Sunday, October 19, 2008

Space, Hyperspace, pt. 3, 478 words

Because who knows how the FTL drive really works? They call it hyperspace, or a jump drive, or FTL, that we're on a "cosmic highway," but who knows what we're really seeing? Is that really the universe's light out there, caught frozen as we move faster than it, creating a tunnel as we plow through the photons? Or are we seeing another dimension, a hyperspace we drop into to go from here to there almost before we leave? Just because we made it work doesn't mean we understand the physics behind it; people made gunpowder work before really knowing the chemistry of it. What is the true shape of space?

Where others see wonders out there, I see horrors. The currents and coils of light or other-space or whatever coalesce into things, creatures that live and exist in this hyperspace or faster than light, things into whose dimension we have now breached, which are angry at our intrusion. The speed of light is a lower limit for them, would have to be, and we are normally invisible to them, too slow for them, or else they would have destroyed us all by now, rent our world asunder. And now we have forced ourselves into their reality.

The others see a tunnel of blue light, staring out at the wonder of it all, but I see red eyes in threes and fours, sixes and sevens, tens and hundreds, staring in at us. The hunting horrors that lurk in the dark between photons.

We are, indeed, upon a web, and there is a spider that crawls along it. A spider with countless legs and eyes, with perfect hunger to taste anything that falls upon its web, whose mere existence is the most virulent venom. And we have poked and prodded it, made it aware of us. I name this spider Infinity.


It is difficult to describe, the experience of faster-than-light travel. I thought that perhaps my psychic gifts would give me a particular insight into the moment, but they have not. Suffice to say that my experiences have not been much different from what others recount: the sharp white light which engulfed the ship, the sense of motion yet stillness, then the return to normality but for what we saw outside the ship. That tunnel of variegated light, like something woven from threads of all the shades of blue, draws the eye like nothing else. One might liken it to the work of a great abstract artist, blending the many shades of blue into a swirling storm that seems chaotic and random, yet holds an underlying purpose and pattern, like the fractals found in some of Jackson Pollack's works. I would not be surprised if, someday, our mathematicians and physicists divine a structure to this all, an artful structure and rules that put humanity's greatest painters to shame.

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