Singularity Read online

  A high pitched whistle announced the evacuation of the ship’s oxygen, and everything not tied down began to fly across the ship, only to bounce back when they struck the craft’s walls. His hand was about half way to his helmet’s controls, so he took a deep breath of the remaining ship’s oxygen.

  He understood it was a futile action. The capsule wasn’t designed for a lengthy deployment and hadn’t been equipped with a mechanism to exit the ship. Whatever air was available in his suit wouldn’t mean much. What’s twenty minutes of oxygen when you’re trillions of miles from the nearest rescue? They wouldn’t even realize he was in trouble until he’d been dead and adrift in space. Still, he soldiered on because, frankly, there wasn’t any other option. When your life is on the line and you’re staring death in the face, you don’t quibble over how many moments you may have left. You grab any last second you can and hope it’ll be enough.

  His clumsy fingers found the control, twisting the release and he heard the whisper of air pumping inside his suit.

  Glancing up, the display he’d been so concerned with seemed incredibly distant. So far away, he could barely make out the dim glow of its screen. A random nut smashed into the corner of the screen, shattering the upper left corner, but it wouldn’t make much difference now. Another groan, followed by a large crack and the screen went blank as the capsule’s power cables snapped. So much for returning to safety!

  The shriek of grinding metal pierced his ears, as he was further stretched towards some unseen point. His vision began to dim. He couldn’t tell if it was from the strain, or if he was witnessing actual events. It appeared the entire ship was losing its molecular stability, and the physical structures around him dissolved before his eyes.

  Realizing there was no way to save his life, and no way to try, even if he understood what was happening, he thought of everything he’d left behind. With no immediate family, partially why he’d been selected for this mission, he hoped there was someone who’d care what happened to him. He wished he could see his wife—ex-wife, he reminded himself—or his sister and niece, but realized there was no hope of that. He was trillions of miles away, and it would take ten full years for the faint glow of his arrival to appear. Without sending another probe, they wouldn’t even know whether he was here or somewhere billions of miles further out in space. Even if they could identify what happened, they’d have no way to understand what occurred.

  Closing his eyes and sighing, he surrendered himself to the universe, allowing it to do what it wanted. He hoped his demise would be swift. Surprisingly, being stretched across space, watching his molecular bonds dissolve, was oddly painless. A loud crack alerted him the capsule was ripped apart and the vast expanse of space opened up before him, but the insistent wail of the ship’s alarms were long forgotten. He lived the most spectacular death ever witnessed by man.

  The pain he’d avoided sprung upon him with a vengeance. His entire body convulsed, as if being ripped apart an atom at a time, each cell howling in protest. He assumed whatever was pulling him asunder delayed the nervous system’s response. He thought he’d screamed, but even in the tight confines of his helmet, he couldn’t hear a thing, and he blacked out from the agony.

  Only … he didn’t lose consciousness, only the awareness of his body and what was transpiring around him. His mind seemed clear, as if freed from the constraints of his mortal body. But instead of analyzing what was occurring, his thoughts drifted away, still alert but largely unfocused, probably a sign of the shock his brain experienced.

  The destruction of his craft and his imminent death no longer seemed to matter. All he was aware of was his imagination, and he could clearly visualize the memories of his life. He saw a perfect image of him as a baby, and the memory triggered others. He could not only see, but feel sense and taste his mother’s breast before his suckling mouth. She vanished even as he clutched at her, never once questioning what was transpiring.

  His mind leapt from one image to another, showing his parents standing over his crib, scanning the rooms he’d been raised in, his explorations of the expansive floor from only inches away. He crawled swiftly from room to room, but his visions didn’t wait for him to catch up. Jumping ahead, he saw his siblings, first the older one who’d died years ago in an unfortunate highway accident, and his younger sister who was born only a couple years after him. Only now, she was crawling towards him herself, grasping for him as if afraid she’d never reach him. The sentiments he felt at the time swept over him. He felt love for her, his protectiveness and jealousies, as well as her desire to be by his side.

  Eric began to realize something was seriously wrong. The fact he felt her joy struck him as a violation. It wasn’t possible, even if he could explain the visions, but it was enough to snap him out of his passive response. But the dreams continued. He became his parents doting on him, his brother and sister. He saw himself playing with both, and felt a deep remorse he hadn’t realized how short a time he and Franklin had together before he’d be yanked out of his life.

  He saw childhood pals, people he couldn’t have remembered yesterday but now standing before him in larger than life clarity so intense he saw each individual pore. His dream moved about as friends and family swept in and out of the house. Yet, as the waves of emotions at seeing these long forgotten souls rolled over him, his mind resisted. No longer complacently accepting what happened, it searched for the truth behind them. His logical brain began applying itself to these flashbacks. What were these visions? They seemed to be of his life, but the detail and vitality weren’t his. They weren’t his memories, because he’d never seen anything this clear, and had forgotten them many decades ago, even if he had. So where did these recollections originate, if not from him?

  As he questioned the reality of these apparitions, Eric remembered what he’d just experienced. He recalled being sucked out of his ship, his body being ripped asunder even as it dissolved in a fading haze. Unable to stand these meaningless dreams which had no bearing on what was occurring, he stood in protest. In this latest dreamscape, he was around twelve and his buddies and he were playing in his bedroom. Ignored everyone, he walked to the door, looking out into the hall. His friends never ceased their activity, not curious what he was doing. The hallway stretching before him was as unrealistically detailed as the other illusions. He observed every mote of dust, every spider web in the corner, even scratch and crayon marks on the walls.

  Realizing this made no sense and was somehow being projected onto his mind from elsewhere, he strode down the hallway. He descended the stairs, ignoring his sister and brother in their rooms, never even glancing at him. Reaching the front door, he grasped it, braced himself as if expecting a rush of cold air, and thrust it open, searching for an explanation.

  What greeted him, however, was much more unreal than the overly realistic memories. As the door swung free, it revealed the endless expanse of open space in a clarity he’d never witnessed. The house he’d been in, his childhood home, vanished. All around him stretched the vastness of the universe. He could see individual stars, colossal sweeping galaxies, and far distant supernovas which shone brighter than the Earth’s moon. Realizing something still wasn’t right, he clutched his head, wondering what helmet he wore which afforded him such unlimited clarity of vision.

  His hands touched his head and it felt … odd. As if his fingers slipped through his skin. Twisting in space, he glanced at them and saw he wore no suit of any kind, nothing to protect him from the ravages of the airless void: the absolute cold, the lack of oxygen and the constant bath of ever-present radiation. He felt nothing but the universe enveloping him, stretching out before him like a long-lost friend.

  But, strangest of all were his hands, held in front of his disbelieving eyes. They were translucent and glowed with an unearthly light; as if only a vague display of what his appendages might look like if he still possessed them. They glittered, like a hig-tech Christmas tree. It was then he realized he heard what sounded like a might
y chorus humming in the background, even though sound waves couldn’t exist in the vacuum of space. Instead, it was like he heard the songs of the cosmos, detailing everything we could never hope to comprehend.

  It was then that he lost it. He remembered screaming, but no voice rang out. The noise didn’t echo in his own head, there was no sound at all. His mind rejected everything and began to unravel. He again had no clue what was occurring, but wasn’t about to put up with these fake images anymore. He wanted the truth, no matter how painful.

  That was his last thought. Afterwards, nothing remained but darkness, and he slept in the infinite silence of an eternal peace.

  Until …

  Eric rolled over, slowly stretching his arms over his head, keeping his eyes firmly shut. That was, without a doubt, the best sleep he’d had in ages. He knew it was time to get up. NASA was designed for and run by engineers, which meant they follow structure. He’d trained over the years to wake at the same time every day. He peeked through his lids reluctantly, opening his eyes wide a moment later. He was surprised to see the sun, not only up, but shining in his window. It was already late afternoon, and he never woke up later than seven in the morning. Glancing at his watch, he discovered he wasn’t wearing it. Sighing, he searched his bedside table, but didn’t find anything there. Sitting up, he studied his alarm clock, noticing it wasn’t moving. It’d stopped. That was the problem with the mechanical clocks he preferred. He appreciated the beauty of their intricate design, but if you forgot to wind them, they ceased functioning.

  Growling, he scooted to the edge of the bed and threw his legs over the side. He was surprised to discover he was nude. He always wore pajamas. Even when summer was at its hottest, he at least used shorts. Nothing seemed right this morning. Something was off.

  Stopping to consider what day it was and what he’d done last night, his eyes popped open. “God damn!” The memories of his last moments flooded back in a rush. He’d died trillions of miles from Earth, with no hope of rescue, ripped apart by some unknown interplanetary force. How did he end up back in his home, completely naked with nary a scratch or other evidence of what he’d experienced?

  There was no way anyone rescued him. They had no backup Spatial Displacement Units. NASA researched his destination and decided there was little risk in a flight lasting only a few minutes in an empty segment of space. So how the hell did he end up here, and who put him to bed, undressing him and removing all his things?

  Shaking his head, he stood and surveyed the room. There was no medical equipment, none of his possessions, nothing to show he’d been to the hospital or carted in. The fact his alarm clock was off showed no one spent enough time here to notice it wasn’t working.

  He switched on the lamp and recoiled, holding his hand in front of his face. “What kind of bulb is this, and why would I pay money for something so obnoxious?” He peeked at it, but couldn’t stand the light, so he shut it off. It didn’t add much illumination as there was plenty of sunlight. He massaged his temple before lowering his hand, scratching his hand on the stubble on his chin. “That’s at least twelve hours of growth, which provides some idea of how long I’ve been here. If someone dropped me off, I’ve been on my own that long. Now I need to determine what day and time it is.”

  Standing and spinning in a slow circle, he scratched his head. “This makes no sense.” Speaking to himself when vexed was a habit he developed in the Air Force. Pilots frequently spoke to themselves to resolve problems. “What the heck could bring me back here?” He sat again to consider his situation.

  “I’m clearly missing something. If I was saved, which isn’t even conceivable, there would be someone or something here. At the very least, I’d be under observation so they could analyze how I was responding. The implication is I wasn’t rescued, which doesn’t make sense. How else would I end up here? There’s got to be some explanation, I just need to determine what it is.”

  “Damn! I’ve got to call NASA. They’ll be wondering where I am.” As he considered that, his teeth began to chatter. The heat was still turned down. Whenever he traveled to Cape Canaveral he cranked the heater down to reduce expenses. His Wi-Fi and computer would be unplugged to prevent electric surges from frying the electronics. The TV and other electronics would also be off to eliminate on the electrical drain they sucked out of his electric bill. He was a bit of a control freak about minor details.

  Growling, he grabbed pants and a shirt and marched into the kitchen searching for caffeine. The polished wooden floors felt cold, and the ceramic tiles were even chillier. As he should have expected, the coffee maker was unplugged. He was more confused than ever. How had he arrived without someone taking the time to turn on the heat or changing anything? Wiping his finger along the counter, he discovered it coated in accumulated dust. Somehow he’d gotten into the house and into bed without anyone bothering to straighten up. The situation continued to get stranger.

  Plugging the coffee pot back in, he searched for the grounds, forgetting he always froze the beans to keep them fresh when he left. Slapping his head, he glanced around for something to eat. He was starving, but remembered he rarely kept anything around which might spoil when he was away for long. It was a huge production preparing for the launch, and he was expected to head to Washington and New York City to promote NASA afterwards.

  He’d tossed all the bread, fruits and vegetables, plus all the refrigerated products which might mold. That meant he was left with packaged meats, frozen foods and condiments. He normally hit the grocery store on the way back from the airport when he returned. He had random canned vegetables and beans, pasta and rice, but those weren’t exactly enticing combinations.

  Sighing, he grabbed some frozen waffles, plugged in the toaster and depressing the plunger and headed for the bathroom. After relieving himself, he stepped to the washbasin to brush his teeth and examined himself in the mirror. As expected, he had a partial day’s beard, but didn’t bare any evidence of dirt, wear or having spent any extended time in bed. Deciding not to sweat about what he couldn’t answer, he brushed his teeth and washed his face. NASA’s Public Relations were ecstatic he was so dutiful about his teeth, since he had the brightest smile of anyone at NASA. It wouldn’t do having him representing the country on National TV with dull ivories. It also didn’t hurt with the ladies, who he shamelessly flirted with.

  Returning to the kitchen, he took his lukewarm waffles, grabbed the cold syrup and a fork, sat down and dug in. Though he thought he was hungry, he had no idea just how much. He ate the entire box and was still famished. He found some old crackers in the cupboard, so he munched on them as he debated what to do.

  “I need to call NASA, but without knowing what happened, I can’t explain what occurred. Hell, I might still be hallucinating! It’s amazingly detailed for a dream, but not as much as the ones I was having. I don’t even know what day it is, how much time has elapsed, or whether anyone knows about me. It’s possible someone stashed me here, but that seems unlikely.”

  He glanced at the kitchen clock. It too was mechanical, an older German cuckoo whose weights were resting on the floor. The microwave wasn’t plugged in. Sighing in frustration, he decided to check the news.

  Crossing the room, he knelt to plug the TV in. Handling the cord, he noted an odd sound within the wall. “Damn, likely some kind of termite. I’ll have to contact the exterminators…, once I locate my credit cards.” When he connected it, the buzzing in his head resumed. Turning it on, a jolt of pain flashed through his brain, leaving him reeling. Pulling back, he overcompensated and fell. The discomfort wasn’t overwhelming, but it surprised him. Still, it was uncomfortable enough he couldn’t remain where he was. Apparently he hadn’t escaped his trauma without injuries, after all. Standing, he found the further he got from the TV the better he felt. Taking refuge by the living room door, he started flipping through the channels, searching for a news program. Each time he changed the channel, another mild ache would flash through his temples making hi
s jaw clench.

  “… authorities are demanding an accounting from NASA, threatening a Congressional inquiry if they don’t get satisfactory answers.”

  “Looks like I’m still in the news,” Eric reflected. “I’m glad I waited until I discovered what they’re saying about me before phoning NASA. They might not have a response now, but wait until I show up. They’ll all be royally pissed!”

  The scene switched to NASA’s Press Secretary, Daniel Becket.

  “We’re still determining what went wrong. Until we identify a specific cause, there’s no sense making any preliminary statements. We have a lot of data to parse through, though we don’t suspect anything happened on our end. We may not know until we can launch a follow-up probe.”

  The camera returned to the reporter, who discussed how upset everyone was. It appeared that was the gist of the report. Eric still wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it was clear no one realized he was back. That changed things significantly. He couldn’t call the space agency and admit he was back without an explanation. It would take quite a bit to convince them what happened to him was real, even if he could explain it.

  Holding his temple, he shut the television off. It was hard to think with the constant buzz in his head. As soon as the screen went black, his headache eased, but didn’t halt. He’d needed to have the TV examined. Apparently something happened and it was giving off some kind of radiation, which could be dangerous. He unplugged the set. An unstable component was a fire hazard. His pounding head abated, but he still heard scratching behind the wall and considered whether he might still be dreaming. Only everything was much too real, including his headache and the cold. He couldn’t remember experiencing dreams with physical sensations, but after the dreams he’d had, he couldn’t rule anything out.