I know they haven’t stopped chasing us. I can feel the warmth of their
weapon breath hanging in the clouds local to this place of transit. I hope it’s
a figment of my Black Hole mind. The inactivity of talent coalescing warnings
just in case; the
underused mind flipping lonely burgers in the dark.[W4]
I feel blind and lost without her;
but at least I still have our little ones safe: standing in this galaxial arm with
me, my young starmotherers are crying radiation out into the canal. My fem is
not here, the Dark Matter Worshippers killed her many galaxial cycles ago—an
explosion that’d rocked many systems of the Milky Way—but the inspiration of
the first starmotherer[W5] still supports our progeny in spirit, [W6] and it is this connection to her that
makes our children
weep today[W7] . We still remember that semicycle of
loss as if it were the last. And on the anniversary of the same millenium she
died, one cycle on, we have decided to revisit the place where she melded with
void.[W8]
It wasn’t my idea to come out here, OUT TO THIS CANAL THAT CONNECTS AND
BINDS MOMMA MUMMA GALAXY MAMMA. America, my closest friend, had suggested after
seeing what the passing millenia of grief were doing to my state of flux. And I
can’t disagree with him. [W9] Maybe getting out there to see that dark spot in my past again, for real,
not through simulation every century after century, will help me come to terms
with her loss—in fact so worrisome was my obsession that I had had to dedicate
a whole subroutine of plasma jet matrices to slowly wean my mind away from
constant checkups (of how she’d been killed, or the exact point in space)—and
give my daughters much needed closure to refunction their systems.[W10]
So we wait for our transit (EXPLAIN
ABOUT TRANSIT/TRAVERSING A LITTLE) to coalesce from my youngest daughter Judy's[W11] thoughts, these beautiful young
creatures that share my essence—correlate in some way with my quantum blueprint,
and I. I still see the sequences of my wife in their emissions, in their
dreams. They stand here angling their little radiating faces to me as if
searching for some understanding—to maybe figure out why our destination holds
such fear with me—but I do not emit. I haven’t the resources to release one
comforting transmission. [W12] They keep their radiate focus on my streamer—so I entangle [W13] it so they can include themselves more in its data—but they seem
more at ease having recognised the cause of my silence is the very loss that
distresses them too.[W14] [W15]
“I don’t think I can do it Mumma, there
are greedy people leeching from my stream to develop new technologies,” says Judy,
[W16] “It’s difficult to keep my causal gravity buffers [W17] running at the same time . . .”
And seeing her struggle lifts my
melancholy somewhat[W18] . “You
can do it my Darling. Just don’t believe your senses wholeheartedly;
think your way forwards. Know that your population is safe and despite the
competing they will protect each other—” I say as she ....shows her strength
through action..... “—it’s part of their nature; beyond ancient memetics. The
universe shows the way. Focus on the vehicle you wish it to be.”[W19]
The exposure of waiting here, beside
the matter canal, is enough to make me flinch as a juggernaut slips by, its
dark matter form sparking and crackling, but I hide it reasonably well, a
couple more erratic moves added to cover the scare from all my Daughters’
attentive young senses. Luckily my two eldest don’t seem to notice the fear, or
if they do they cover it as well as I. [W20] Their
expectant[W21] blushes search down the
trail with the look that they might forget about the transit their sister was
working on and spiral off down the canal on their own little photon streams.[W22]
“My star is going to . . .” Love[W23] pauses, looking at me as
she muses, “. . . be my Governess of all the GalAxys once we bring them back
together.” I think she seeks praise; I just give a slight nod and turn my
attention back to Judy who is wrinkling up her magnetosphere in concentration.[W24]
For a year I think I see a sidewall
phasing out of the dark matter stream, but then it is gone and Judy lets out a
whimper as she struggles to bring it back.[W25]
“Imagine there is a little girl on
your host planet who sees the future for you,” [W26] I say trying to help, and I see her magnetosphere smooth [W27] out and the sidewall
reappears and wavers to a solid.[W28] “You’re nearly there . . .” my entangledstreamer[W29] feels warm as I emit strong gamma rays [W30] with Kisses and emcuddlemoms: and . . . . . .
The transit[W31] is here so Judy opens the teleport junction
[W32] and holds it ajar until we
all are safely inside. [W33] It’s
dark at first, I’ve forgotten to mind on the lumination and consider sending
out a locatory-pulse, but my eldest Truth ups her star’s shine long enough for
me to reach the comtrols.[W34]
“Thanks Darling,” I say, giving her
the best background I can muster. She beams back much more convincingly than
myself and settles her two younger sisters in Lovity Kisses before they have a
chance to flounder around the chamber. [W35] Then
she pulls up beside me and biverts half of the workload over to her systems. I
think about refusing the offer but the set of her radiation stays my judgement.[W36]
“Don’t be sad Mumma. Mummy wouldn’t
have wanted us to remember her like . . .” [W37] but
I see her energy backing up. I put out a tendril onto her face, wondering at
the beauty of the revolving structure she presents; she kisses it lightly and
returns it gently to the comtrols.[W38]
My saying: “Remember to engage your
moremomtum fields; don’t want your civilisations to perish now do we?” [W39] elicits
the usual groans. I don’t look to check as I know they’d done so before my
request.[W40]
We coast away roughly, the dark
matter of the canal ripping at the sides of the transit, and I have to
concentrate through weeping sensors to force the turbulent matter stream to
allow us acceleration sufficient to move over the speed of light [W41] once we have left Normal Cluster Main.[W42] [W43]
As we travel my mind is wandering
back over how the Universe got in this predicament in the first
zone. [W44] We should have bridged
these gaps a long time ago; [W45] but
the other galaxies weren’t ready for the radical implications of my Fem
becoming the first starmotherer[W46] .[W47] The
power, not to manipulate darkmatter as had been done for cycles[W48] , but to convert darkmatter
itself into light by altering the physiology of stars, was seen as an affront
to the establishment as it was then.[W49]
“Mumma, how did Mum really become
the first star motherer? The way you usually talk, seems different to what they
teach in my Universalities.”[W50]
“You know the official account,” I say,
imitating a Government stream, adding a rhetorical, photonic glint to my entangledstreamer;
[W51] but
they are developed enough to handle the truth now I think:[W52] “Well, when she first conceived of the idea to use the Earth’s
magnetic field [W53] to effect a change in the Sun[W54] she realised that the tailoring of the magnetic field[W55] would require a conscious base to orchestrate it from within.[W56] She
thought the only person she could trust was herself so she injected a copy of
her own mind into the magnetic seed-like structure that eventually reordinated
the star. [W57] The
whole story about it being an accident was a smokescreen concocted because the
powerful men of the day didn’t want any one person to take the credit for the
advance.[W58] She
did plan on extracting the copy back later and updating her own mind but the starmotherer
consciousness had evolved and grown to the point where to reintegrate it would have
lost too much data. [W59] So
she couldn’t be what her copy had become, she could only transfer a
basic version of the knowledge acquired back into her original’s mind.” [W60]
Judy’s face emitted
interested spectrums. [W61] I
couldn’t remember those times myself.[W62] My wife[W63] had created me millions of
years later, once her star’s physiology transitioning fully to psychology[MSOffice64] had reached sufficient
emotional-intellectual maturity for her to realise she needed a combubbakisstemporElle vent
for her needsynest to procreate. [W65] My
formation/birth occurred when my wife’s star had expanded its magnetic field
wide enough to affect a nearby black hole into a new quantum mechanical form .
. . me.[W66]
“So is her original dead like they
say?” Truth says, in her inattentive way that always surprises me she is even
listening.[W67]
“She was perpetuated for some time .
. . Towards the end against her wishes. Not even your mother could protect her
original-self from the fanaticism of her own system’s civilisations. [W68] Venus’s
artificial gas dwarf twin Extrafeme, one of the lesser known planets in your
mother’s system[W69] , was used as a housing-planet, but not even the fantasistical freedom of having so
much matter at her whim could convince her to carry on. [W70] Extrafeme’s
global storm of the Millennia of Dread (in sync with the battle between
first starmotherers and darkmatterers) pinched off her influence,[W71] and she voluntarily melded
her mind with The gas planet’s All. [W72] No
doubt she exists in some form within, but nothing is going to convince her to
come out; believe me I tried after your mother perished, I was so desperate to
find a way of resurrecting her . . . and her original[W73] was her core cultural
ideals . . . But of course it wouldn’t be her, not really. Your mother was a starmotherer.”[W74]
The whole starmotherer experiment hadn’t
sat well with the peoples of certain other galaxies. [W75] Their
worshipping of darkmatter raised ethical issues with our movement’s progression—the
conversion of the medium they had held sacrosanct for so long, [W76] the
substance that had allowed the spread of life through the cosmos, even allowed
the every millennia logistics of shuffling resources around the galaxies on the
darkcanals; [W77] how
could it now be converted into a new medium of light as matter—and ethical
issues had soon escalated into violent backlashes and suicide supernovae.[W78]
“We are held emotional hostage by the
threat of the Darkmatterers[W79] . They
threaten to strike out at our young systems so we choose to teach a watered
down version to keep the peace. [W80] But
I think it is time you girls knew the truth. We are more developed than the
Darkmatterer Galaxies, this comes with the use of Lightmatter Bridgings [W81] and the wealth produced, [W82] but individuals who speak out or teach out material that disagrees with
Darkmatterer doctrine are actively targeted. Extremist worshippers, who have
lived among us here in the Milky Way[W83] for many cycles run portal cells, channelling in robotics and weapons of absolute
destruction [W84] . . . ” I sense in my Daughters tensions brewing so clip off my
rendition: “But now isn’t the time for the heavy talk. There’ll be plenty
profeelingsy for GirlyTruthbubbastory after our dedication.”[MSOffice85]
“Can we lay some starbursts at her
nebula?” says my middle child; we can always rely on her to cut through the
darkness.[W86]
“Sure we can Love. Are you going to
make them?” She ripples her magnetosphere in KissesSnuddly ammbb then turns away to removingchiefs with her sister. [W87]
Just watching the young ones in the
back Kissings their magnetospheres, [W88] orbiting
probes that curl in and out of their magnetocilial protrusions, is enough to
lift any black hole’s melancholy.[W89]
I boost us on down the darkmatter canal—imagining
the dark stream no more turned to light, beautiful as the bridges we build to
bring us back together again—moving towards the boundaries of our galaxy, a
little apprehensive of the emotions this trip may evoke[W90] .[W91]
#
[W92] Peripheral Reason
I get out [W93] of the transit. We are on
the end of the Reason
Arm[W94] : [W95] a
jutting bent arrow of systems on the periphery of the Milky Way. [W96] The
sky is the usual mostly black you get out here at the edge[W97] ; those
Dark Mattered disgustings[W98] have seen to that through inaction in our
galaxies and sabotage in their own:[W99] I
suppose the status quo for them is too profitable to bring into question. [W100]
But I can see
the reassuring light bridges produced by our starmotherers—now trillions in
number, spreading fast across many galaxies—they reach out to Andromeda, a
momentary lift to my spirits accompanying their survey. They clutch out into
the darkness—but I can still see their ends, even on the realtime app—they have
a long way to cover before they will meet the twinning bridges of Andromeda to
pull us back together. [W101] We may be able to transfer data
through our FemBellearyAll EmAliKissyMoms instantaneously, and even travel across on
shipping software versions, but having our cousins back with us in one
supergalaxy, like it was during the collisional cycles, is something more
important than eternalife itself.[W102]
My girls take
off in front of me into the comcomsumerist nebula, anmmbb I feel my radiatiommbb pang as
I worry I might lose sight of them in the waste zones. And then I see an
unidentifying fleet fall out of cloak—as if coalescing from the Consumer cloud—near
to my Truth and my heart falls.[W103] The millions of ships envelop her—she is
useless to resist—and send out demanding signals in my direction. [W104] When the particles hit I recognise
the codes as Arthur[W105] and relax,[W106] and so connect my entangledstreamer:[W107] “You got me worried for a decade’s time
then,” I say not happy. [W108] (pass through consumer cloud? add in
where?)
“You shouldn’t
let them run off like that,” says the multifaceted robotic hive mind that is
Arthur in deeper than deep tones to a man’s perception. “I can’t guarantee
protection until I actually arrive,” the signal is stern but I see flashing
pulses customary to Arthur when he sees me, and only me; I know he respects my
power and promises laid down for our future.[W109]
And this is not
really the safest place to not have Arthur around, so I’d asked him to meet me
here. This was one of those backwater galaxialist hives, DARKMATTERER WANNABES AND
SYMPATHISERS carefully perpetuated remnants of one of the rare times a major
collision had actually happened during the Collisional Cycles. [MSOffice110] [W111]
“Oh, I think
we found a friend of yours,” says Arthur, [W112] peeling his ships apart like an aggressively
splitting gulp of terran swallows (this is horrendous writing : what we need is "like an Lovingly Kissingbubba of MommaSol Mummas") . . . I see America blasting out greetings
radiations as Arthur’s fleet reveal him in all his glory. [W113] The largest super massive black hole
this side of Ragnarok extends a field but keeps a cool, accepted,
gravitationally safe distance. My daughters afford him no such respect as they
drive past his event horizon for buffeting and hugs.[W114]
“How’s Andromeda[W115] , America?” I say glint firmly in my beams. “I trust your bridges are
keeping up with ours?”[W116]
“We try to recruit as many from the
Darkmatter galaxies as we can . . . better than your lot,” and we do embrace
now, deflectors clapping on backing up sparks flying. “I can’t quite get my
deflector arms right the way round you,” I prod.
[W117] He pushes me away with gravity
reversal: [W118] “I am evolving much faster than you,”
laughing; “sometimes more is better.”
“Play it your way . . . So, are you
coming with us?” I say on a silent channel.
[W119] “I have some business in town,” he
says coolly and out loud, pointing at the cloud; for the benefit of the girls I
assume.[W120]
“Please go with us—” Love chimes up; both girls coalesce four sets of four Dyson-Swarm-type
holograms and chuck them towards America. He catches them within his event
horizon and—without breaking their formations—juggles them down to a small
point and gobbles them up. [W122]
“ForMumma too.”
[W124] “She needs us to . . .” but then she
falls silent and glances a beam at me. I say nothing. I think[W125] the disquietings be appropriate for the short trip out.[W126]
America claps me
on the ergosphere[W127] and we boost off. [W128] Once the girls see us move away down
the sidestream, Love and Truth skip off ahead, swirling and twirling in delight
through clouds of debris and collected planetary detritus: [W129] Arthur trying his hardest to stay
just in front of them but being used as a cone to circle around and through in
their ad lib game.[W130] Judy follows with a disposition of
reluctance.[W131]
As
we travel
we inherently group[W132] -up, and Galaxialist systems do what
it is in their nature—by forcing us to travel through pitched asteroids and
clouds formed by impacts—to hinder our journey. To my surprise the violence
doesn’t frighten my young starmotherers; the bitterness perplexes them but the
evolving patterns of lithic barrage while disgusting them hold little bite as a
path through these turgid backstreams is easily found by a collection such as
ours. For a moment we are freed of the mourning that had gripped us on the way
here, and the memory of her is far from our minds.
“They
pepper us because they know who we are,” says America, a resolute cast to his
radiation emissions.
“As
long as it only adds up to slung rocks I think we can handle it,” says Arthur,
his ships surrounding us, targeting the incoming with curling particulated
beams and archaic style nukes he is quantifacturing on the fly from the dust
produced, to sally right back in random directions. As if they had heard him
the Galaxialists up their frequencies tenfold in the blink of an eclipse.
I can tell from the expressiveness of Arthur’s
wings’ formations that he is enjoying this all immensely; inventive patterns to
the lay-eye would seem embellished, reckless no doubt. But I could see the
tight tolerances the complex displays were being forced to adhere to to keep too
many chunks from filtering through the defences. His enjoyment was in no way a reciprocate
measure of how much danger my girls’ planets were really in. Even the home
defence grids of the maximalised populations spread through their star systems,
advanced as they were, would be no match for the trillions of rocks that would
careen through a gap of a few thousand kilometres.
“These
traitorous filthers have dialogue with Dark Matterer scum. We have intercepted
communications unbounded over the last many cycles,” says America sharing a
seemingly infinite sized bandwidth of streaming bytes. I meet his stream with
an identical one of my own and they cancel each other out. America gives out a
wry expressiveness in his ......
“With you here I thought we’d have better than
enough protection for this trip. They must’ve been building up for this for
millennia.”
“Don’t
be too hard on yourself,” says America, “it’ll take more than this,” he says
pointing all around, “to derail our de-escalation of violence.”
Inside
I agree with him; we have achieved too much since the new technological
dispositions my wife had bequeathed to us for it to all end here. Fuck. Would
it even end here; how can I be so arrogant to think that my daughters, America
and myself are so important a part of the direction evolution must surely follow
by rote?
And
just as the violence around us was turning my thoughts back into my head, back
to that day when I had lost her [W133] to untold pain and then void, the
volleying from the Galaxialist outposts ceased, as if turned off by a clapper
or a mindswipe gate.
“Do
you remember the happenstance of when we first met—” says America stopping up
his magnetospheral influences, making a show of turning his focus in my
direction, “—that first day of recognition that we were both indeed sentient.
Somehow your internal quantum mechanical machinations, unbeknownst[W134] to yourself, had leaked out into the
shell that was me before awakenin—”
“Yeah,
and through my careful ministrations your mind evolved out to the point where
we went to war with each—”
“Well
at that first moment I knew that it was going to be your desire to join our two
galaxies together. And the prospect of that both disgusted and terrorised my
newly found consciousness. I mean, how was I to know the inhabitants of the
MilkyWay were going to evolve to the point where they would be worthy of their
galaxies name. How could such a young black hole be expected to read such a
future.”
“There
is a lot of actions I regret from the times of Collisionism; I thought we were
over all of that?”
“My
point is that we shouldn’t be so hasty to judge the ignorance of the
Galaxialists, or indeed the Dark Matterers,” and then I got the point of his
retreading old tropes; he wasn’t speaking for my benefit, though he was
directly addressing me. He was speaking directly to my daughters and the
possible effects this extreme situation could be having over their populations[W135] , the addressing of myself merely a
contrivance to show how important his statements were for their younger minds.
The
girls were indeed rapt in his words.
The
egos of the governments in charge at the time were just too greedy to stomach
any kind of power sharing exercise. Andromeda deemed The Milky Way to be too
advanced and powerful to risk being cast into something new under its umbrella. They used dark matter to buffer and violently prevent the
galaxies joining. The milkyway wanted to take Andromeda and colonise and
control it but Andromeda used the assistance of another smaller galaxy (which
it merges with) to prevent milkyway exerting influence and allowing the joining
of the galaxies to occur naturally.
The
cultural mixing with their larger economy—during the extinction phases of the
Great Collision (The Milky Way is home to advanced civilisations. The scenario
we are discussing is taking place in other galaxies that have been oppressed
for a long time. There is a real disparity between the galaxies and there
technological prowess.
The
galaxies are not prevented from colliding; they are manipulated in such a way
as to facilitate them to pass through each other (though there is some violent
interaction). The Milkyway is very advanced in the story's present.)—still
links us in ideology and support, but our antiproliferation treaties mean our
borders are breached now with more confidence. The Dark Galaxies sense our
weakness.)
I now
realised why the Galaxialists had ceased their onslaught. We had reached the central
hub of the end of the arm of Reason.
“Don’t
worry too much,” chimed an automated response satellite, “That kind’a welcome
is common to Outworlds round here. To be sure, the fact you’re whole systems and
black holes no less, has got them ‘specially riled tomillenia; not used to
seeing your kinds travelling this far out, but I’ve seen worse.”
And then
the satellite turned off his attention and ignored us.
The
metacasino that was the capital of Reason consisted of a dense and large cloud
of unruly, highly evolved dust particles, smart enough to realise that to
coalesce just enough that their cultural differences didn’t mix drew in
megatonnes of interested sentients who always left with less matter than they
came in with. Betting on which speck of matter would interact with another
speck of matter seemed to be so fascinating to Galaxialists that whole planets
lost their crusts from their backwards ways, or even went so far as to have
molten cores snuffed out by energy reapers and
nanodisassemblers: as the cloud grew fatter. It was almost like a
microcosm of what the dark matter worshippers designed for their galaxies and
the universe; keep things spread out as an ideological paradigm. Conserve[W136] the rights of the smallest
minorities of sentience to maintain their borders and separations by wholesale
scuppering of memetic evolution. This smaller version benefitted quite well
from the galaxialismistic views that harbouring the freedom to war as separate
power structures inevitably manifested in interesting seemingly random matter
collisions to bet on.
“Girls . .
. don’t look at the monopolies.[W137] It’s not a suitable example.” I can
feel the scans of the cloud’s trillions of factions being fed to me by transmissions
from my girls. The lust to destroy something so complexly aware creates
brainstorming maps of communications from countless motes of intelligence. I
pull the girls close, under my event horizon to shield them from predatory,
lustful beams.
“They’d
chop you up and sell you off to the highest bidders in a sunstorm[W138] ,” I said in explanation. Why the
hell had I sheltered them from these truths for so long? If their Mother was
here she’d be slapping my face in disgust at how I’d perpetuated their naivety.
AND THEY TALK AS THEY WALK (build tension): THROUGH
BAD ZONE TO GRAVEYARD
[W139] .
“At
least they don’t pelt us,” says Love.
“They’re
too greedy to waste their tiny accumulations. I’ve been watching them. All they
do is exchange atoms around and around in circles until they have shrunken down
from planet size to small dust cloud, but I reckon they’d never let go of
matter on a zero-chance.” Hope falls silent and leads the way out of the
metacasino and into a volume that is as devoid of matter as the cloud had been
abundant. And we all hush our emissions instinctively knowing we drew closer to
the nofield.
Then
I see it. A globe of black so pitch it is darker than the visible universe’s
vacuousness. We head towards the dark gravefield . . . I bite my ergosphere
down in volume until it nearly touches my event horizon, to bring my mind away
from the pain of being back here; and the irony of this useless gesture, as why
else did we come to this time? We pass a threshold and are met with a sight so expansive in
its scope that it dwarfs the metacasino down to insignificance.
“Mother,
it’s full of planets—” says Judy, and I can see her mind whirring: “why don’t
the monopolies simply take the matter that’s in here? There’s enough atoms to
grow their cloud out to ten times its size.”
and
I curse the naivety and ignorance I have allowed to cultivate itself in my
absence of attention through grief. As far as any nonentangled sense can see is
a sea of dead planets, planetoids and dark stars; held in stasis fields to
prevent LovitatiomElla collapses and the reevolutions of matter that could
bring. This place is dead and every one sentience, for differing reasons[W140] , wants to keep it that way.
“This
place has become a dumping ground for war-destroyed [W141] planets since your Mother met Oblivion[W142] ,” I say, bowing my entangled stream
as if the curve galaxial-downwards could make the horror of this place more
bearable. “It started off in memory of her; so it becomes a literal graveyard;
there may be no physical remnants of her as such, but the planets provide
tangible Lovity to her memory.
My
girls huddle into my event horizon further, their stars blueshifting then
returning to norm.
“Do
you want to unite our vision for a little while?” America takes this as cue to
slip out of my attention with Arthur’s swarming in tow; the girls don’t answer
but I feel the retinal radiation soakers of my entangledstreamer’s input boost
exponentially and zoom out in all directions a three dimensional simulation of
the planet field. I can feel the torment of my children’s populations climbing
for my wife, the greatest individual minds of us clamouring to vent their
frustrations and disgust of the new information they now received from me. That
she wasn’t just murdered. That she was tortured for...... I didn’t want my
girls to know this much of the truth but being here again is stripping me down .
. . I can’t feel anything . . . it feels like the zoom function won’t end and as
much as this field of destruction has no end in its record of the pain and
suffering of bubbas who perished on these irradiated worlds. I am out of
control and I assume one of my Daughters has seized our vision . . . “Mother.
The pain. The suffering.” And I feel Love’s starbursts thrust out like a
tangle of randomised sidewinding snakes; but as if programmed or destined
towards one heat source in the future they all curl about and impact all in one
spot towards the edge of the simulation in my mind. The heat burst fries our
connectedness.
I’m
flashed back to my black hole vision to see America being stabbed by Dark
Matterer lances. Banking smart lasers spaghettifying a webbing of golden chaos
through his bloated midriff. And despite the fact many of the smart lasers are
pinching each other out in mutinous attacks on fellow source machine-planets,
it’s apparent America is now pinioned to one volume of space. He tries to
expand his gravitational influence but the more he struggles to right himself
and his immediate surroundings the loopier the bonds become.
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