experienced that peculiar quality of his or her worldÂline which made them unique. Fairchild, stable and strong, did not see much to surprise him. Graetikin marveled at a new insight into his work. Edith, still wrapped in her childhood, had a nightmare and woke far in her past, screaming for her father.
Again the darkness. The ouroboros of the hole spat them out. The computers triggered a lengthy jump, as best as they were able, for the actions of their smallest circuits were still not statistically reliable. This was the chance Graetikin knew they all had to take.
They escaped. The ship rattled and shook like a dog after a swim. The howl of metal made Fairchildâs scalp prickle and his arm-hair stand on end. A rush of wind swept the bridge. Edith Fairchild wept quietly and Disjohn, beside her, trembled.
They held each other, sweat dripping and noses flaring, panicked like wild beasts. Graetikin bounced his fingers clumsily over the screen controls, then corrected his foul-up and gave them a view of what lay outside.
âI donât see anything,â Fairchild said.
âIâm astonished we made it,â Graetikin whispered. Disjohn gave him a wild look. The screen showed nothing but cold darkness.
âScan and chart all radiating sources,â the capÂtain instructed the computer.
âThere are no compact sources of radiation. Standard H-R distribution shows nothing. There is only an average temperature,â it said.
âWhatâs the temperature?â
âTwo point seven one degrees Kelvin.â
Graetikin slammed his scriber onto the panel. âAny white hole activity? Any sign of the singularity we just came through?â
âNothing.â
âWe had to come out of something!â
âUndefined,â the machine said.
âWhat does it mean?â Edith asked, holding her chin in her hands.
Graetikin fingered the mar his scriber had made in the panel. âIt means weâre in a region of heat-death.â
âWhereâs that?â
âUndefined,â the computer repeated.
ââWhereâ is meaningless now,â Graetikin said, eyes dull. âEverythingâs evenly distributed. Weâre between beats, at the top of a cycle between expansion and collapse. Weâve escaped into a dead universe.â
âWhat can we do?â Disjohn asked. He felt an intense ache for his wife, and wished she were at his side. The grief was so strong, it seemed he had lost her only recently. He looked at Edith. She resembled her mother so much his throat ached. He patted his daughter on the head, but felt none of the reassurance he was trying to give.
âWe might go into stasis and wait it out. But weâd have to have a timer, something measuring the proÂgress of the universe outside us. Tens of billions of years. I donât think any of our instruments would last that long.â
âThere has to be a way!â Fairchild said.
âI told you, Father,â Edith said. âWe were the offenders.â She did a mad little dance. âI told you. We didnât prepare. Whyââ
Graetikin thought of them waiting until the ship ran out of energy and food and breathable air. Years, certainly. But years with a burnt-out old politician and his pre-pubescent daughter, a triangle of agonizing possibilities. Even could they survive, they would have no basis for a new life.
Edithâs face showed white and distorted. âWhy, weâre in hell!â
Nestorâs ship rounded the nebula and waited. Anna asked the HeuÂritex several times if anything had been sighted, and each time it replied in the negative. âThere is no sign,â it said finally. âWe would do well to return home.â
âNothing left,â Anna said. She couldnât convince herself she had done all she could.
âOne moment, madame,â the Heuritex said. âThis region was devoid of Thrina
Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell