On the display, the Confessor bowed her hood. "I will inform the markets that the Lady President was driven unstable by your news," she said quietly, "and recommend to the government that they carry out the evacuation without asking further questions of your ship. Is there anything else you wish me to tell them?" Her hood turned slightly, toward the Kiritsugu. "Or tell me?"
There was a strange, quick pause, as the shadows from within the two hoods stared at each other.
Then: "No," replied the Kiritsugu. "I think it has all been said."
The Confessor's hood nodded. "Goodbye."
"There it goes," the Ship's Engineer said. "We have a complete, stable positive feedback loop."
On screen was the majesty that was the star Huygens, of the inhabited planet Huygens IV. Overlaid in false color was the recirculating loop of Alderson forces which the Impossible had steadily fed.
Fusion was now increasing in the star, as the Alderson forces encouraged nuclear barriers to break down; and the more fusions occurred, the more Alderson force was generated. Round and round it
went. All the work of the Impossible, the full frantic output of their stardrive, had only served to subtly steer the vast forces being generated; nudge a fraction into a circle rather than a line. But now -
Did the star brighten? It was only their imagination, they knew. Photons take centuries to exit a sun, under normal circumstances. The star's core was trying to expand, but it was expanding too slowly - all too slowly - to outrun the positive feedback that had begun.
"Multiplication factor one point oh five," the Engineer said. "It's climbing faster now, and the loop seems to be intact. I think we can conclude that this operation is going to be... successful. One point two."
"Starline instability detected," the Lady Sensory said.
Ships were still disappearing in frantic waves on the starline toward Earth. Still connected to the Huygens civilization, up to the last moment, by tiny threads of Alderson force.
"Um, if anyone has anything they want to add to our final report," the Ship's Engineer said, "they've got around ten seconds."
"Tell the human species from me -" the Lord Pilot said.
"Five seconds."
The Lord Pilot shouted, fist held high and triumphant: " To live, and occasionally be unhappy! "
This concludes
the full and final report
of t
he I mpossible Possible World.
(8/8) Epilogue: Atonement
Fire came to Huygens.
The star erupted.
Stranded ships, filled with children doomed by a second's last delay, still milled around the former Earth transit point. Too many doomed ships, far too many doomed ships. They should have left a
minute early, just to be sure; but the temptation to load in that one last child must have been irresistable. To do the warm and fuzzy thing just this one time, instead of being cold and calculating.
You couldn't blame them, could you...?
Yes, actually, you could.
The Lady Sensory switched off the display. It was too painful.
On the Huygens market, the price of a certain contract spiked to 100%. They were all rich in
completely worthless assets for the next nine minutes, until the supernova blast front arrived.
"So," the Lord Pilot finally said. "What kind of asset retains its value in a market with nine minutes to live?"
"Booze for immediate delivery," the Master of Fandom said promptly. "That's what you call a -"
"Liquidity preference," the others chorused.
The Master laughed. "All right, that was too obvious. Well... chocolate, sex -"
"Not necessarily," said the Lord Pilot. "If you can use up the whole supply of chocolate at once, does demand outstrip supply? Same with sex - the value could actually drop if everyone's suddenly willing.
Not to mention: Nine minutes? "
"All right then, expert oral sex from experienced providers. And hard drugs with dangerous side effects; the demand would rise hugely relative to supply -"
"This is inane," the Ship's Engineer commented.
The Master of Fandom shrugged. "What do you say in the unrecorded last minutes of your life that is not inane?"
"It doesn't matter," said the Lady Sensory. Her face was strangely tranquil. "Nothing that we do now matters. We won't have to live with the consequences. No one will. All this time will be obliterated when the blast front hits. The role I've always played, the picture that I have of me... it doesn't matter.
There's... a peace... in not having to be Dalia Ancromein any more."
The others looked at her. Talk about killing the mood.
"Well," the Master of Fandom said, "since you raise the subject, I suppose it would be peaceful if not for the screaming terror."
"You don't have to feel the screaming terror," the Lady Sensory said. "That's just a picture you have in your head of how it should be. The role of someone facing imminent death. But I don't have to play any more roles. I don't have to feel screaming terror. I don't have to frantically pack in a few last moments of fun. There are no more obligations."
"Ah," the Master of Fandom said, "so I guess this is when we find out who we really are." He paused for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't seem to be anyone in particular. Oh well."
The Lady Sensory stood up, and walked across the room to where the Lord Pilot stood looking at the viewscreen.
"My Lord Pilot," the Lady Sensory said.
"Yes?" the Lord Pilot said. His face was expectant.
The Lady Sensory smiled. It was bizarre, but not frightening. "Do you know, my Lord Pilot, that I had often thought how wonderful it would be to kick you very hard in the testicles?"
"Um," the Lord Pilot said. His arms and legs suddenly tensed, preparing to block.
"But now that I could do it," the Lady Sensory said, "I find that I don't really want to. It seems... that I'm not as awful a person as I thought." She gave a brief sigh. "I wish that I had realized it earlier."
Pause.
The Lord Pilot's hand swiftly darted out and groped the Lady Sensory's breast. It was so unexpected that no one had time to react, least of all her. "Well, what do you know," the Pilot said, "I'm just as much of a pervert as I thought. My self-estimate was more accurate than yours, nyah nyah -"
The Lady Sensory kneed him in the groin, hard enough to drop him moaning to the floor, but not hard enough to require medical attention.
"Okay," the Master of Fandom said, "can we please not go down this road? I'd like to die with at least some dignity."
There was a long, awkward silence, broken only by a quiet "Ow ow ow ow..."
"Would you like to hear something amusing?" asked the Kiritsugu, who had once been a Confessor.
"If you're going to ask that question," said the Master of Fandom, "when the answer is obviously yes, thus wasting a few more seconds -"
"Back in the ancient days that none of you can imagine, when I was seventeen years old - which was underage even then - I stalked an underage girl through the streets, slashed her with a knife until she couldn't stand up, and then had sex with her before she died. It was probably even worse than you're imagining. And deep down, in my very core, I enjoyed every minute."
Silence.
"I don't think of it often, mind you. It's been a long time, and I've taken a lot of intelligence-enhancing drugs since then. But still - I was just thinking that maybe what I'm doing now finally makes up for that."