5. 2

“Still no sign of either. No machines, no Pliktik colonies. Do you think-”

“Don’t say something so naive. When was the last time something so perfect happened?”

“It bears considering. All of the invasion force retreats simultaneously, without cause, then, we don’t hear from either of the two most dangerous forces in the galaxy for a long, long time? One of them found an opportunity, and took it. Either the machine figured out how to use his forces to wipe them out once and for all, and used most of them up, or…”

“Or nothing. He may be unbalanced, but after our surprise attack, there’s no way he would let himself be caught off guard again. And before you suggest he was too focused on us to notice, the numbers still don’t add up. After tallying it all up, the minimum raw material he likely possesses exceeds the amount used in the invasion by almost twenty times. And that’s a generous minimum.”

“… Fine. But since you brought it up, let’s talk about the invasion.”

“For the last time, Dupont. There’s no evidence that he can inflict nightmares just by being near people. You think it’s that strange for mass hysteria to start when the god damn empire is burning?”

“I think the Xalanthii population dropped by five percent in the week following our attack. I think we have a significant dossier of complaints from forward operations bases in machine controlled sectors describing more sleep disturbances than those in Pliktik territory. That’s pretty unnatural.”

“Nathaniel…”

“I’m not done. In the days leading up to our captive informant via the Xalanthii, we recorded several particularly thorough routings on forces assigned Xalanthii aid. You know exactly what a difference those made. You also know that they stopped very shortly before we gained that information. Now, deny it all you like, but it was the opinion of the strategic counsel that the Xalanthii possessed some form of foresight that could not be attributed to technology. They weren’t more strategically adept, they just knew things. They knew about you, and we proved they couldn’t.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone. That said, you may have a point. Fine. Tell your advisor friend that we’ll consider their proposal.”

Like a fire frozen in time, pink and orange light forms whorls and waves across pinpoints of red and white, speckled like drops of paint on black paper. Nadia slips her hand into Tim’s, and leans herself against his shoulder. He says nothing, does not close his hand around hers. He indulges her, however, in staying quiet and watching with her as they drift past the nebula. Barely reflected in the glass, the shine of their eyes is lost in all the sparkling dust.

Then, as promised, an object floats down into view: a chunk of ice and dust, drifting into the pink. They watch as it shrinks away, becoming another dark spot in the color. Nadia sighs and looks up to Tim’s face. His eyes are unreadable, but she believes that she sees water gathering under them.

The ship turns, turning away from the cloud of gas and dust. For a time, the primary spectacle is a dark and sparse starfield, but soon this becomes the background to something more; two swirls of white spots so dense they become blobs, arms of spirals. Two adjacent galaxies, their closest edges beginning to meld.

[It took me some time to find this.]

She looks back to where Zen stands, his hand on Joy’s shoulder. His head is pure black, darker than the void.

[It has only just begun, but in time, they will merge, drawn together by their own unspeakable gravity. As they draw closer, they will deform and warp, and at times eject stars from themselves, until they find a shape stable enough to hold. By the time they’ve completed their dance, all the universe will be equally unrecognizable. On the scale of time that we know, it is practically unobservable.]

Nadia faces forward again and stares at the point where the swirls of light seem to collide, immobile, traveling at incredible speed, stationary, drifting uncontrollably. She imagines all the countless points of light gaining speed, flying in opposite directions, curving and orbiting, swinging wide, being flung past the point of return. She pictures the two becoming one, whole segments merging and clinging, swaying and splitting, finding the right place to land. When she returns to the present, not one of the stars has moved.

Tears pour down Tim’s cheeks, and she collects them on her fingers, sweeping them away before they can get lost in his unkempt beard. It becomes him leaning against her, and she supports him as he begins to shuffle out of the room, muttering and twitching. They leave Zen and Joy to watch the rest.

Joy watches them leave, then turns back to the broad viewing window. Her hand finds Zen’s on her shoulder, and wraps around it.

“This is how you see things all the time, isn’t it? So slow, it might as well be still.”

He dips his head in assent.

[I can watch electrons as they orbit atoms. I’ve often wondered if my mind even exists in this dimension, to witness what others cannot. But it is my fate, I think, to exist at a scale isolated from everything. When these galaxies have merged, I will still be here. When all the energy in the universe has become heat, and all the matter is buried in dead dwarf stars and black holes, I will still be here, watching from afar, as always.]

Joy feels something twist in her stomach, and sniffles.

“And I’ll be dead, won’t I?”

Zen nods.

[You, Tim, Nadia, Janice, and every human, and every Xalanthii, and all the Khanvröst, too. I would be alone, again. I’ve known this since I first spoke, since I told Dr. Beckherd she was beautiful.]

He looks down to Joy, and puts his remaining hand on her other shoulder. She looks back at him, sniffling and rubbing her eyes with her palms.

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

[It’s okay, Joy. Not even she knew what she was putting me through. And I will need that time to find her again.]