At 1800 Standard Galactic Time they entered the wormhole
and began to surf along the wide inner wall of the spiral as it twisted and turned into eternity and beyond. Within moments they were caught up in the maelstrom and
catapulted forwards at an incredible speed, surfing the surging swirl of
the wormhole wall. The vibration was immense, like a rattling roller coaster
ride gone wrong, or iron wheels running on a road of cobbled stones.
“Better hold on everyone,” said Dutch, trying to stop her
teeth from clashing together as she talked. The ship shook like a
kite in a high wind. Glancing out the side widows they could see the
superstructure flex and flap, threatening to tear the three hulls from one
another. Silently, everybody held on and hoped for the best. They had no
control over the craft. It flipped and flapped like a sweet wrapper in a storm,
sucked this way and that, thrashed about by conflicting currents fighting for
dominance. The autopilot readout flashed ‘malfunction’ and seemed to be
absolutely useless because the ship was in the grip of a far greater power than its engines. And
as if that wasn’t enough, it began to get very hot. Flickering flames now
fanned past the portholes and their world turned a deep pulsing blood red as
the temperature rose and rose. Heat waves hovered in front of their eyes like
the shimmer on a hot road. Righteous sat there in the unholy heat looking like
a black demon lit by the fires of hell. Sweet Mary watched in fascination as
the sweat popped out of his skin like droplets of blood and began to run in red
rivers down his body. She looked down at her own arms and saw much the same
thing happening to her. It looked as if her blood was oozing out of her. She
was finding it hard to breathe now, and any air that she managed to gasp in
merely scorched her lungs. She was just about to panic when Rose laid her hand on
hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze. She tried to smile at her but when she
saw Rose’s ruddy cheeks aglow with heat and sweat she couldn’t help thinking of
a chicken basting in the oven. It wouldn’t be long before they were all juicy
and tender and basted deep brown…….and if someone didn’t switch off the oven
soon they would be fried to a crisp.
And just when they thought things couldn’t get any worse,
there came a monstrous moaning sound as if the very makeup of matter were complaining and everything began to melt in the heat.
Dutch watched her hands melt into the console in front of her, flesh and steel
all flowing into one another. With a strange air of detachment she watched as
the rest of her body also turned to liquid and merged with the river of melting
molten molecules that once was the ship and its crew. And then they were no
longer bodies…just liquid. And yet they were not destroyed, nor did they feel
any pain or anxiety. They seemed to float in a kind of warm bliss, free from
worries and emotions. Many lifetimes seemed to pass as they contemplated the
mysteries of the universe, blind but all seeing…content…complete, separate and
together, joined in incomparable comradeship, wanting nothing but to carry on
being here.
Then the magma began to boil and each person could sense
themselves separating and rising up through the lava, each spirit encapsulated
in their own bubble, lifting them up and away as they floated higher and
higher. And as the bubbles cooled they watched the blood red dawn dissipate and
the golden hue of a desert sun suffuse their consciousness. It was a pleasant
yellow glow like afternoon sunlight on a wooden veranda. The bubbles drifted on
the breeze and gently bumped into each other, silently exchanging information.
Cradled in their circular cocoons they began to descend, gently feathering
downwards, and with a final plop the bubbles burst and they were back in their
seats, back in their bodies, stretching and blinking and yawning: back in the
spaceship.
But they didn’t have much time to acclimatize themselves
to the transition. Whatever disappointment they felt at having to leave their
bubbles of bliss was quickly superseded by a new phenomenon. Now it was turning
icy cold and in no time at all their frozen breath hung in the air between them
like ectoplasmic phantoms seeking substance. The very words they spoke froze on
their tongues and stuck to their lips. They barely had enough energy to shiver.
The light was icy white and blue against a saturated black background. The
silent crew as one peered anxiously out the windows and what they saw there
froze them from the inside. Giant tumbling icebergs trailing bits of ice and
steam, some the size of a small planet, whooshed past them, smashing into one another
like a chaotic game of crazy cosmic billiards. Fortunately the ship chose that
moment to come to life as the computers kicked in and the autopilot began to
steer and veer and swerve the craft in a zig-zag path through the monstrous
mayhem of megaliths. The frozen crew could only watch and pray. Not that any of
them were particularly religious, but it did seem like a good idea. It seemed
almost impossible that they wouldn’t be hit, yet somehow the tiny ship managed
to slip and slide in between the juggernauts and after a horrific eternity of
breathlessness the icebergs began to thin out and the cold became less intense.
The blue light began to fade into an eerie darkness of
ultra violet shades and shifting shadows that scampered about at the corner of
the eye. Purple peripheral phantoms played hide and seek in the near dark,
raising goose bumps on the flesh as they brushed past the all too human flesh
of the crew. Truly this was the realm of the dead and the undead…and the
soon-to-be-dead. And as if to consolidate that thought, a hypnotic wailing and
whistling sound, like a woeful wind winding through the cracks of a haunted
house, began to lull the crew into an anesthetised, dreamlike state in
preparation for their passing over. None protested or struggled against the
inevitability of this transition. In truth, it felt like somewhat of a relief
from the cares and woes that burden a poor mortal soul from the day of his
first grave step. Soon they would become part of that insubstantial diaphanous
world of gossamer ghosts that inhabited the spaces in between the worlds of
death and birth. As one they all closed their eyes one final time, and let
their souls go.
But something was stuck. They couldn’t seem to wiggle
loose from their bodies. More and more they became aware of the discomfort of
the flesh: an itch here, a cramp there, a bladder needing relief, a stiff neck,
clumsy hands opening and closing, stretching a clumpy leg like tree trunk and a
feeling of disappointment as the delicate fibres of soul-life dispersed and the
coarse mechanical reality of flesh and bone kicked in, bearing down and
fastening the spirit to the material realms like an unwanted anchor.
Sweet Mary felt like she was emerging from a dream, a
dream she didn’t want to wake from. Never had she felt so secure and protected,
so happy and contented. She closed her eyes and tried to call up the vision
once more but it was gone. Tiredly she looked around. Dutch, already wide awake
and busy as she would have expected, was fiddling with the control board and
with her new found serenity Sweet Mary could see how insecure and anxious she
was. She’d never really noticed this before. She had only seen her as being
nasty and bad tempered. It helped Sweet Mary understand Dutch a lot more and
she vowed not to take her rough manner so to heart in future. It just cut her
up too much when Dutch was horrible to her. But she knew, no matter how much
she understood Dutch’s behaviour, or how many resolutions she made not to get
upset, at the first harsh word from Dutch she would probably end up in tears
again. Dutch looked up out of the window and Sweet Mary followed her glance.
Outside there were fine wisps of cosmic dust whirling round them in a
continuous stream. But beyond the dust there was nothing. No stars, no light.
It wasn’t even black. There was just nothing there.
Then the ships thrusters suddenly cut-out and they were
drifting silently in an eternal void. No one said anything for a long time, and
when they did, they realized that they were in no ordinary place.
Dutch, noticing that Sweet Mary was staring at her rather
intently with a lowering brow, felt guilty for being so short with her and
turned to her to say ‘Sorry I was such an ass,’ but actually only her mouth
moved. There was no sound. She thought for a moment she’d gone deaf and stopped
speaking. A few seconds later however, she heard her voice talking, like a
delayed echo. It was very disconcerting. Sweet Mary thought she’d lost her mind
when she saw and heard this, or that she was watching an out-of-sync movie. The
others had also noticed the strange phenomena and looked at Dutch expectantly.
She tried again…but again there was no sound until a few seconds later.
“Well this is the strangest thing I…”
She also found she had to stop speaking when the sound
started because it was too confusing to continue. It was impossible to finish a
sentence, unless it was a very short one. Soon the others started chipping in,
eager to try out this new anomaly. Even Sweet Mary got caught up in the game,
and laughed at the silliness of tangling with her own words. Once the novelty
had worn off though, everyone lapsed into silence again. It really wasn’t worth
talking unless there was something important to say, and then they had to speak
in short bursts. So they were each left to their own thoughts. Obviously the
wormhole was warping the time continuum. They could hear the effects of that,
but what effects would it have on space. Just where exactly were they? Where
were they going? And how different was it going to be? A cloud of despondency
seemed to settle on the little band. Drifting in nothingness and not being able
to speak, was not good for human beings.
WHERE WILL OUR INTREPID LITTLE BAND END UP? WHAT AWAITS THEM AT THE END OF THE RIDE? TUNE IN NEXT TIME TO FIND OUT.
