Seventy Two

Imperceptibly slowly the five, great, planet-sized ships wheeled in their interminable orbit above the galaxy.  Roughly egg-shaped, they bore the scars of ages; burn marks and scoring covered their surfaces.

Each one of the five was at the vertices of a pentagon, equi-spaced and centred above the whirl of the spiral arms below.  With infinite patience each one rotated about its longitudinal axis, an axis that pointed down to the precise centre of the galaxy below.

Assummet strolled down the long hallway wondering if ‘strolled’ was quite the right word.  He felt, on occasion, that he walked with purpose in the same way that, now, he considered himself to be strolling.  Immediately, his mind was filled with the idea that this was an inconsequential thought.  Was he, he wondered, supposed to have inconsequential thoughts?

He was aware that there were others.  He knew of the other four ships and that each one had a caretaker.  Did the others have odd thoughts that pounced into their heads?  Was this idea, in itself, also inconsequential?

He reached the end of the hallway, turned into one of the control rooms and turned on the light.  Immediately screens lit up.  He ran his eyes over them and noted that there had been several thousand more uplifts.  He also noted that this was entirely normal for this period.  Things slowed down later.

He examined another screen and saw that the ship was scanning its sector of the galaxy.  Scan, check, analyse, sample, store.  The message scrolled endlessly down the screen.

His feet made no sound on the floor as he left the control room.  The floor was hard and shiny but Assummet’s feet were soft and furry.  Occasionally he would find something in his head that filled him with elation and he would dance with the sheer joy of it.  His four feet still made no sound and even clapping his soft hands produced nothing to hear even with the most acutely perceptive ears.

During his walk to another control room, Assummet had another joyous occasion.  A question appeared in his head; were the others the same as him?  Perhaps they looked like him.  In that case, he considered, there were at least five impossibly handsome people in the universe.  He was instantly overwhelmed with happiness and came up on four sets of toes to dance and skip, clapping all the way to the next control room.

The main screen in the centre was bigger than most of them.  Through this one he viewed the galaxy below and saw, super-imposed, the position of the five great ships.  Academically he knew that the distance between opposite ships was nearly a hundred thousand light years but such a number meant nothing to him.  But it crossed his mind that there is no ship opposite.  A line extended directly opposite would bisect the distance between two of the other ships to give an angle of thirty six degrees each side.  His feet gave a little skip; he felt a guilty pleasure at making happy play in the control room.

Another screen lit up.  It was Assimam making a check link.  The response was automatic but Assummet pressed the signature button to show that he had seen and recognised Assimam.  On the main screen the two ships glowed while the exchange took place so Assummet could see that Assimam was on the next ship in line.  Almost immediately, another ship glowed and the link screen lit to show that Assomis was confirming alignment, orbit and rotation were in accordance with the other ships.

Assummet hurried to another control room.  This was a busy time.  He liked to be busy; he liked to have that sense of purpose that made him feel useful—that he belonged. 

The galaxy rotated several times before it began to grow dim.  The great ships stood their orbit implacably looking down and observing.

The lights in the universe were going out.  Heat was transferring from one point to another more slowly.  Less work was being done.  Entropy was winning at last and the universe was dying, fading into blackness.

Assummet checked the screens.  There were less and less samples being taken.  He nodded to himself knowing that this was normal for this time.  He went to the control room to check that the others were still in touch with him and that they were all keeping the same time.

Assemos’ ship glowed as the link was confirmed.  Assummet pressed ‘signature’ and smiled at Assemos knowing that Assemos couldn’t see him but imagining that Assemos smiled back.  He left the control room and danced with the happiness of being smiled at by Assemos.

A thought struck him.  Was it an inconsequential one, he wondered?  Never mind, he thought, he should pursue it nonetheless.  Was he supposed to be happy?  He was aware that he had a duty to perform.  He was also aware that his task was one of a serious nature and not to be given over to flippancy.  Was there a conflict of interest between his duty and the joy he sometimes felt welling up inside of him?  He pondered the possibility of him pursuing his tasks more seriously and instantly received a mental image of himself lurking around the corridors scowling at imaginary foes.  The thought of someone else on the ship filled him with such delight as to cause his feet to burst into random rhythms accompanied by the silent clapping of his hands.

Some time later, Assummet went to the control room and saw that the galaxy had become dark.  A few lights around the central core and one or two towards the outer rim.

Samples were now scarce.  Assummet checked the inventory and found that they were nearly full.  Perhaps more than usual.  He yawned and realised that it was almost time for bed.  He pressed ‘Check Link’ and watched as the other ships glowed on the big screen.  Assamorph had sent his signature and then Assimam’s signature lit up.  Assummet was happy.  More lights went out as he watched until, rubbing his eyes with fatigue, he saw that only the centre was dimly lit.

Assummet went to bed.

The last light in the universe went out.  The five, great, planet-sized ships held their position and gradually, oh, so slowly, stopped rotating.  There was no light; an absence of light that makes darkness seem profound and improbable.

After every several aeons the great ships would give a small puff of water and heat from their hydrogen reactors, enough to keep the molecules in the ships vibrating at the correct frequency.

The universe was silent.

Somewhere indefinable in the vastness of space shone a light.  So bright.  Impossibly bright.  Never would such brightness exist again.  It lasted for several milliseconds and immediately began to fade even as the pinpoint grew larger.  When it was big enough to detect an observable disc it was still brighter than anything ever seen, or to be seen again, but dimmer than that first incandescent point of light.

The brightness grew in size and waned in intensity until it was only as bright as several stars combined.  It grew until it filled half the universe and then the cosmic storm hit the ships.  Blasted and buffeted by dark and light matter travelling at impossible speeds, the ships received yet more scorchings and scorings on their hulls.

Patiently they waited.  At last, after several billennia, the worst was over and connections between the ships were restored.  Minor adjustments were made to orbit, and rotation was once more initiated, until they formed their downward pointing pentagram.

Final checks were made; the axis of each ship was precisely aligned at seventy two degrees down at an arc of seventy two degrees between each of the axes at the point of focus.

At exactly the same time each ship fired a thirty six second blast from a massive laser.  The five blasts met at precisely the same spot nearly eighty thousand light years away.  Enough energy was deployed by each of the lasers to deplete several small stars.

The ships checked and compared notes.  It was a success, they observed.  A black hole had been formed.  It was about the size of a grain of sand but it was enough.  Already the surrounding matter was beginning to fall into it; it would grow.

The newly born galaxy glowed bright, healthy and vigorous below the five great ships.  The ships, in turn, glowed in the light of millions of stars and soaked up the energy, replenishing the stock lost in the laser fire.  The hydrogen reactors burnt more often now.  The insides of the ships were warming up, systems were gradually coming on line.

Assummet raised an eyelid.  Blinked.  Opened both eyes.  He sat up and pattered his feet on the floor with joy.  Another day, he thought.  How wonderful.  He thought that he must go and say ‘Good Morning’ to the others.  He bounced out of his room and set off down the main hall almost delirious with joy at the warmth and energy he felt flooding through him.

In the main control room the big screen lit up.  Each letter painstakingly printed it scrolled up to read:

“Link established

Bio-Mechanicals on-line

Reprogrammed and re-booted

Check function:

A$$a//:ORPH

A$$e//:OS

A$$i//:AM

A$$o//:IS

A$$u//:MET

All bio-Mechanicals function checked: OK.

Stand-by scan programme to re-seed new galaxy.”