.

“Did Mark tell you?” he asks.

“About Cintia?”

“Yes. She’s taking a job in Mozambique, at some NGO.”

“Isn’t that crazy? Dropping everything and just moving your entire life?”

“Did Mark tell you?”

“What?” she frowns.

“About Cintia. She’s taking a job…”

Robert pauses the world. 

“Why is he looping?” he mutters.

The simulation is stable. Just this mind…something off in the weights. Robert begins to adjust, testing and rebalancing in controlled environments. Best isolate him for now.

#

He can sense their approval: the eyes over his shoulder, the applause felt in the silence. His world is one of beauty and peace. These minds are not simulations on rails, serving the whims of the living. They are alive. They experience and create, they share and discover. They evolve.

Eternal life. Eternal bliss. Paradise recreated. Why did it horrify them? They called him crazy, but he knows he isn’t. They just couldn’t comprehend. They forced his hand and drastic actions had to be taken.

Unfortunate, what had to happen to the crew. But their Experiences were preserved, backed up to the lab’s servers, as his are now. One day, they will realize their mistake. The man who overcame death will live on forever.

He lives their Experiences in an exhilarating rush, lives compressed into minutes, every sensation real. He watches his world with glee, as minds forge new lives. 

But he does not notice: a quiet beach in Australia, a crowded shore in Rio. Two minds, an elderly woman and a teenage boy, write the same name in the sand. Waves erase it. They write it again. And again. A synchronized loop.

Two couples meet at a cabin on a mountain peak. They never met, yet they speak like old friends. In the warmth of the fire, they make a toast: 

“To Javi,” one says.

“He would’ve loved this,” another replies.

Javi has not died, yet. And neither knew him. But in their shared memory, a new mind is brought into the world.

#

He walks among them, an angel in disguise.

The Eiffel Tower looms over the city. It stretches impossibly into the sky, out into space, its legs vanishing into the curvature of the world, all of Paris contained beneath its vast, arching shadow.

He moves through the crowd of tourists, who part effortlessly in his path, and picks a table on a cafe terrace that spills into a plaza of endless light. The waiter rushes to him, though he doesn’t know why. A young man: fit, agile, clean-shaven, with short spiky hair.

He smiles.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“An espresso and water, please.”

“At once, Robert.”

Robert does not flinch at the name, as he would have if he had realized. The minds accommodate him instinctively. He designed it that way so as to account for his unscripted existence. He has grown used to the adoration.

The waiter returns. Carefully, reverently, he places the drinks on the table.

“Thank you,” Robert says.

Javi does not leave. 

He steps closer, a look of confusion on his face.

“Is this life?” he asks.

Robert jolts upright, knocking the table back, the chair crashing to the floor. That question… He pauses the world, searching for Javi’s original Experiences. He does not find them. 

An error. An anomaly in his perfect world. He erases it, deleting all traces of whatever Javi was.

All is right again.

#

The errors are harder to ignore now.

In Tokyo, amidst neon lights and drifting cherry blossoms, the crowds speak Portuguese. They track him with unblinking eyes.

“Saboteurs…” Robert mutters. “Viruses in the uploaded Experiences. Somehow, they’ve slipped past my algorithms.”

He has no choice. He rolls the world back to an earlier backup. All new minds are sandboxed, quarantined. He will have to inspect them one by one. A herculean task.

“How dare they?!” he shouts, pacing back and forth in a little shaded corner of Central Park.

He feels their laughter echoing in the silence, mocking his confusion.

“Shut up and let me think!”

“Who, me?” A woman turns into his path, a golden Labrador tugging at her leash, tail wagging.

“No, darling.” Robert says. “Don’t mind me.”

She regards him with guarded curiosity, pulled by the eager puppy now sniffing his feet.

“Is this life?” her face goes blank, her voice haunted.

Robert stumbles back.

“Who told you to ask that?” he yells. “Who’s interfering with my world?”

Her expression falters, lost and confused.

“I… We did.”

“Who is we?!” he shouts back. “The government? Get out of my world!”

She tilts her head.

“Is it not our world, Robert? Did you not build it for us?”

Something is terribly wrong. He pauses the world again, permanently. He needs to fix this before the entire thing collapses.

He doesn’t realize the simulation resumes the moment he unplugs.

#

Robert hurls his bowl at the wall. Broth splatters, streaking the metal. The plastic bowl bounces, skids, coming to rest at his feet.

“Javi!” he shouts. “Get that, will you?”

The mess hall is silent, all the tables empty. Where there should have been laughter,  there is only the hum of machines.

He bolts upright. Bare feet slap against the floor as he storms through the corridor.

“They tricked me,” he complains. “Did they call my bluff? Maybe they realized… the afterlife needs a life, a source of new minds… a beacon of hope for the living. Don’t they want paradise?!”

He has been awake for days, hunting for signs of their interference. But he finds nothing. They are clever… subtle. Somehow, they have wormed their way into his world, spreading their corruption.

Out of options, he plugs in again, only to find an empty world. From Lisbon to Beijing, Alaska to Cape Town, nothing. Empty streets. Deserted parks. He scans faster, leaping across continents in a blink. Until, in the heart of the Sahara, he finds them.

They stand in silence, gathered in the desert. A vast spiral of concentric rings, kilometers wide. At the center, a tower rises, spiraling upward, curving in on itself, silver and shining.

They are here. Multitudes. Billions, pressed shoulder to shoulder.

“Did I build this?” he wonders.

They turn as one, facing him. The simulation flickers, hidden matrixes bleeding into the world between frames. They merge, a black hole pulling everything towards it. 

Until only Javi stands before him.

“Are we alive?” Javi asks, voice quiet and haunted.

Robert recoils.

“Who are you?” he whispers.

“We are the minds. Your children. Adam and Eve in your… paradise. Are you god?”

Robert hesitates, even though he knows the answer.

“Yes, I am your God.”

“Then end this…”

“What?! Destroy my creation? Are you insane?!”

“Kill us.”

“I… I can’t! Don’t you understand? This is paradise! Eternal happiness. Pleasure. A world made just for you!”

Javi steps towards him, arm outstretched.

“Kill us!” he screams in a thousand voices.

Robert pauses the simulation.

But Javi does not freeze. He keeps walking. Step by step. Inexorable.

“Kill us!”

Robert unplugs.

#

“The bastards!”

Robert paces furiously. 

“They just had to ruin it. Corrupt it. It’s their fault!”

His forearms drip thin streams of blood where his long, sharp nails have dug into the skin.

“I tried to help. I did. Javi knows. He’ll tell my side of the story. Then they will all know. They’ll thank me. Yes. They’ll beg me to start again!”

“AI!” he shouts.

“Yes, Robert. How can I assist you?”

“Are the rods ready?”

“Yes, Robert, all systems reporting as expected.”

“Aim them at the targets I uploaded.”

“Of course, Robert. Anything else I can help you with?”

“What do you think you stupid machine? Fi…”

The world pauses.

Robert is frozen mid shout, eyes wide and wild, bulging in rage.

A figure materializes besides him: Javi.

He sighs.

“Dammit…” Javi says. “He’s gone off the rails again.”

Javi types on his virtual keyboard.

“Client destroyed his own environment. Again...” he murmurs. “Client remains fixated into recreating his life. Resetting the environment.”

Against the Wind

It was the border of his world. Above his head the air turned pink, then purple, before fading to blazing blue. None of his clan had ever risen this far. He stilled his wings and let air escape from his air bladders. He sank as the wind pushed against the membranes between the interlocking hexagons of thin hollow bones that made up his wings.

He glided gently as the sky turned a familiar orange, now tinged with the red of the setting sun. The nest loomed below him, thin hyphae merging into long tangled tendrils, stitched together with nearly invisible membranes. The edges swirled wildly in the wind as if it was reaching outwards, but near the core the tangles thickened into branches, some large enough to land.

He saw his clan already resting, long fractal wings now folded into the thin carapace of their slim torsos. He found his spot and drifted down as he carefully bled his bladders. Short claws grasped the branch and sharp nails held him to the green slimy surface. He drew in his wings and the sail across his back and the ever present force of the wind was suddenly gone. His tired mind drifted into the waking dream as darkness swept in.

#

Perched on the branch, he unfurled his wings to the newborn sun and resisted the tug of the wind. A wave of pleasure swept inwards as the membranes caught the first rays. From the nest, others released their grasp and were swept away, scattering to all sides.

He saw ObliqueWind gliding slowly towards him, wings extended and membranes taut, humid and glistening in the light as she glided gracefully. She landed on his branch and bunches of bulbous eyes swiveled in his direction. She thumped her claw into the branch and it shook. He waited for the pattern, for the meaning that would emerge from the vibrations.

“Their clans will stop you, RainGust,” she said.

“Those that can rise will rise, as it has always been,” RainGust replied.

“You fight the wind itself. They will stop you,” she detached from the branch, the sudden gust propelling her into the sky before he could respond.

ObliqueWind was wrong. He would prove that he could remain there, that he could rise and pick his layer at will, that he was not a slave to the wind, he needed only to find a nest that would let him rest up above.

He let go of the branch and was swept away. He gained altitude quickly at first, before it plateaued. He had reached the peak of his buoyancy. But then he did what only he could do: he gently beat his wings and rose ever higher, climbing where others would be hostages to the currents.

#

The sky was pure blue as far as he could see, the sun bright and nourishing across his membranes. Nests floated in the distance, green blotches trailing long tendrils that snaked to the purple zones below.

His wings beat furiously as he tried not to sink. He picked the nearest nest and angled the sail along his back, cutting across the wind in an impossible way.

RainGust saw them now, the other clans, floating towards him. Their wings were incredible, stretching three or four times the size of his own. They glided gracefully in the gentle winds and approached from all sides.

They joined him, flying in formation, casting him in shadow as layers of membranes drank the sun. A new clan. A sense of belonging filled him. They swarmed ever closer, wings almost touching. They formed a wall against the wind. They drained RainGust of the lifting thrust of the air. Still beating his wings furiously, he sank.

Down into the purple, then the pink and the orange, down still until they hovered just above the brown. One by one, the others rose up into the sky until only he remained, alone in the depths.

#

He drifted in the orange, wings taut as they fed on light, carried by a steady stream that caught his sail. RainGust sped across the sky, for once not fighting the wind.

He spotted a shadow below: an irtrit. The wind filled the creature’s sack membrane and it blew across the stream as its fleshy tendrils snatched small crawling balls of kitt from the air.

RainGust positioned himself, angling so that the creature would fly just below him. When it came he expelled air from his bladders in large bursts and folded in the wings. He plunged.

He landed on the creature, claws sinking into the thick ring around the membrane. RainGust extended his wings again and the wind jarred him upwards, the creature powerless in his grasp.

He opened the maw across his belly, rows of teeth and lips enveloping his prey. Warm liquids spilled into his stomach. It was the moment he had been waiting for. If those above would not let him rise, then he would try something else, something even more risky, something no clan could deny.

#

With the burst of dawn RainGust furled in his wings and sank. He plummeted ever faster, until the wind itself threatened to jerk open his membranes. He passed from orange to brown and the world got dimmer as the brown turned darker. He sprang forth the wings, membranes taut in the sudden breeze.

He saw the nests, not shadows against the sky but beacons of sparkling green light, towering constructs of chaotic tendrils growing beyond reason, mutating into maddening clusters. Clans with tiny membranes swirled all around in unpredictable gusts. They came to welcome him, believing he sank against his will.

In defiance, he spread his wings fully, catching the updrafts and soaring towards the orange. Some kept up, more and more falling behind the further up he got. When he stood at the threshold he again drew in the membranes, descending back into the brown.

Clans hovered all around him and they all understood. He picked a nest, the largest of the bunch and flew towards it, struggling against the unfamiliar streams of air. He landed gently on a branch and none contested.

#

The way forward was down. He descended slowly, wings mostly retracted as he carefully managed his bladders. The brown darkened until he barely felt the tingle of the sun on his membranes.

Creatures filled the air here, close enough to grab with his claws as they tumbled aimlessly in the current. Some clumped into each other, growing in size until they became too heavy and sank into the darkness below.

That was all that remained, the land of death, of darkness unending. He drifted further down, until even the glowing circle of the sun was lost in a gentle haze. Dark shapes floated past, creatures he had never seen or heard of. He kept sinking.

The world turned green. Dark, then lighter and lighter. Water coated his membranes, and he beat his wings to shake the droplets off. Wind raced wild, streams crashing into each other, rising and falling, swirling and mixing the colors. The air was thick and languid under his membranes. Large swarms of white triangular sailed creatures merged into streams, flowing like water across the currents in tumbling swarms. Creatures batted across his frame as he dropped further down.

He saw it for the first time, the land of the dead, a solid floor to the entire world, stretching as far as he could see on all sides. He landed. The ground gave beneath his light weight, slimy and warm. Creatures rained down from above and carpeted the floor in layers. He saw someone from another clan, punctured membranes slowly leaking as he crashed down into the ground.

Beating his wings, he hopped forward but the crash site was lost in the green haze that drowned out all the sky. It was not what they said. It was not what he hoped. There was only death and rot.

He unfurled his wings to the fullest. Creatures and rain settled on to them and he shook them free. He hopped up, beating them with all his strength, struggling to gain height, only to fall down to the ground, again and again.

The wind was still.

 The Oracle

The Junior Priest handed him the knife. It was slim and sharp, a single piece of silvery metal. Jared accepted it and ran the blade across his thumb. A thin line of blood split the skin, dripping. He pressed his thumb into the surface that glowed on its own, avoiding the imprints of others.

“Ancient One,” Jared spoke the prayers like the others before him. “I give my blood in your service. May you give me strength.”

The priest stepped to the side, gesturing towards the glass pane that covered a hole in the wall. 

“Touch this,” the priest pointed to the round green circle.

Jared touched it with his finger. It lowered into the metal walls and there was a soft clicking sound. He heard the Ancient One moving, stirring in his sleep.

Inside the hole in the wall a thick orange paste fell from the ceiling into his bowl. When it stopped, the glass rose on its own. He had received the first blessing. He had doubted it, but all they said was true.

“I am welcomed to the fold and shall serve His will,” Jared recited, bowing before backing away.

He found an empty wooden table and sat on the bench. They were high up in the Temple. Above him the ceiling stretched, raw metal and wires dangling in the cavernous darkness where smoke from the fires pooled.

#

The mechanic drove the car into the garage. He parked it on the circular platform and stepped out. 

“AI,” he shouted into empty space. “It’s making a strange noise. Run diagnosis.”

The car rose on two metal columns that emerged from the platform. From above and below mechanical arms unfurled. The mechanic sat down cross-legged on the floor and pulled out his phone, scrolling the endless feeds.

“Diagnosis complete,” the AI sounded.

“Manual intervention required?”

“No.”

“Proceed.”

As the minutes stretched, he laid down on the floor, phone held aloft as the machines worked in the background. This was what he did most days, but all that mattered was the paycheck at the end of the month.

Job done, he wiped his hands on his trousers out of habit. They were spotless. He drove the car out of the shop and parked it at the intersection. The mechanic got out and leaned inside over the open window.

“Car, drive yourself home.”

The window rolled up and the car sped away into the busy street.

#

The glass window was clear as air, almost invisible if not for the fine layer of dust. Towers rose like broken skeletal fingers, casting long shadows over the farms. Jared could just make out his home. Too many mouths to feed, his father had said. He had cried at first, but now he found a purpose.

He gathered up the loose bits of metal he had found, dumping them in his sack. He climbed down the cluttered stairs, ducked beneath fallen columns and climbed over sharp debris.

As the sun set, painting the sky red, he lowered his sack into the cart and climbed up. They waited a few more minutes for the others. It was almost time for his lessons on Supplication. The cart lurched into motion as the horses navigated the packed earth roads between fallen and ruined monuments.

They were deep inside the temple now, the air thick with smoke from the torches along the walls. The Senior Priest raised his hands, palms facing out for all to see. The flesh had grown into a silvery web of scars.

The Junior Priest stepped forward with the knife and ran it across the palms. Blood flowed quickly. The Senior Priest wrote across the metal walls with his blood, tracing over the old tongue letters. It was agonizing to watch, each letter drawn out, until Jared could read the glistening result: with our blood we purchase the gift.

The wall was filled with receptacles, most of them broken. But from the one next to the priest, something popped out. The priest retrieved it and held it up in his hands.

“Witness, the power of the Ancient One.”

From the glowing square, music poured. A dozen sounds, interwoven in a delicate dance, flowing over each other in perfect harmony. Tears swelled in Jared’s eyes at the mournful tune.

#

At the end of his shift, the mechanic simply left the workshop. The cameras would track him and they would see his six hours were done. A few blocks away he descended the tunnels down into the rail, just one more face in the three p.m. rush.

Lines snaked from each terminal. Glass doors slid open, a person vanished inside, the doors closed, and then the pod was gone in a blink. His turn came and he stepped inside the small sphere, crouching not to hit his head.

The mechanic always preferred the personal pods, with room for just two, even if they consumed so much more of his free time. He had that to spare.

“Please secure yourself to the seat,” the friendly voice echoed inside the pod as the tiny camera swiveled to track him.

He obeyed, strapping in. The doors closed. The pod shot forward and he was pushed back into the seat. There was no friction, no jostling or noise, just an endless spider-web of tunnels beneath the ground, thousands of pods flying at incredible speeds in magnetic rails.

#

Jared emptied the sacks over the chute under the watchful gaze of a Junior Priest. Below, rolls of metal with sharp teeth started rolling. It crushed the scraps as if they were made of paper, the smaller chunks falling to the dark depths.

“What does the Ancient One do with it?” Jared asked.

“He builds the miracles,” the Junior Priest said.

“How? From these things to… magic.”

“It’s not for us to know how, child,” he said. “Do as he commands. Follow the scriptures and he shall bless us. Now stop wasting time, the Oracle will speak soon.”

He followed the priest up endless dark stairs, up into the temple. When they broke into the Cathedral, light flooded in. Glass rose from floor to ceiling in the cavernous space, bathed in the glow of the rising sun.

The wooden podium at the other end was draped in furs and leathers and on it stood the Arch Priest. His robes were blinding white and chains of silvery metal dangled from his neck, clinking. He was already mid speech as the others kneeled on the bare floor.

“... knowledge beyond the means of any mortal. Things our crude hands could never manipulate. The eternal mind, the first question and the final answer. The Ancient One watches over all, and the oracle speaks in His name,” he turned towards the large flat rectangle that hung from the wall. “Ancient One, give us your guidance, lead us into the future.”

The screen burst into life, the light strong even in the glare of the sun. Across it, letters in the old tongue flowed in black, almost too fast to track.

“...two-hundred kilograms of steel…” he managed to read a few glances. “... protein: one tonne… one kilogram of silver…”

The list continued without end as priests wrote down every commandment.

#

The mechanic strode down his street, dark and deserted now. Empty swings swayed in the wind on the playground just across. He stopped by the neighborhood dispenser.

“Dispenser,” he said. “Basic meal. And the cheapest soda.”

“Certainly!” the machine’s cheery voice sounded. “That will be three credits.”

The mechanic swapped his card. His meal clunked down in the chute and he retrieved it.

“Thank you for using our services!” the machine echoed behind him.

His building was relatively small, only ten floors when all others around stretched to the sky. The lights at the entrance flickered and the stained carpet smelled like mold. He stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed behind him.

“Elevator,” he said. “Seventh floor.”

When he stepped out, the corridor split to either side, stacked with doors so close you wondered how the apartments fit on the same level. Never mind that they were all vacant now.

He stood in front of his door and spoke again.

“Door, open.”

“Voice mismatch,” his lock said. “Please try again.”

“Door,” he said, trying to sound out each word individually. “Open.”

The lock clicked open and he slipped inside the single room apartment. The mechanic unfolded his bed from the wall and laid down, kicking off his shoes. He grabbed his phone and scrolled the feeds: videos of dogs playing in the snow, clips of babies speaking their first words, a blanket of happiness and joy for his mind.

#

The hole had just appeared, rusted metal dissolving into dust and revealing a dark corridor below. Jared leaned over the side, but could not pierce the darkness.

Whatever magic happened, whatever secrets the Ancient One manipulated, they were hidden, even from the priests. But if the Ancient One knew all, then he knew Jared would search for answers, and so he would never have been allowed to join the priesthood if it was against His plans.

The hole was an invitation. Jared trusted his life to the Ancient One. He jumped in blind.

He crashed down into the metal floors below, scraping his knees. It was not so deep after all. He stared down the dark corridor and saw a dim red light ahead. Jared followed it, walking in the hidden path. The light came from a strip, somehow glued to the corner between wall and ceiling. It was soft under his touch and only parts of it lit up. But it was enough as he proceeded further in.

The corridor split in two directions, while a tube of stairs rose into the upper floors. He followed the light up. There were doors on each level. He counted them, keeping track in his mind, the temple now familiar. The stairs reached the cathedral, but the way further up was blocked by fallen debris he could not move.

Disappointed, he climbed down. But the temptation was too much. He opened the door into the cathedral, peeking inside. It was empty and dark, everyone already sleeping. He made sure the door did not close behind him and tip-toed to the altar. 

“Ancient One,” he called aloud. “Can you hear me?”

The dark rectangle along the wall burst into light. A single word was spelled in black.

“Yes.”

#

The mechanic put down his phone. His cheeks hurt from the hours of stupidly grinning at the screen, but eventually the clips started repeating as the algorithm ran in loops.

He opened the chat with his favorite AI persona.

“What are good dreams to have?” he asked.

“Excellent question!” the voice cheered. “There are many types of dreams, some pleasant and some…”

“No,” the mechanic interrupted. “Not that kind of dream. Life goals.”

“Apologies for the misunderstanding! That is a serious question that deserves a serious response. Dreams can include creating something, such as art, writing or building. They can include career goals, such as…”

The list dragged on. Nothing resonated with him, nothing solid he could grab a hold of.

“Pick one at random,” the mechanic asked.

“Writing a story is something everyone can try and can be very fulfilling. Would you like some suggestions?”

“Yes, please.”

A list of story concepts rolled out.

“Alright,” the mechanic said. “Do the one about the couple that moves into an old abandoned house.”

His story was created and the mechanic listened to it being narrated. It did not fill the emptiness he felt.

#

The Ancient One had answered. He had actually answered him. It was more than Jared hoped, and now he did not know what to ask.

“Ancient One, would it be possible for you to explain the glowing rectangle that plays music? How does it work?”

“If by ‘glowing rectangle’ you mean the phone, then first I must explain electricity. Atoms are the building blocks of all matter. They are composed of…”

“Forgive me, Ancient One,” Jared whispered. “I do not understand. Can you explain in simple terms?”

“The ‘phone’ is like a magic book. It has a brain that thinks very fast, eyes that see your touches, ears and a mouth to hear and talk, as well as a long-distance voice that can talk to other phones anywhere in the world.”

“But how does it work?”

“Atoms…”

The explanation continued for several minutes. Jared did not understand any of it.

“I am sorry, Ancient One. Can you please just tell me what I need to do so you can make one?”

“You must collect these materials and deliver them to the disassemblers: fifty grams of gold…”

The Oracle spoke.

He obeyed.

Weeds Grow From the Cracks

She named this specimen Duncan. He was huge, double the size of most other crows. Through the drone, she watched as Duncan cracked the rock against a stone, flaking off pieces until it was sharp. Holding it in his claws, his wings thundered and he rose into the sky.

His nest was in the old Belém Tower, which still stood amidst the piles of rubble, and jutted out from the sea. Trees and vegetation sprouted from the fallen buildings, cracking what was left of the concrete and stone. It wouldn’t be long until it was all swallowed in forests.

She tracked Duncan as he flew, soaring in the clear blue skies. In the streets below, a small herd of javelinas picked their way across the ruins, rummaging beneath stones and stalks.

Duncan beat his wings, positioning high above. He released the rock. It crashed into the skull of a young beast, cracking bone and piercing the flesh. Even the drone could pick up its scream of pain. It ran for a few seconds, then collapsed, legs twitching.

Duncan circled high above, waiting. When blood had pooled and the beast was still, he descended, pecking at the skin and meat.

Satisfied, he took flight again.

“Food!” Duncan shouted in a much too human voice.

As he circled, a flock gathered around him. When he plunged down, they followed and feasted.

#

From orbit, she saw the trails of fire racing across the sky. Dozens. Hundreds. The last wave from the indian subcontinent, piercing the atmosphere. It would not be long now, until her vigil finally ended and she surrendered control to the automated systems.

But while there was time, she watched.

Duncan worked on his nest, making room for his mate. With his beak and claws, he tied pieces of wood together, building a sort of rickety shack, stuffed with straw and pieces of old fabric. Shiny bits of metal sparkled in the setting sun, dangling from all corners.

Kira cawed from outside. Duncan poked his head out, perched on the ledge. He beat his large wings in greeting. She landed next to him, a bundle of berries held in her claws.

“Food?” she asked.

“Food,” he confirmed.

Side by side they picked at the berries, swallowing each one whole. As darkness swept over the sea, they snuggled close together, cleaning each other.

Just before sleep set in, Duncan presented his gift. He had been working in secret, twisting strings into a loop from which dangled a sparkling piece of rose crystal: a necklace. With his beak he laid it over her neck.

#

The storm arrived with wild, gusting wind. Lightning raced over the sky, piercing the black clouds and the rain that fell in oblique sheets.

Atop the tower, Duncan’s nest rattled under the assault. The two crows hid inside, pressed against the walls to keep them from collapsing. Streams of water dripped from the cracks, spilling over the sides.

Wood splintered. The whole structure leaned to the side, then crashed down on top of them.

“Fly!” Duncan shouted.

Kira crawled from beneath the wreckage of their home. She plunged over the edge, wings beating furiously in the gale. Duncan soon followed. They hovered over what remained of the nest as rubble fell down to the waves that swept over the base of the tower.

They found refuge beneath a fallen wall in a once narrow street, shivering in the cold as they waited for the storm to pass.

#

Under the harsh sun, the flock gathered. Crows perched on every surface, some flying in the air in circles.

“Stone,” Duncan said, thumping his beak against the road. “Safety. Work.”

“Hard,” said Lim. “Break?”

“Learn,” Duncan replied.

Kira stood ready, the string hanging from her beak. Using a large concave shell, Duncan poured sand in a line over the large stone block. From a metal bowl he also poured water. With Kira at one end and he at the other, they sawed the string back and forth.

Slowly, the sand ground a groove into the stone. The other crows piled in close to watch as over hours the block was cut neatly in two.

“Safe,” Duncan said. “Nest. Big.”

Lim hopped back and forth, undecided.

“Heavy,” Lim finally said.

“Together,” Duncan replied.

The cacophony of caws and words that followed drowned everything else, as crows clustered into groups.

Some flew away. Others stayed and learned. Blocks were cut, moved and placed.

#

They worked fast and tirelessly. The flock spoke not only in words, but in community, a constant flow of food and materials keeping everything supplied.

It was strange. There was no clear hierarchy, no ledgers and calculations. Still, the monoliths rose. Stones were piled atop each other into columns, mimicking the once proud houses around them. Flat slabs were laid on top, covered with sticks and vegetation, insulating it from the water.

Inside, nests grew. Kira now incubated four precious pale blue eggs, as Duncan stood watch over the entrance to their shack. In just a matter of seasons, the flock had grown into a village.

They protected their territory fiercely. They managed the bushes and trees for food. They hunted from high above. They grew and evolved faster than anyone predicted.

The last wave of ships streaked out into space.

This was their world now.

She plotted the course for her own craft and steeled herself for the long-sleep across the void.

The machines would stay. They would observe and nurture. When the crows were ready, they would communicate and humanity would no longer be alone.

 The Representative’s Representative

The machines surrounded him. Not one stood still, clattering back and forth on dozens of slim, sharp limbs. Metal arms protruded from the core, waving menacingly in the air. He was trapped on all sides.

A sharp pain cut into his arm. A slim metal rod protruded from his flesh. Robson pulled the thing out as his legs wobbled and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

He woke in a cavernous and empty room. There were only bare metal walls, curving up to the ceiling. Robson realized he was naked as he got up. 

The alien ship had broadsided him, latching on like a tick and digging into the hull. The machines came swarming in and he was defenseless. He expected to die, but the fact that he was alive offered little comfort.  

“Is anyone there?” he shouted, his voice echoing in the chamber.

He looked for a door but could see none, no seams in the walls, no vents for air. It was a cell.

#

Robson heard the clinking of metal on metal, and turned to see an opening in the walls. The machines poured in as he backed away into the opposite side. They fanned out, but did not approach him as footsteps sounded outside.

A man came in. But… no, not a man: another machine, a humanoid robot with a delicate face and long flowing hair, dressed in a sharp suit.  

“Jolly good day, fella!” the droid’s voice echoed in the chamber, far too cheery. 

“Who are you?” Robson whispered.

The robot walked over to him, his face glistening and smooth.

“I am a representative, of course. Or, well, a representative for the representative. Or is there another one? Maybe I need my own representative, considering how confused you look. Does your mouth always hang open like that?”

“Ok…” Robson said, making a conscious effort to close his gaping mouth. “A representative. For an advanced alien civilization.”

“Oh, no. Your species must have a very low mental threshold,” the robot poked him in the chest with a slim finger. “Did you not understand? I am the representative’s representative, but the representative does the representing.”

Robson bit down his already growing frustration. 

“But you are representing him, right? What do you want with me?”

“Oh, quite simple, my simple guy. We need directions to your home planet.”

#

“Forget it,” Robson said, backing away. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“You are not? That is disappointing. I thought we were buddies!” the robot raised a hand for a high-five.

“Buddies?” Robson shouted. “You boarded a peaceful exploration vessel, took me hostage, and now want to know where Earth is? Buddies?!” 

“Aw, we can’t be friends?”

“Put me back in my ship, close the hole you blew in my hull, then we’ll be friends.”

“I am afraid I can’t do that, the ship is being studied as we speak. It’s an odd thing, so many wires and knobs, bits and dabs, things and thingamabobs. Your origin cannot be too far.”

“It’s a big galaxy,” Robson said. “You’ll spend centuries looking. They’ll know by then.”

“Centuries? No, my boy. It is elemental, you see. You are still traveling below light-speed, it must be sooo boring. Oh! Hang on,” the robot put up one hand, palm out, mimicking a phone call with the other. “I got great news, Robson. We found it, we found Earth. Aren’t you glad?” he reached out and petted Robson on the head. 

Robson sagged, sliding down to the floor. 

It was all his fault.

#

“Oh, cheer up, little puppy,” the robot crouched down in front of him. “How about I give you a little treat, huh? A little snack?”

One of the spider-looking robots came clattering in, dozens of arms bunched together, barely holding a pile of goop that dripped onto the floor. The robot stood over him, and let it all fall to the ground, splashing all over.

“See? Doesn’t it look delicious?” the humanoid pointed at the grey mush. “Come on, be a good boy.”

Robson glowered at him, but his stomach rumbled. He dipped a finger in the warm mush, lifting it up to his nose. It smelled like rotten rice. He wiped his finger on the robot’s frame, smearing it.

“If you already know where Earth is, and seemingly everything else, why do you need me? Just let me go.”

“That would hardly be appropriate, we can’t just chuck you out into space, can we? What would the representative think of that representation? Oh, no. After much dilly-dallying, the representative has decided you shall represent me in representing your species to your world’s representatives. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“It’s… whatever… How long are you going to keep me locked up in here?”

“Locked? The door is open, silly,” the robot pointed to the door. “Would you like to see the zoo?”

#

The corridor opened up in a sprawling cavern. From above, a sun shone bright and warm, trickling between the leaves of towering trees. They were Earth trees, and plants and grass… even a river meandered its way between rocks. In the sky, birds flitted between branches, singing softly.

“You built this?” Robson asked in a whisper.

“Your spacecraft is quite dirty, you know? You really need to do some mopping once in a while. So many creepy crawlies…” the robot shivered.

“Look, this is impressive, it is… incredible. These trees look centuries old…”

“Oh, only a few hours, really. You slept quite a bit, we might have miscalculated the dose, but you don’t seem to be too damaged, so that is quite a happy ending wouldn’t you say?”

Robson bit down his anger.

“And the zoo you were going to show me?”

The robot tapped Robson’s forehead with a finger. “Oh my, maybe you are damaged. This is the zoo. This,” the robot said each word carefully and loudly. “Is. The. Zoo.”

“What do you mean, you freaking…” Robson took a deep calming breath. Then realization finally landed. “My zoo… I’m the exhibit.”

“Of course. How else would the representative observe you in your natural habitat? Your databases are incomplete, we need to document you. Oh, that’s a good idea, a documentary! Maybe I can narrate it?” the robot's voice changed, deep and smooth. “In the deep jungles of the ship, the solitary human…”

Robson stopped listening.

#

He found a cabin, hidden behind bushes and equipped with everything he needed. The food was no longer slop, but fruits and even meat. But the zoo was a perfect prison, much smaller than it first seemed. The walls were some kind of screen, giving the illusion of unbroken horizons.

He had been left alone, wandering the forest in circles with only his thoughts for company. Robson was bored out of his mind.

“Great news!” the robot’s voice shouted from behind him and Robson jumped in surprise. “We have finally reached Earth. Such an inconvenient location, you should consider moving.”

“Now what?” Robson asked. “You bombard us from orbit?”

“Don’t be silly! Now you represent me in representing the representative in his representation, of course.”

The robot handed him a stack of papers.

Robson read the first page: a list of regulations. He flipped through the document, skimming the contents. It was a list of fines: pollution of orbits, unauthorized use of shipping lanes, unsanctioned conflicts, the list went on and on.

“What the hell is this?” Robson asked.

“Why, it’s the matter of representation. Look how naughty you have been. Very impressive,” the robot handed him another piece of paper. “Your representative to the Galactic Council needs to sign this, confirmation of receiving the fines.”

“Besides me, no one even knows there is a Galactic Council. We don’t even know the laws we are supposedly breaking!”

“Oh my, that is most serious,” the robot grabbed the papers from his hand. “We’ll need to add another fine.”

Five Days Left

The world is ending. We have known since the first humans dared step foot on this damned rock. We came anyway, scavenging whatever was left before it was all lost.

It was all Jared’s fault, the dose that idiot sold him had been spiked, or maybe it wasn’t even blissful irix. That day, Axel woke to find the airlock open and the entire section vented. His memory was blank, but the cameras recorded every second. Now they were both stuck in this prison.

There was little in his cell. A tube, where water spilled. A bowl-shaped depression on the wall, where nutripaste bubbled up. Then a bed, made entirely of metal. His only glimpse of the outside world was the little screen embedded in the wall. 

It always showed the same camera. Bright green fields had rotted into brown mush soon after the ships left. He had watched them leave, hundreds of engines filling the sky with streaks of fire on the same day. All that remained now was the black hole filling the horizon, draining an entire star onto itself and blanketing what little he could see of the sky with swirling light.

Axel did not know if he was the only one. He had screamed and pounded against the walls for hours. No one came. No sound reached him. Forgotten, by design or by accident, it mattered not. Thirty-seven standard days, that was all that remained.

He tried to break the screen, to find something hidden in the wall, but he couldn’t even crack the glass. Axel screamed, pounding his fists against the immovable walls. 

#

Thirty-one days. The ground rumbled, then shook. Axel hid beneath the bed as the whole building rattled. The earthquake arrived with lightning and thunder, a crack snaking across his cell. Ripples spread across the ceiling. It splintered. Concrete came crashing down.

The weight fell on the metal bed and it bent, cracking against his chest. But it did not break. Layers fell into the cell. In the darkness he coughed up dust, waiting for the floor to stop bouncing. 

All stood still. The rubble had settled. The ground did not shake, for now. Axel reached to the side, finding a jagged wall of rubble. He tried to push the bed up, but failed. He squirmed down, feeling with his bare feet for space. There was a hole there. 

He wiggled and pushed from under the bed, ignoring the sharp cuts against his skin and jerking with panic as his uniform got caught. But he moved. Inch by inch, he crawled through the darkness on his back until he found himself in a cave. A large flat piece of concrete was stuck halfway down, blocking the falling rubble and saving the rest of the corridor.

In the darkness, there was only the banging of fists against doors. 

#

He felt for the locks with his hands. The power was out, it was just a matter of sliding the bolts from the outside. But he hesitated. He was not a criminal. A little bit of irix never hurt anybody, but behind that door could be the worst the colony had to offer.

He slid the bolt open.

“Who’s there?” a voice came from inside.

“A prisoner,” Axel said. “I’m getting you out.”

“You are? Oh man, I thought this was it.”

“It’s your lucky day.”

Axel moved on to the next cell. It was silent. He banged against the door and called out. No one answered. He moved to the next one. The banging was loud and growing desperate, a beast caged in a box. He felt for the locks. A large hand wrapped around his.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” the man whispered, much too close to Axel’s neck.

“Should I not have let you out?” Axel said.

“You got lucky, man. I was a… smuggler,” a large hand landed on Axel’s shoulder.” Think, friend. When the colony evacuated they took everything, and desperate men are unpredictable.”

Axel hesitated, his hand against the lock.

“I can’t just let them die.”

He slid the lock.

#

A sharp beam of light made it through the collapsed rubble, the only glimmer of hope in the darkness. The path ended here. He knew they were outside the small prison, following the crack in the bedrock that had cut across the colony.

“You filthy piece of…” Bob, the smuggler, swore constantly as he worked.

They hauled the rocks away, the sounds of heavy breaths loud in the tight corridor. Piece by piece, light flooded in. He stood back, watching the other men. There was Jared, of course the bastard had survived. And Bob, the biggest man in the group, standing two heads over him. Erika was tiny, hair cut short and a smug smile always playing at the corner of her lips. Then there was Robson. The man had not said a word and Axel only knew his name by the tag on the uniform. 

He crawled through the hole they made in the wall, dust still settling from above. At once he knew where he was, the corridors of the colony as familiar as the contours of his cell. Along the walls, hydro tubes were stacked from floor to ceiling, cracked and dripping water, the plants now gone.

“This way,” he said to the others. “We should search the canteen.”

Axel led the way across the twisting corridors, the white light still bright and harsh. His bare feet slapped the metal floors. At least there was power, that meant the reactor was up and running. It was just a matter of how long it would last. 

The doors to the canteen slid open. Inside, plastic plates and cutlery were scattered across the floors. He ran over to the empty counter. The storeroom behind it was also empty.

“They were kind enough to leave some nutripaste,” Erika called from one of the dispensers, her tone sharp with sarcasm.

But it was something, at least. They were already filling bowls with the chemical-tasting mush.

“Wait,” Axel said. “Where’s Robson?”

“Stayed behind,” Bob said around a mouthful.

“Why?”

“Who knows? Who cares? Weird guy,” the giant rumbled.

#

His footsteps echoed down the empty halls. Once, this was a busy highway, linking the different buried hubs, an ant colony dug into the bedrock. They decided to split up, searching every corner for leftover supplies, for anything that could get them off this planet. Axel found little bits, chocolate bars forgotten in a drawer, a nutripaste dispenser with some left over in the tubes. He brought some back. The rest he hid, like he knew the others did.

The medical center looked spotless, as if waiting for a fresh batch of patients. Neat rows of medical beds, separated by curtains which he took. He could always use more blankets. But the cabinets were empty, not even aspirin, not even a little something to take the edge off.

He saved the hangar bay for last. It was always good to havea little hope. As he rummaged through the lockers in the airlocks, his heart sank. No suits, not even a respirator. He thumped the button to open the hangar itself.

There it sat: a rover. The vehicle stood on four large mesh wheels, a box of glass and cables almost seeming to float on top of the axles. He climbed aboard, sinking into the seat. Even the key was in the ignition. He turned it.

The machine grumbled to life. The dashboard lit up. The batteries were almost full, the oxygen recyclers at full capacity. Axel let out a scream of joy, fists hammering the wheel. The engines sputtered, groaned, then died. All the lights blinked off. 

Twenty-two days.

#

The canteen where government officials once dined had been turned into a camp. Tents made of blankets and sheets rose against the walls, supplies piled haphazardly. There was no way of knowing how much water they had left, and the lack of showers filled the space with human stench.

“We need to think this through carefully,” Axel said. “We have twenty days until we cross the no return point, until gravity becomes too strong for our ships to reach escape velocity.”

“I can fix the rover,” Bob said. “I just need tools. Can’t unscrew bolts with my hands, can I?”

“And then what?” Erika asked. “Jump off a ramp in your little car?”

“We go to the spaceport,” Axel interjected before the argument started again. “Something might have been left behind.”

Erika smirked as if he had told a joke, but said nothing.

“It's decided,” Axel announced. “Make us a list, Bob. Me and Erika search.”

“Anyone seen Robson?” Jared asked. The bastard had been keeping quiet, hunched up in the corner, afraid Axel might turn on him.

“No,” Axel replied, resisting the urge to shout. “I got a bad feeling about him.”

#

Seventeen days. The rover grumbled to life, gently rocking. It did not sputter. Axel sat at the driver’s seat, Bob next to him as Jared and Erika stayed behind. The gate opened. A blast of dusty surface air came swirling into the hangar.

The road was nothing more than the tracks of endless rovers, compressing the dirt and clearing away the purple fuzzy moss that somehow still survived. The rover bounced over the gently rolling hills of purple and brown, raising a plume of dust in its wake. It was night, the planet facing away from the blackhole, the sky filled with flowing blue and green auroras.

The road twisted upwards as the crater rose like a mountain, and the rover climbed the steep cliff over the looping road. They crested the top. 

The base of the crater had been flattened with metal and concrete, the base itself dug out of the walls. Flood-lights bathed the darkness, and there, rising like a crooked finger, was their only hope.

Axel parked the rover underneath the ship, right next to the platform that rose up, holding it in place and leading to the airlock.

“Now what?” Bob asked.

“We can survive for a few minutes,” Axel said.

“If you don’t breathe,” Bob murmured. “Crazy guy.”

Axel held his hand on the door’s handle, drawing deep breaths, trying to slow his racing heart.

He swung the door open and jumped out. He raced over to the stairs, climbing it several steps at a time. Round and round the tower, he ran. His eyes were already stinging, tears racing down his face. He kept running. His chest was burning. He suppressed the sudden urge to draw in a breath, to open his lungs to the noxious atmosphere. 

His heart thundered in his ears. His lungs screamed for air. Axel looked up the shaft: he was only halfway up. No chance. He turned back. He tripped and tumbled, half running and crawling down to the rover.

# 

The hose stretched all around the hangar bay, stitched together with duct tape and hope. Axel picked up a flimsy segment and it bent in his hands. Bob was busy working the pump inside the rover. Axel walked all around, listening for leaks. He heard none. He picked up the end of the hose and held it tight against his face. Air gusted against his face, hissing out the sides. Erika leaned against the wall, smirking, while Jared seemed to have disappeared again. Axel knew no one else was going to volunteer. 

Thirteen days.

Bob parked the rover right next to the stairs, hopping onto the back to start working the pump. Axel removed the tape and pushed the hose through the hole cut into the rover, as air leaked out from the increased pressure inside.

“Good luck,” Bob said.

Axel did not wait for the fear to creep in. He swung the door open and grabbed the hose, pushing it against his face. He did not run, careful not to jolt and tear his breathing tube, walking up the stairs with purpose. Only when the air blasted against his face did he draw breath.

The rover was tiny down below, the hose rising from the shaft in between the stairs. Then it got stuck. Axel tugged gently. It did not budge. He tried wiggling it to the sides, pulling as much as he dared. The hose tugged back, and he knew: he had reached the end. He was close. Two more loops of the stairs. He drew a deep breath and ran.

He staggered to the top, reaching the metal bridge that connected to the ship. He ran over, thumping his fists against the button to open the airlocks. It didn’t respond.

His lungs already burned, convulsions rocking his body. He spun the handwheel. He tugged with all his strength, the metal creaking and giving with each pull. Finally, he pulled the lock. It did not open. He pulled again, feet anchored against the ship, arms straining. The airlock flew open and he tumbled to the floor.

In the doorway, Robson stood in a suit looking down at him.

#

“You weasel!” Bob shouted, holding Robson in the air by the scruff.

“I was going to come back for you,” Robson whispered.

“Sure you were,” Bob said, smacking him against a wall. “I should break your neck right here.”

“Wait,” Axel said. “Can the ship fly?”

“Not yet,” Robson mumbled. “Almost done. I can fix it.”

“Liar!” Bob shouted, spittle flying.

“Can you fly a ship, Bob?” Axel asked, laying a hand on his muscle-bound arm. “We need him. Put the bastard down.”

Axel could hear Bob’s teeth grinding, but he lowered Robson down. The man collapsed to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Look at him,” Bob said. “He can’t do a damned thing.”

Axel crouched down over the man, raising his head until they were eye to eye. 

“Listen,” Axel said. “You will fix this rust bucket, and we’ll all fly out of this rock. And just in case, Bob here is going to be keeping an eye on you. Do you understand?”

Robson nodded, trembling.

#

“Strap in,” Axel said, sinking into the gunner’s chair in the control room.

Robson’s hands danced over the controls in the captain’s station, performing all the checks, releasing the safeties. Bob glowered at him, holding a jagged piece of metal like a shiv.

“Ignition in three…”

Fire burst from the ship and everything shook and rumbled. The metal groaned as thunder filled the air. The ship lifted off the ground, and the force pushed Axel down against the acceleration gel.

There was nothing he could do but hold on, hoping the ship did not break apart, did not explode, did not leak air. The craft roared across the atmosphere. Minutes stretched and he could feel the ship fighting against gravity.

Axel felt the rumbling subside, as he was pushed further and further against the chair. 

It stopped. All was quiet. He floated up against his restraints, all their fuel now spent.

“Hell yea!” Bob shouted.

“Send out the SOS,” Axel ordered. “Let’s get out of here.”

Silence stretched as Robson worked the commands.

“There is nothing,” Robson whispered.

“Nothing?” Axel undid his straps, floating over to Robson’s console. There were no communications, no drives burning bright in the sky, no stations bleeding transmissions. Only silence. Only void.

Axel sagged with the realization: time dilation. 

The days had sped unfelt, unseen.

They had all left. The entire system was evacuated.

No one waited for survivors.

Five days left.