To Earth and Back

“Nobody can hear you scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Hmm. What do you think they meant by that?”

Kreatin, the first to exit the transfiguration chamber, sat at the helm of the small ship that's currently sliced through hyperspace, reading ancient quotes and passages on a monitor. He didn’t mind the weight of the new heavy body he presently inhabited. It was nice and suited him well, with shiny black hair that touched the tops of his ears. The Fitter remarked it as “dashing,” which meant handsome. Kreatin liked handsome.

He glanced over at Sheri, the Second on the voyage, transfixed by the white loin cloth she used to dry the gunk off her skin.

“That’s a towel; they used it to clean everything.” She was younger than he was and not well educated on the Ancestors' history, especially their knick-knacks and tools.

“Do they still use it for everything?” Her voice cracked. It needed a bit for her throat to lube up properly.

“Yes, of course. Well, at the time, we’re dropping in on. Did you hear what I said before?”

A soft computer voice chimed in. “Thirty minutes until arrival.”

“The vacuuming thing?” She smiled as she finished the cleaning process. Skin and its sensations. One of the finer things that were taken for granted and the first things to go during the transcendence.

“Yes. Homo Sapiens barely tipped their toes into the ocean and were already grim about it all.” Kreatin gazed through the helms energy shield window.

“The wars made them that way. They drank pessimism for breakfast, depression for lunch, and a bowl of alcoholic soup to lull them to sleep for dinner. They barely made it, Kreatin.”

“You’ve been reading.” Chuckling, he kept his eyes on the space-time currents that enveloped the ship, colors of blue, purples, and reds. “Who is your favorite?”

“Dickens.” Her white one-piece suit zipped up to the neck, neat and in order. Kreatin preferred dark, muted colors, but to them, the Ancestors, white meant peace. We come in peace. The first sentence they learned and they learned it well.

A large chime echoed behind them. “He’s ready.”

The vessel traveling through hyperspace is small but has all the necessary amenities for a long voyage. They modeled it off the old orbit ships back in the space wars of the twenty-second century, with a dash of science fiction—a helm, sleeping quarters, kitchen, engine room, sickbay, and entertainment.

There was one more room, however. One room that would make this journey possible: A transfiguration chamber.

Kreatin laid out a Teflon sheet in front of a large, full-bodied coffin-shaped tube.

Maybe this room is what they meant, Kreatin thought. No one can hear you scream here: The sounds are muted to protect the freshly grown ear drums. Smoke billowed out from the glass as a timer began counting down. Ten seconds.

Sheri smiled and mouthed. Isn’t this exciting?

Kreatin nodded as the lights dimmed with the same purpose as the muted sounds. But the quickening darkness hid his frown.

He hated Core One, The captain and anointed Greeter of the Ancestors. Weak, foul, he left a bitter taste on Kreatin’s tongue. Pity. He was looking forward to blessing his fresh taste buds with something sweet when they arrived. A candy.

Pure, unfiltered darkness choked their senses. No light. No sounds. This must have been what they meant, Kreatin thought again. He opened his mouth and screamed. Screamed until it hurt. Silence stole the sound as it escaped his mouth. Silence, an ever so cunning thief.

A small, faint dim light winked over the coffin. Bit by bit, the darkness receded. Kreatin squinted.

An oily, large mass lay on the Teflon. Of course, the Fitter would tailor a large body for such a cowardly creature. The lump rose and fell, his lungs learning how to work properly. Kreatin could make out Sheri to his right. She rubbed her eyes, trying to rub away the sting of tears.

Crying. The body reacts to emotions in the same way as physical touch does. One of the many, more powerful things to go during the transcending. Kreatin didn’t need to squint at this point and allowed his eyes to adjust.

Core One struggled to his feet, flaming hair falling to his shoulder. He looked up, eyes red and squinting, seeking help. An infant. Sheri, eager to please, would have to use the towel again as she cradled Core One snugly in her arms.

Kreatin flipped through his memories of the Ancestor's language and quips and found one that felt right for the moment. Fuck ‘em.

Core One sat at the helm, his hair dripping, the white suit choking his body. He peered uncertainly out into the void of space, uncomfortable.

“It's so heavy. How did they live like this?” His voice was gravel.

“You shouldn’t have gotten one so large.” Kreatin did well to hide his contempt.

“Core Supreme advised on being imposing. They respected giant statures. You should’ve paid attention, Kreatin.” Snug bastard.

The ship's computer chimed in again. “Five minutes until arrival.”

“Are we ready?”

“Yes, Core One.” Kreatin and Sheri took their seats. All three kept their eyes out into the slipstream.

The Sol Solar System became heavily populated after the Great Expansion. The Grand Six, the space stations dominating the system, were the monuments of Sapien innovation and engineering. Kreatin would visit all six if time permitted.

Time. Hm. Time, the enemy of the third dimension. They're bound to it, their shackles firmly locked to their ankles. He understood their grim instincts. Time was the most incredible sense lost in transcendence, and no one missed it.

“Two minutes.”

He wished he didn’t have to hear the countdown. He didn’t like this feeling, not one bit. Glancing over at Sheri, she’s overwhelmed with the same emotion.

Core One’s brow scrunched and focused. Hmm. Maybe he fares batter in Sapien form. Perhaps he left his craven sensibilities in the Fourth Dimension.

“One minute.”

The ripple of space, a dance of ethereal colors, slowed. The most extraordinary moment in the past that they looked forward to was happening now, in this present moment.

Nobody can hear you scream in the vacuum of space.

Kreatin knew this to be true as the ship slipped out of its stream and into the Sol System. Their navigation led them to the Einstein Station of Jupiter. A small sparkling moon of a spectacular Sapien civilization orbiting Jupiter's moon of Io.

But what they saw wasn’t spectacular. It was a gravesite.

“This isn’t right.” Core One's voice shook with confusion.

“Wrong time?” Sheri panicked.

“The systems wouldn’t lie. This is the correct time. Something…happened.” He spoke confidently, but maybe they were all seeing things.

Kreatin noticed something odd. "Look!"

Jupiter, the mountain of the planets, had an unnatural ring.

“Debris.” Core One said. "Einstein Station."

Confusion also had a physical effect. It paralyzes you, the mind searching for answers. But there can’t be an answer when there isn’t supposed to be a question in the first place.

Where has Humanity gone?

“Computer.” Core One leaned over the console.

“Yes, Core One?”

“When was the year of the Great Expansion?”

“2341.”

“When are we right now?”

“2341.”

The computer never lies, Kreatin thought. How could they evolve into their beings and design faulty three-dimensional computers? No.

“Computer, scan all radio waves,” Sheri commanded.

The computer beeps as it does its task. A moment later. “No signal.”

Silence, the thief, is always so cunning.

“Jump us to Mars.” Core one answers their curious looks. “It was the first step from home. We need to get closer.”

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The ship slips in and out of space-time without much of a groan.

Sheri gasped, tears cutting down her cheeks.

Mars, a once orange beacon of hope, is now a corpse, its rocky core dissolving into a green nebula.

Kreatin remembered reading about the First City of Mars, New Elo, its roads and lights stretching over the orange landscape like glittery green tentacles. The first step from home, only its past now exists in the memories of the distant future.

“Computer. Scan all radio waves.” Sheri repeated.

A moment.

“One signal.”

Beads of water drips down Kreatin's forehead. Sweat.

“From where?”

“Earth”

“Play it.”

Nobody can hear you scream, they wrote. Did they know then? Their bodies were imprisoned in the strict three dimensions, but their imagination knew no bounds. Could they have predicted their evolution and doom at the same time?

The radio signal scratched and cackled, but the screams eventually came through.

Screams of terror. Screams for help. Screams of horror.

The three four-dimensional beings wearing Sapien's flesh suits were at a loss. They came so far, traveling through time and space; nothing prepared them for this.

“What do we do?” Core One asked.

Kreatin wipes his brow. “We persist. Computer.”

“Yes?”

“To Earth.”

The ship cuts open the fabric of space and dissolves into it, the screams evading the cunning thief's grasp.