AD. 2208:
Where were you on The Night?
If you’re reading this, it must be over, and you survived. Right?
As I’m recording this there are twenty-four hours to go.
I can tell you where I’ll be: in orbit around the Moon.
For two centuries people have been probing and prodding and cracking at that damn energy bubble up there. Of course they’ve had no success. But that hasn’t stopped them trying. And it won’t stop me now, right to the end.
I might even meet my uncle and aunt, Tom and Billie Tybee, up there. My grandfather, Bill Tybee, left me this diary, which he kept from the day he first married, and even the gadget, the little plastic Heart, that taught us all so much about our Blue cousins. Hell of a guy, my grandfather. Lost his wife, lost two kids to the Blue hysteria, survived a war on the Moon, and still built a life: married again, more kids — none of them Blue — and died in his bed.
People tell us we’re at peace. We’re all just waiting, praying if we choose to, otherwise just turning out the lights. Calm, dignified acceptance.
Yeah, right.
For me, I mean to go out of this world the way I came in: dragged out headfirst, kicking and screaming.
Anyhow this will probably be the last entry. I’m burying the diary in hardcopy a hundred feet down in a disused mine. If it gets to survive anywhere, it will be there.
Godspeed.
Michaeclass="underline"
Watch the Moon, Malenfant. Watch the Moon. It s starting—
Emma Stoney:
A bolt of light streaked vertically down from the gray dome sky above. It headed straight for the degenerate matter, merged with
it unerringly.
The children made sounds like it was a firework display: Ooh, aah.
Anna’s gaze was fixed on the Tinkerbell nugget in its cage; Emma saw its light sparkling in her clear eyes. And the Tinker-bell was getting brighter.
“How long?”
“A few minutes,” Anna whispered. “This is what we were born to do. It is what you were born for—”
A wave of pain, unexpected, pulsed from Emma’s leg, and she gasped.
Billie Tybee pulled away from her, eyes wide.
Emma made an effort to calm down. She deliberately smiled. Billie crept slowly back to her, and Emma laid a hand on her head.
They may be about to kill you. Even so, don’t frighten the children. It surely isn’t their fault.
“Vacuum decay,” she said to Anna.
“Yes.”
“Will it be quick?”
Anna thought that over. “More than quick. The effects will spread at light speed, transforming everything to the true vacuum state.” She studied Emma. “Before you know it’s happening, it will be over.”
Emma took a deep breath. She didn’t understand a word; it was so abstract it wasn’t even frightening. Thank God I’m no smarter, she thought. “Okay. How far will it reach? Will it engulf Tycho? The Moon?”
Anna frowned. “You don’t understand.”
And the droplet exploded.
Emma flinched.
The cage held. Light flared, a baseball-sized lump, dazzling Emma, bathing the faces of the watching children, as if they were planets turned to this new sun.
Billie was cuddling closer, wrapping her arms around Emma’s waist. Emma put her hands on the child’s head and bent over her to shelter her. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay to be frightened.”
The light got brighter.
“Nearly, now,” Anna said softly.
“ Why, Anna? Revenge?”
Anna turned to her. “You don’t understand. You never will. I’m sorry. This isn’t destruction. This isn’t revenge. This is—”
“What?”
“It’s wonderful”
Emma felt heat on her face; a wind, hot air pulsing out of the cage, fleeing the heat of theTinkerbell.
Now more children came creeping closer to Emma. She reached out her arms and tried to embrace them all. Some of them were weeping. And maybe she was weeping too; it was hard to tell.
At last even Anna came to her, buried her face in Emma’s neck.
She thought of Malenfant: Malenfant on Cruithne, defying fate one last time. She might easily have been with him, up there, sharing whatever had become of him. Even at their worst times, the depths of the divorce, she had expected, in her heart, to die with him.
But it hadn’t turned out like that, for better or worse.
In the years after Mojave, after Malenfant, Emma had had relationships. She’d even inherited some children, from previous broken relationships. None of her own, though. Maybe this was as close as she had ever come.
But the children around her seemed remote, as if she touched them through a layer of glass. She felt incomplete. Maybe she was spread too thin over the possibilities of reality, she thought.
The light grew brighter, the heat fiercer. The wind was beginning to howl through the loose, shuddering framework of the cage.
The children whimpered and pushed closer to Emma.
There was a blue flare. Through the tangle of the Tinkerbell cage, Emma glimpsed an electric-blue ring, distorted, twisting away. And more of them, a great chain disappearing to infinity, a ribbed funnel of blue light. Sparks flared, shooting out of the blue tunnel, disappearing into the remote gray dome of sky.
They’re reaching into the past, Emma thought, wondering. Sending off the quark nuggets that reached the center in Nevada — even the one that initiated this event. Closed causal loops.
It was always about the children, she realized now. Not us, not Malenfant. All we did was help it along. But this has been their story all along. The children.
The light sculpture was gone, the burst of blue light vanishing like soap bubbles. Then there was only the fierce white glow of the Tinkerbell itself.
“It isn’t so much energy,” Anna was murmuring. “Not so much at all. But all of it concentrated on a single proton mass. You could have done this. You built particle accelerators, reached high energies. But you gave up. Besides, you were doing it wrong. You’d have needed an accelerator of galactic dimensions to get to the right energy levels—”
“We weren’t trying,” Emma said. “We didn’t know we were supposed to.”
Anna looked up, her eyes wet, her hair billowing around her face. “That’s the tragedy. That you never understood the purpose of your existence.”
Emma forced a smile. “Guess what? I still don’t.”
Anna laughed, and for a moment, a last moment, she was just a kid, a sixteen-year-old girl, half laughing, half crying, happy, terrified.
And then the Tinkerbell exploded.
It wasn ‘t instantaneous. That was the horror of it.
It washed over her, slicing her through, burning her out of her own skull. She could feel the modules of her brain, her mind, wiping clear, collapsing into the new vacuum beyond the light.
Until there was only the deep, old part of her brain left, the animal cowering in the dark.
Malenfant!
And the light broke through.
Reid Malenfant:
The brighter areas — the older terrain, the highlands of the near side and much of the far side — looked much as they had always done, tracing out the face of the Man in the Moon. But the seas of gray lunar dust, Imbrium and Procellarum and Tranquillity, seemed to be imploding. Even from here he could see cracks spreading in the lava seas, sections of crust cracking, tipping, sliding inward. The Moon was two thousand miles across; given that, the speed of the process he was watching — and the scale of it, hundred-mile slabs of lunar crust crumbling in seconds — was impressive.