A human brain-controlled spacecraft would mean mechanical perfection. This was achieved, along with something unexpected: a strange entity called—

By
Philip K. Dick

 Kramer leaned back. “You can see the situation. How can we handle a factor like this? The perfect variable.”

“Perfect? Prediction should still be possible. A living thing still acts out of necessity, just like inanimate matter. But the cause-effect chain is more nuanced; there are more factors to consider. The difference is quantitative, I believe. The response of the living organism mirrors natural causation, but with greater complexity.”

Gross and Kramer looked up at the boards hanging on the wall, still dripping, the images solidifying. Kramer drew a line with his pencil.

“See that? It’s a pseudopodium. They’re alive, and for now, a weapon we can’t defeat. No mechanical system can match that, whether it's simple or complex. We’ll need to abandon the Johnson Control and look for something else.”

“Meanwhile, the war goes on as it is. Stalemate. Checkmate. They can’t reach us, and we can’t get past their living minefield.”

Kramer nodded. “It’s a perfect defense for them. But there might still be one answer.”

“What's that?”

“Hold on a second.” Kramer turned to his rocket expert, who was sitting with the charts and files. “The heavy cruiser that returned this week. It didn’t actually make contact, did it? It got close but there was no actual contact.”

“Correct.” The expert nodded. “The mine was twenty miles away. The cruiser was in space-drive, heading straight for Proxima, perfectly on course, using the Johnson Control, of course. It had veered off a quarter of an hour earlier for reasons that are still unclear. Later, it resumed its   course. That was when they got it.”

“It shifted,” Kramer said. “But not by much. The mine was following behind it, trailing it. It’s the same old story, but I’m curious about the contact.”

“Here’s our theory,” the expert said. “We keep looking for contact, a trigger in the pseudopodium. But it’s more likely we’re seeing a psychological phenomenon, a decision without any physical trigger. We’re watching for something that isn’t there. The mine decides to blow up. It notices our ship, moves toward it, and then makes a decision.”

“Thanks.” Kramer turned to Gross. “Well, that confirms what I’m saying. How can a ship guided by automatic relays escape a mine that decides to explode? The whole theory of mine penetration is that you must avoid tripping the trigger. But here the trigger is a state of mind in a complicated, developed life-form.”

“The belt is fifty thousand miles deep,” Gross added. “It solves another problem for them: repair and maintenance. The damn things reproduce and fill up the spaces by spawning into them. I wonder what they feed on?”

“Maybe what's left of our first line. The big cruisers have to be a real treat. It’s a battle of wits between a living creature and a ship controlled by automatic systems. The ship never wins.” Kramer opened a folder. “Here’s what I recommend.”

“Go ahead,” Gross said. “I’ve already heard ten solutions today. What’s yours?”

“Mine is really straightforward. These creatures are better than any machine, but only because they’re alive. Almost any other living thing could compete with them, any more advanced life-form. If the yuks can create living mines to guard their planets, we should be able to use our own life-forms in a similar manner. Let’s use the same strategy ourselves.”

“Which life form do you plan to use?”

“I believe the human brain is the most adaptable of all known living beings. Do you know of any that’s better?”

“But no human can handle outspace travel. A human pilot would die of heart failure long before the ship got anywhere near Proxima.”

“But we don’t need the whole body,” Kramer said. “We only need the brain.”

"What?"

“The challenge is to find a highly intelligent person who would contribute just like people volunteer their eyes and arms.”

“But a brain…”

“Technically, it could be done. Brains have been transferred several times when body destruction made it necessary. Of course, to a spaceship, to a heavy outer space cruiser, instead of an artificial body, that’s new.”

The room was quiet.

“It’s a pretty interesting idea,” Gross said  slowly. His broad, square face contorted. “But even if it could work, the main question is whose brain?”

It was all very confusing—the reasons for the war, the nature of the enemy. The Yucconae had been contacted on one of the outer planets of Proxima Centauri. As the Terran ship approached, a swarm of dark, slim missiles shot up suddenly and sped off into the distance. The first real encounter happened between three of the yuk missiles and a single exploration ship from Terra. No Terrans made it out alive. After that, it was total war, with no restrictions.

Both sides worked tirelessly to build defense rings around their systems. Of the two, the Yucconae belt was the better one. The ring around Proxima was a living ring, better than anything Earth could throw at it. The standard equipment used to guide Earth ships in outer space, the Johnson Control, was not enough. Something more was required. Automatic relays weren’t sufficient.

—Not good at all, Kramer thought to himself as he stood looking down the hillside at the work happening below him. A warm wind blew along the hill, rustling the weeds and grass. At the bottom, in the valley, the mechanics had almost finished; the last parts of the reflex system had been taken out of the ship and boxed up.

All that was needed now was the new core, the new central key that would replace the mechanical system. A human brain, the brain of an intelligent, cautious person. But would the person be willing to give it up? That was the problem.

Kramer turned. Two people were walking toward him on the road, a man and a woman. The man was Gross, expressionless, heavy-set, walking with dignity. The woman was—He stared in surprise and growing annoyance. It was Dolores, his wife. Since they’d separated he had seen little of her….

“Kramer,” Gross said. “Guess who I ran into. Come back down with us. We’re heading into town.”

“Hey, Phil,” Dolores said. “Well, aren’t you happy to see me?”

He nodded. “How have you been? You look great.” She still looked pretty and slim in her uniform, the blue-gray of Internal Security, Gross’ organization.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “You seem to be doing okay, too. Commander Gross told me that you’re in charge of this project, Operation Head, as they call it. Whose head did you decide on?”

“That’s the issue.” Kramer lit a cigarette. “This ship is going to be equipped with a human brain instead of the Johnson system. We’ve built special draining baths for the brain, electronic relays to capture the impulses and amplify them, a constant feeding duct that supplies the living cells with everything they need. But—”

“But we still don’t have the brain itself,” Gross concluded. They started to walk back to the car. “If we can get that, we’ll be ready for the tests.”

“Will the brain stay alive?” Dolores asked. “Is it really going to live as part of the ship?”

“It will be alive, but not aware. Very little life is truly aware. Animals, trees, and insects react quickly, but they aren’t aware. In our process, the individual personality, the ego, will vanish. We only need the ability to respond, nothing more.”

Dolores shivered. “How awful!”

“In times of war, everything must be attempted,” Kramer said absentmindedly. “If sacrificing one life can end the war, it’s worth it. This ship might make it through. A few more like it and there wouldn’t be any more war.”

They got into the car. As they drove down the road, Gross said, “Have you thought of anyone yet?”

Kramer shook his head. “That’s not my thing.”

"What do you mean?"

“I’m an engineer. That’s not in my department.”

“But all of this was your idea.”

"My job ends there."

Gross was looking at him strangely. Kramer shifted uncomfortably.

“Then who is supposed to do it?” Gross said. “I can have my organization prepare different types of tests to assess fitness, that sort of thing—”

“Hey, Phil,” Dolores said suddenly.

"What?"

She turned to him. “I have an idea. Do you remember that professor we had in college, Michael Thomas?”

Kramer nodded.

“I wonder if he’s still alive.” Dolores frowned. “If he is, he must be really old.”

“Why, Dolores?” Gross inquired.

“Maybe an elderly person who didn’t have much time left, but whose mind was still clear and sharp—”

“Professor Thomas.” Kramer rubbed his jaw. “He really was a wise old guy. But could he still be alive? He must have been seventy back then.”

“We could figure that out,” Gross said. “I can do a quick check.”

“What do you think?” Dolores said. “If any human mind could outsmart those creatures—”

“I don’t like the idea,” Kramer said. In his mind, an image had appeared, the image of an old man sitting behind a desk, his bright, gentle eyes scanning the classroom. The old man leaned forward, a thin hand raised—

“Keep him out of this,” Kramer said.

“What’s wrong?” Gross asked, looking at him with curiosity.

“It’s because I suggested it,” Dolores said.

“No.” Kramer shook his head. “It’s not that. I didn’t expect anything like this, someone I knew, a man I learned from. I remember him very clearly. He had a very unique personality.”

“Good,” Gross said. “He seems fine.”

“We can’t do it. We’re asking for his death!”

“This is war,” Gross said, “and war doesn’t wait for the needs of the individual. You said that yourself. He’ll definitely volunteer; we can handle it like that.”

“He might already be dead,” Dolores whispered.

“We’ll find that out,” Gross said, pressing on the gas. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

For a long time, the two of them stood looking at the small wooden house, covered in ivy, tucked away on the lot behind a huge oak tree. The little town was quiet and sleepy; every now and then, a car would drive slowly along the distant highway, but that was about it.

“This is the place,” Gross said to Kramer. He crossed his arms. “What a cute little house.”

Kramer said nothing. The two Security Agents behind them had blank faces.

Gross walked toward the gate. “Let’s go. According to the report, he’s still alive, but really sick. His mind is sharp, though. That much is clear. It’s said he doesn’t leave the house. A woman takes care of him. He’s quite weak.”

They walked down the stone path and up onto the porch. Gross rang the bell. They waited. After a while, they heard slow footsteps. The door opened. An elderly woman in an oversized robe looked at them blankly.

“Security,” Gross said, showing his ID. “We’d like to see Professor Thomas.”

“Why?”

“Government business.” He looked at Kramer.

Kramer took a step forward. “I was a student of the Professor’s,” he said. “I’m sure he won’t mind meeting us.”

The woman paused, unsure of herself. Gross stepped into the doorway. “Okay, Mom. This is wartime. We can’t just stand out here.”

The two security agents followed him, and Kramer trailed behind, closing the door hesitantly. Gross marched down the hallway until he reached an open door. He paused, peering inside. Kramer could see the white corner of a bed, a wooden post, and the edge of a dresser.

He joined Gross.

In the dark room, a frail old man lay, supported by a pile of pillows. At first, it looked like he was asleep; there was no movement or sign of life. But after a while, Kramer felt a slight jolt as he noticed that the old man was watching them closely, his eyes locked onto them, still and unblinking.

“Professor Thomas?” Gross said. “I’m Commander Gross from Security. This man with me is probably known to you—”

The dull eyes were locked on Kramer.

“I know him. Philip Kramer…. You’ve put on some weight, kid.” The voice was weak, like the sound of dry ashes. “Is it true you’re married now?”

“Yes. I married Dolores French. You remember her.” Kramer walked toward the bed. “But we’re separated. It didn’t go well. Our careers—”

“What we came here for, Professor,” Gross started, but Kramer interrupted him with an impatient wave.

“Let me speak. Can’t you and your guys get out of here long enough for me to talk to him?”

Gross swallowed. “Okay, Kramer.” He nodded to the two men. The three of them left the room, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind them.

The old man in the bed watched Kramer silently. “I don’t think much of him,” he finally said. “I’ve seen his type before. What does he want?”

“Nothing. He just showed up. Can I sit down?” Kramer found a stiff, upright chair next to the bed. “If I’m bothering you—”

“No. I’m really happy to see you again, Philip. It’s been such a long time. I’m sorry your marriage didn’t last.”

"How have you been doing?"

“I’ve been really sick. I’m worried that my time in the spotlight is almost up.” The old man looked at the younger man thoughtfully. “You seem to be doing well. Like everyone else I admired. You’ve made it to the top in this society.”

Kramer smiled. Then he became serious. “Professor, there’s a project we’re working on that I want to talk to you about. It’s the first ray of hope we’ve had in this whole war. If it works, we might be able to break through their defenses and get some ships into their system. If we can do that, the war could come to an end.”

“Sure. Go ahead and tell me about it if you want.”

“It’s a long shot, this project. It might not work at all, but we have to give it a try.”

“It’s clear that you came here because of it,” Professor Thomas said softly. “I’m getting curious. Continue.”

After Kramer finished, the old man lay back in the bed without saying a word. Finally, he let out a sigh.

“I get it. A human mind, removed from a human body.” He propped himself up a bit, gazing at Kramer. “I guess you’re thinking about me.”

Kramer didn't say anything.

“Before I decide, I want to see the documents on this, the theory, and the construction outline. I’m not sure I’m on board with it—for my own reasons, that is. But I want to review the material. If you could do that—”

“Sure.” Kramer stood up and walked to the door. Gross and the two Security Agents were outside, waiting anxiously. “Gross, come in.”

They entered the room.

“Give the Professor the papers,” Kramer said. “He wants to look them over before making a decision.”

Gross took the file out of his coat pocket, a manila envelope. He handed it to the old man on the bed. “Here it is, Professor. Feel free to take a look. Can you give us your answer as soon as you can? We’re really eager to get started, of course.”

“I’ll give you my answer when I’ve made up my mind.” He took the envelope with a thin, shaking hand. “My decision depends on what I discover from these papers. If I don’t like what I find, then I won’t get involved with this work at all.” He opened the envelope with trembling hands. “I’m looking for one thing.”

“What’s that?” Gross said.

“That's my business. Leave me a number so I can contact you when I've made up my mind.”

Silently, Gross placed his card on the dresser. As they left, Professor Thomas was already going through the first of the papers, the outline of the theory.

Kramer sat across from Dale Winter, his second in command. “What’s next?” Winter asked.

“He's going to get in touch with us.” Kramer scratched with a drawing pen on some paper. “I don't know what to make of it.”

“What do you mean?” Winter's friendly face looked confused.

“Look.” Kramer stood up, pacing back and forth, his hands in his uniform pockets. “He was my professor in college. I respected him as a person and as an educator. He was more than just a voice or a textbook. He was a real person, a calm, kind individual I admired. I always wanted to be like him one day. Now look at me.”

"So what?"

“Look at what I’m asking. I’m asking for his life, as if he were some kind of lab animal kept in a cage, not a man, not a teacher at all.”

“Do you think he will?”

“I don’t know.” Kramer went to the window. He stood looking out. “In a way, I hope not.”

“But if he doesn't—”

“Then we’ll have to find someone else. I get it. There would be someone else. Why did Dolores have to—”

The video phone rang. Kramer pressed the button.

“This is Gross.” The heavy features formed. “The old man called me. Professor Thomas.”

“What did he say?” He knew; he could already tell by the tone of Gross' voice.

“He said he’d do it. I was a bit surprised myself, but apparently, he means it. We’ve already made plans for his admission to the hospital. His lawyer is preparing the statement of liability.”

Kramer only half heard. He nodded tiredly. “Okay. I’m glad. I guess we can move forward, then.”

“You don’t sound very happy.”

“I wonder why he chose to go for it.”

“He was totally sure about it.” Gross sounded happy. “He called me pretty early. I was still in bed. You know, this calls for a celebration.”

“Sure,” Kramer said. “It definitely does.”

As August approached its midpoint, the project was almost finished. They stood outside in the sweltering autumn heat, gazing up at the shiny metal exterior of the ship.

Gross hit the metal with his hand. “Well, it won’t be long. We can start the test anytime.”

“Tell us more about this,” an officer in gold braid said. “It’s such an unusual concept.”

“Is there really a human brain inside the ship?” a dignitary asked, a small man in a wrinkled suit. “And the brain is actually alive?”

“Gentlemen, this ship is operated by a living brain instead of the usual Johnson relay-control system. However, the brain is not conscious. It will only work by reflex. The main difference between it and the Johnson system is this: a human brain is much more complex than any device created by people, and its ability to adapt to situations and respond to danger is way beyond anything that could be artificially created.”

Gross paused, listening closely. The ship's turbines were starting to rumble, vibrating the ground beneath them. Kramer stood a short distance away from the others, arms crossed, watching quietly. At the sound of the turbines, he quickly walked around the ship to the other side. A few workers were clearing away the last bits of waste, the scraps of wiring and scaffolding. They looked up at him and hurried back to their tasks. Kramer climbed the ramp and entered the ship's control cabin. Winter was at the controls with a pilot from Space-transport.

"How does it look?" Kramer asked.

“All right.” Winter got up. “He says it's best to take off manually. The robot controls—” Winter paused. “I mean, the built-in controls can take over later in space.”

“That’s right,” the Pilot said. “It’s standard with the Johnson system, so in this case we should—”

“Can you tell anything yet?” Kramer asked.

“No,” the Pilot said slowly. “I don’t think so. I’ve reviewed everything. It seems to be in good shape. There’s just one thing I wanted to ask you about.” He placed his hand on the control board. “There are a few changes here I don’t get.”

"Updates?"

“Changes from the original design. I wonder what the purpose is.”

Kramer pulled a set of the plans   from his coat. “Let me take a look.” He flipped through the pages. The Pilot watched closely over his shoulder.

“The changes aren’t shown on your copy,” the Pilot said. “I wonder—” He stopped. Commander Gross had walked into the control cabin.

“Gross, who approved the changes?” Kramer said. “Some of the wiring has been modified.”

“Hey, your old friend.” Gross signaled to the field tower through the window.

"My longtime friend?"

“The Professor. He was really engaged.” Gross turned to the Pilot. “Let’s get moving. We need to take this out past gravity for the test, or so I’ve been informed. Well, maybe it’s for the best. Are you ready?”

“Sure.” The Pilot sat down and adjusted some of the controls. “Anytime.”

"Go ahead, then," Gross said.

“The Professor—” Kramer started, but just then there was a huge roar and the ship jolted beneath him. He grabbed one of the wall grips and held on as tightly as he could. The cabin was vibrating consistently, the furious sound of the jet turbines below them.

The ship took off. Kramer shut his eyes and held his breath. They were heading into space, picking up speed with every second.

“Alright, what do you think?” Winter asked nervously. “Is it time yet?”

“A little longer,” Kramer said. He was sitting on the cabin floor, next to the control wiring. He had taken off the metal cover, revealing the complex maze of relay wiring. He was examining it, comparing it to the wiring diagrams.

"What's the issue?" Gross said.

“These changes. I can’t understand what they’re for. The only pattern I can see is that for some reason—”

“Let me see,” the Pilot said. He crouched down next to Kramer. “What were you saying?”

“See this lead here? Originally, it was controlled by a switch. It opened and closed automatically based on temperature changes. Now it's wired so that the central control system operates it. The same goes for the others. A lot of this used to be mechanical, driven by pressure, temperature, and stress. Now it’s managed by the central master.”

“The brain?” Gross said. “You mean it’s been changed so that the brain controls it?”

Kramer nodded. “Maybe Professor Thomas felt that no mechanical relays could be trusted. Maybe he thought things would be happening too fast. But some of these could close in a split second. The brake rockets could activate as quickly as—”

“Hey,” Winter said from the control seat. “We're getting close to the moon stations. What should I do?”

They looked out the port. The  corroded surface of the moon shone up at them, a disgusting and unsettling sight. They were quickly approaching it.

“I’ll take it,” the Pilot said. He moved Winter out of the way and buckled himself in. The ship started to drift away from the moon as he adjusted the controls. Below them, they could see the observation stations scattered across the surface, along with the small squares that were the entrances to the underground factories and hangars. A red light blinked at them, and the Pilot’s fingers danced across the control panel in response.

“We’re past the moon,” the Pilot said after a moment. The moon had fallen behind them; the ship was heading into outer space. “Well, we can go ahead with it.”

Kramer didn't respond.

“Mr. Kramer, we can move forward whenever you’re ready.”

Kramer began, “Sorry. I was just thinking. Anyway, thanks.” He frowned, lost in thought.

“What’s that?” Gross asked.

“The wiring changes. Did you understand why they were necessary when you approved the work for the crew?”

Gross flushed. “You know I don't know anything about technical stuff. I'm in Security.”

“Then you should have asked me.”

“What does it matter?” Gross grinned with a smirk. “We’re going to have to start trusting the old man sooner or later.”

The Pilot stepped back from the board. His face was pale and expressionless. “Well, it's done,” he said. “That's it.”

“What’s done?” Kramer asked.

"We’re on autopilot. The brain. I handed control over to it—to him, I mean. The Old Man." The Pilot lit a cigarette and smoked it nervously. "Let’s keep our fingers crossed."

The ship was sailing smoothly, controlled by its unseen pilot. Deep inside the ship, carefully shielded and secured, a soft human brain rested in a tank of liquid, with thousands of tiny electric charges dancing across its surface. As the charges increased, they were captured and amplified, sent into relay systems, enhanced, and transmitted throughout the entire ship—

Gross wiped his forehead nervously. “So he is in charge now. I hope he knows what he's doing.”

Kramer nodded mysteriously. “I think he does.”

"What do you mean?"

“Nothing.” Kramer walked to the port. “I see we’re still moving in a straight line.” He picked up the microphone. “We can give verbal instructions to the brain through this.” He blew into the microphone to test it.

“Go ahead,” Winter said.

“Turn the ship to the right halfway,” Kramer said. “Slow down.”

They waited. Time went by. Gross looked at Kramer. “No change. Nothing.”

“Hold on.”

Slowly, the ship started to turn. The turbines stuttered, losing their steady rhythm. The ship was shifting to its new course, making adjustments. Nearby, some space debris rushed by, burning up in the blasts of the turbine jets.

"Everything's going well so far," Gross said.

They started to breathe more easily. The unseen pilot had taken control smoothly and calmly. The ship was in good hands. Kramer said a few more words into the microphone, and they turned again. Now they were heading back the way they had come, toward the moon.

“Let’s see what he does when we enter the moon’s pull,” Kramer said. “He was a skilled mathematician, that old man. He could tackle any kind of problem.”

The ship turned, moving away from the moon. The massive, worn-down globe faded into the distance.

Gross breathed a sigh of relief. "That's done."

“One more thing.” Kramer picked up the microphone. “Go back to the moon and land the ship at the first space field,” he said into it.

“Good Lord,” Winter murmured. “Why are you—”

“Be quiet.” Kramer stood, listening. The turbines gasped and roared as the ship turned completely around, picking up speed. They were heading back, back toward the moon again. The ship dipped down, aiming for the massive globe below.

“We're going a bit too fast,” the Pilot said. “I don’t see how he can land at this speed.”

The port filled up as the globe expanded quickly. The Pilot rushed to the board, reaching for the controls. Suddenly, the ship jolted. The nose lifted, and the ship shot out into space, away from the moon, turning at an angled direction. The men were thrown to the floor by the abrupt change in course. They got back to their feet, speechless, staring at each other.

The Pilot looked down at the board. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t touch anything. I didn’t even reach it.”

The ship was picking up speed with every second. Kramer paused. “Maybe you should switch it back to manual.”

The pilot flipped the switch. He grabbed the steering controls and moved them around to test them. “Nothing.” He turned around. “Nothing. It’s not responding.”

No one said anything.

“You can see what’s going on,” Kramer said calmly. “The old man won’t let go of it now that he has it. I was worried about this when I noticed the wiring changes. Everything on this ship is centrally controlled, even the cooling system, the hatches, the garbage release. We’re stuck.”

“Nonsense.” Gross walked over to the board. He grabbed the wheel and turned it. The ship stayed on its path, moving away from the moon, leaving it behind.

 “Release!” Kramer said into the microphone. “Let go of the controls! We’ll take it back. Release.”

“No good,” the Pilot said. “Nothing.” He spun the useless wheel. “It’s dead, totally dead.”

“And we’re still heading out,” Winter said, grinning like an idiot. “We’ll be passing through the first-line defense zone in a few minutes. If they don’t take us down—”

“We should radio back.” The Pilot clicked the radio to send. “I’ll reach out to the main bases, one of the observation stations.”

“Better grab the seatbelt with the speed we're going. We'll be in it in a minute.”

“After that,” Kramer said, “we’ll be in outer space. He’s getting us to escape velocity. Does this ship have any bathrooms?”

“Showers?” Gross said.

“The sleep tanks. For space travel. We might need them if we go any faster.”

“But good God, where are we going?” Gross asked. “Where—where’s he taking us?”

The Pilot established communication. “This is Dwight, on the ship,” he said. “We’re entering the defense zone at a high speed. Please don’t fire on us.”

“Turn back,” the impersonal voice said through the speaker. “You’re not allowed in the defense zone.”

"We can't. We've lost it."

“Lost control?”

“This is a test ship.”

Gross took the radio. “This is Commander Gross, Security. We’re being taken into outer space. There’s nothing we can do. Is there any way we can get off this ship?”

A pause. “We have some speedy pursuit ships that could pick you up if you wanted to jump. The odds are good they’d find you. Do you have space flares?”

“We do,” the Pilot said. “Let’s give it a shot.”

“Abandon ship?” Kramer asked. “If we leave now, we’ll never see it again.”

“What else can we do? We keep speeding up all the time. Are you suggesting that we stay here?”

“No.” Kramer shook his head. “Damn it, there has to be a better solution.”

“Could you reach out to him?” Winter asked. “The Old Man? See if you can talk some sense into him?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Gross said. “Go for it.”

“All right.” Kramer took the microphone. He paused for a moment. “Listen! Can you hear me? This is Phil Kramer. Can you hear me, Professor? Can you hear me? I want you to release the controls.”

It was silent.

“This is Kramer, Professor. Can you hear me? Do you remember who I am? Do you know who this is?”

Above the control panel, the wall speaker emitted a sound, a sputtering static. They looked up.

“Can you hear me, Professor? This   is Philip Kramer. I need you to give the ship back to us. If you can hear me, release the controls! Let go, Professor. Let go!”

Static. A rushing sound, like the wind. They looked at each other. There was silence for a moment.

“It’s a waste of time,” Gross said.

“Wait—listen!”

The sputter happened again. Then, mixed with the sputter, almost drowned out by it, a voice came through, flat, without any emotion, a mechanical, lifeless voice from the metal speaker in the wall above them.

“… Is that you, Philip? I can’t see you clearly. It’s so dark…. Who’s there? With you….”

“It’s me, Kramer.” His fingers tightened around the microphone handle. “You need to release the controls, Professor. We have to get back to Earth. You have to.”

Silence. Then the faint, shaky voice came again, a little stronger than before. “Kramer. Everything is so strange. I was right, though. Consciousness is the result of thinking. It's a necessary outcome. I think, therefore I am. Retain your ability to conceptualize. Can you hear me?”

"Yes, Professor—"

“I changed the wiring. Control. I was pretty sure…. I wonder if I can do it. Give it a try….”

Suddenly, the air conditioning kicked on. It abruptly shut off again. Down the hallway, a door slammed. Something thudded. The men stood there listening. Sounds came from all around them, switches clicking on and off. The lights went out; they were in darkness. The lights came back on, and at the same time, the heating coils dimmed and faded.

"OMG!" Winter said.

Water gushed down on them from the emergency fire-fighting system. There was a loud rush of air. One of the escape hatches had opened, and the air was rushing out into space.

The hatch slammed shut. The ship fell into silence. The heating coils lit up. Just as suddenly as it had started, the strange display came to an end.

“I can do—everything,” the dry, flat voice came from the wall speaker. “It’s all under control. Kramer, I want to talk to you. I’ve been—thinking. I haven’t seen you in many years. There’s a lot to discuss. You've changed, kid. We have a lot to cover. Your wife—”

The pilot grabbed Kramer's arm. "There's a ship waiting off our front. Look."

They ran to the port. A sleek pale boat was moving alongside them, matching their speed. It was flashing signals.

“A Terran pursuit ship,” the Pilot said. “Let’s jump. They’ll catch us. Suits—”

He rushed to a supply closet and turned the knob. The door swung open, and he yanked the suits out onto the floor.

“Hurry,” Gross said. A wave of panic hit them. They got dressed in a rush, struggling with the heavy clothes   over them. Winter stumbled to the escape hatch and stood next to it, waiting for the others. They joined him, one by one.

“Let’s go!” Gross said. “Open the hatch.”

Winter tugged at the hatch. “Help me.”

They pulled together. Nothing happened. The hatch wouldn’t move.

“Get a crowbar,” the Pilot said.

“Doesn’t anyone have a blaster?” Gross looked around in a panic. “Damn it, blast it open!”

“Pull,” Kramer said harshly. “Pull together.”

“Are you at the hatch?” the flat voice came, drifting through the ship's corridors. They looked up, glancing around. “I sense something close by, outside. A ship? You’re all leaving? Kramer, you’re leaving too? That’s too bad. I was hoping we could talk. Maybe at another time you’d be willing to stay.”

“Open the hatch!” Kramer shouted, looking up at the cold walls of the ship. “For God’s sake, open it!”

There was silence, an endless pause. Then, very slowly, the hatch slid open. The air rushed out, screaming past them into space.

One by one, they jumped, one after the other, pushed away by the disgusting material of their suits. A few minutes later, they were pulled onto the pursuit ship. As the last of them was lifted through the hatch, their own ship suddenly aimed upward and took off at incredible speed. It vanished.

Kramer took off his helmet, breathing heavily. Two sailors supported him and started to wrap him in blankets. Gross sipped from a mug of coffee, trembling.

“It’s gone,” Kramer said.

“I’ll send out an alert,” Gross said.

“What happened to your ship?” a sailor asked, curious. “It really took off fast. Who's on it?”

“We'll have to get rid of it,” Gross continued, his expression serious. “It needs to be destroyed. We can't know for sure what it—what he is planning.” Gross sank down wearily onto a metal bench. “That was a close call for us. We were way too trusting.”

“What could he be planning?” Kramer said, mostly to himself. “It doesn’t add up. I don’t understand.”

As the ship raced back to the moon base, they gathered around the table in the dining room, sipping hot coffee and lost in thought, not saying much.

“Hey,” Gross finally said. “What kind of guy was Professor Thomas? What do you remember about him?”

Kramer set his coffee mug down. “It was ten years ago. I don’t remember much. It’s all a blur.”

He reflected on the years that had passed. He and Dolores had both attended Hunt College, studying physics and life sciences. The  College was small and removed from the fast pace of modern life. He chose to go there because it was his hometown, and his father had attended before him.

Professor Thomas had been at the College for a long time, as long as anyone could remember. He was a weird old man, mostly keeping to himself. There were many things he disapproved of, but he rarely mentioned what they were.

“Do you remember anything that could help us?” Gross asked. “Anything that might give us a clue about what he could be planning?”

Kramer nodded slowly. “I remember one thing….”

One day, he and the Professor were sitting together in the school chapel, chatting casually.

“Well, you’ll be done with school soon,” the Professor said. “What are you planning to do?”

“Do? I guess I'll work at one of the Government Research Projects.”

“And eventually? What’s your end goal?”

Kramer smiled. “The question isn’t scientific. It assumes things like ultimate goals.”

“Imagine this instead: What if there were no war and no Government Research Projects? What would you do then?”

“I don’t know. But how can I imagine a situation like that? There’s been war for as long as I can remember. We’re set up for war. I don’t know what I’d do. I guess I’d adapt, get used to it.”

The Professor was staring at him. “Oh, you really think you’d get used to it, huh? Well, I’m glad to hear that. And you think you could find something to do?”

Gross listened closely. “What do you think about this, Kramer?”

“Not much. Except that he was against war.”

“We're all against war,” Gross pointed out.

“True. But he was introverted, separate from others. He lived a very simple life, cooking his own meals. His wife passed away many years ago. He was born in Europe, in Italy. He changed his name when he moved to the United States. He used to read Dante and Milton. He even had a Bible.”

"Very outdated, don’t you think?"

“Yes, he lived a lot in the past. He discovered an old phonograph and records, and he listened to the vintage music. You saw his house, how outdated it was.”

“Did he have a file?” Winter asked Gross.

“With security? No, not at all. As far as we could tell, he never got involved in politics, never joined anything, or even seemed to have strong political beliefs.”

“No,” Kramer agreed. “Basically, all he ever did was walk through the hills. He loved nature.”

“Nature can be really helpful to a scientist,” Gross said. “There wouldn’t be any science without it.”

“Kramer, what do you think his plan is, taking over the ship   and vanishing?” Winter said.

“Maybe the transfer drove him crazy,” the Pilot said. “Maybe there’s no plan, nothing logical at all.”

“But he had the ship rewired, and he had made sure that he would stay conscious and remember everything before he even agreed to the operation. He must have had something planned from the beginning. But what?”

“Maybe he just wanted to live a bit longer,” Kramer said. “He was old and near death. Or—”

"Or what now?"

“Nothing.” Kramer stood up. “I think as soon as we get to the moon base, I’ll make a video call to Earth. I want to talk to someone about this.”

"Who’s that?" Gross asked.

"Dolores. Maybe she remembers something."

“That's a great idea,” Gross said.

“Where are you calling from?” Dolores asked when he finally got through to her.

"From the lunar base."

“All kinds of rumors are circulating. Why didn’t the ship return? What happened?”

“I’m afraid he took off with it.”

"Is he?"

“The Old Man. Professor Thomas.” Kramer explained what had happened.

Dolores listened closely. “How weird. Do you really think he planned everything from the beginning?”

“I’m sure. He requested the construction plans and the theoretical diagrams right away.”

"But why? For what?"

“I don’t know. Look, Dolores. What do you remember about him? Is there anything that might give a clue to all this?”

“What do you mean?”

"I don't know. That's the problem."

On the screen, Dolores furrowed her brow. “I remember he kept chickens in his backyard, and once he had a goat.” She smiled. “Do you remember the day the goat got loose and wandered down Main Street? Nobody could figure out where it came from.”

“Anything more?”

“No.” He watched her struggle, trying to remember. “He wanted to have a farm someday, I know.”

“All right. Thanks.” Kramer touched the switch. “When I get back to Earth, maybe I’ll stop by and see you.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

He ended the call and the picture grew dim and faded away. He walked slowly back to where Gross and some military officers were seated at a chart table, having a discussion.

“Any luck?” Gross asked, looking up.

“No. All she remembers is that he had a goat.”

“Come over and check out this detail chart.” Gross gestured him to his side. “Look!”

Kramer watched the record tabs moving rapidly, the tiny white dots zipping back and forth.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“A squadron outside the defense zone has finally managed to get in touch with the ship. They’re now maneuvering for position. Keep an eye out.”

The white pieces were creating a barrel shape around a black dot that was steadily moving across the board, away from the center. As they observed, the white pieces tightened around it.

“They're ready to open fire,” a technician at the console said. “Commander, what should we tell them to do?”

Gross hesitated. “I really don't want to be the one to make the decision. When it comes down to it—”

“It’s not just a ship,” Kramer said. “It’s a man, a living person. A human being is up there, moving through space. I wish we knew what—”

“But we need to give the order. We can’t risk anything. What if he went over to them, to the yuks?”

Kramer's jaw dropped. "Oh my God, he wouldn't do that."

“Are you sure? Do you know what he's going to do?”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Gross turned to the technician. “Let them proceed.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the ship has already sailed. Look down at the board.”

Gross looked down, with Kramer behind him. The black dot had slipped past the white dots and taken off at a sharp angle. The white dots were scattered, breaking apart in confusion.

“He's an unconventional strategist,” one of the officers said. He pointed at the line. “It’s an old tactic, a traditional Prussian technique, but it worked.”

The white dots were retreating. “Too many yuk ships out that far,” Gross said. “Well, that’s what you get for not acting fast.” He glanced up coldly at Kramer. “We should have done it when we had the chance. Look at him go!” He pointed at the quickly moving black dot. The dot reached the edge of the board and stopped. It had hit the limit of the designated area. “See?”

—Now what? Kramer thought, watching. So the Old Man had managed to get away from the cruisers. He was sharp, for sure; there was nothing off about his mind. Or his ability to control his new body.

Body—The ship was a new body for him. He had traded in the old, dying body, withered and frail, for this massive frame of metal and plastic, turbines and rocket jets. He was strong now. Strong and big. The new body was more powerful than a thousand human bodies. But how long would it last? The average lifespan of a cruiser was only ten years. With careful handling, he might get twenty out of it before some crucial part failed and there was no way to replace it.

And then what? What would he do when something went wrong and there was no one around to help him? That would be the end. Somewhere,  far out in the cold darkness of space, the ship would slow down, silent and lifeless, losing its last heat into the endless void of outer space. Or maybe it would crash into a lifeless asteroid, shattering into a million pieces.

It was just a matter of time.

“Your wife doesn't remember anything?” Gross said.

“I told you. Just that he had a goat, once.”

“A lot of help that is.”

Kramer shrugged. “It’s not my fault.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever see him again.” Gross looked down at the indicator dot, still resting at the edge of the board. “I wonder if he’ll ever come back this way.”

“I wonder, too,” Kramer said.

That night, Kramer lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The moon's gravity, even artificially heightened, felt strange to him and made him uneasy. A thousand thoughts roamed freely in his mind as he lay wide awake.

What did it all mean? What was the Professor’s plan? Maybe they would never know. Maybe the ship was gone for good; the Old Man had left forever, shooting into outer space. They might never find out why he had done it, what purpose—if any—had been on his mind.

Kramer sat up in bed. He turned on the light and lit a cigarette. His space was small, a metal-lined bunk room, part of the moon station base.

The Old Man wanted to talk to him. He wanted to discuss things, have a conversation, but in the chaos and confusion, all they could think about was escaping. The ship was speeding away with them, launching them into outer space. Kramer clenched his jaw. Could they really be blamed for jumping? They had no clue where they were being taken or why. They were helpless, trapped in their own ship, and the pursuit ship waiting to pick them up was their only chance. Another half hour and it would have been too late.

But what did the Old Man want to say? What did he plan to tell him in those first confusing moments when the ship around them came to life, each metal strut and wire suddenly moving, the body of a living creature, a huge metal organism?

It was strange and unsettling. He still couldn't shake it off, even now. He glanced around the small room with discomfort. What did it mean, the awakening of metal and plastic? Suddenly, they had found themselves inside a living being, in its belly, like Jonah in the whale.

It had been alive, and it had talked to them, speaking calmly and rationally, as it pushed them off, faster and faster into outer space. The wall speaker and circuit had become the vocal cords and mouth, the wiring the spinal cord and nerves, the hatches and relays and circuit breakers the muscles.

 They had been completely powerless. In an instant, the ship had taken away their control and left them vulnerable, almost at its mercy. It felt wrong; it made him uncomfortable. Throughout his life, he had mastered machines and shaped nature and its forces to serve humanity’s needs. The human race had gradually developed to a point where it could operate things and manage them as it wished. Now, all of a sudden, they had been thrown back down the ladder, helpless before a Power that was beyond their understanding.

Kramer got out of bed. He put on his bathrobe and started looking for a cigarette. While he was searching, the video phone rang.

He turned on the video call.

"Yes?"

The face of the nearby monitor appeared. “A call from Earth, Mr. Kramer. It’s an emergency.”

“Emergency call? For me? Connect it.” Kramer woke up, pushing his hair out of his face. Alarm nagged at him.

From the speaker, a strange voice came. “Philip Kramer? Is this Kramer?”

"Yes, continue."

“This is General Hospital, New York City, Earth. Mr. Kramer, your wife is here. She has been critically injured in an accident. Your name was provided to us to reach out to. Can you—”

“How bad is it?” Kramer held onto the vidphone stand tightly. “Is it serious?”

“Yes, it’s serious, Mr. Kramer. Can you get here? The sooner you can come, the better.”

“Yeah.” Kramer nodded. “I’ll come. Thanks.”

The screen went dark as the connection dropped. Kramer paused for a moment. Then he pressed the button. The screen lit up again. “Yes, sir,” the monitor responded.

“Can I get a ship to Earth right now? It’s an emergency. My wife—”

“There’s no ship leaving the moon for eight hours. You’ll have to wait until the next schedule.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“We can send out a general request to all ships passing through this area. Sometimes, cruisers go by here on their way back to Earth for repairs.”

“Can you broadcast that for me? I’ll head down to the field.”

“Yeah, sure. But there might not be a ship around for a while. It’s a risk.” The screen went dark.

Kramer got dressed in a hurry. He threw on his coat and rushed to the elevator. A moment later, he was sprinting across the main lobby, passing rows of empty desks and conference tables. At the door, the guards moved aside, and he stepped outside onto the large concrete steps.

The moon was in shadow. Below him, the field spread out in complete darkness, a black emptiness, infinite and formless. He carefully descended the steps and moved along the ramp on the   side of the field, heading toward the control tower. A dim line of red lights guided his path.

Two soldiers confronted him at the base of the tower, lurking in the shadows, their guns drawn.

“Kramer?”

“Yes.” A light was shone in his face.

“Your call has already been sent out.”

"Got any luck?" Kramer asked.

“There’s a cruiser nearby that's been in touch with us. It has an injured jet and is moving slowly back toward Earth, away from the line.”

“Good.” Kramer nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He lit a cigarette and handed one to each of the soldiers. The soldiers lit up.

“Sir,” one of them asked, “is it true about the test ship?”

"What do you mean?"

“It came to life and ran away?”

“No, not exactly,” Kramer said. “It had a new kind of control system instead of the Johnson units. It wasn’t tested properly.”

“But sir, one of the cruisers that was there got close to it, and a friend of mine said this ship was acting strange. He had never seen anything like it. It was like when he went fishing once on Earth, in Washington State, trying to catch bass. The fish were clever, darting this way and that—”

“Here’s your cruiser,” the other soldier said. “Check it out!”

An enormous indistinct shape was slowly descending onto the field. They could see nothing clearly except its line of small green lights. Kramer stared at the shape.

“Better hurry, sir,” the soldiers said. “They don’t stay around here very long.”

“Thanks.” Kramer jogged across the field toward the dark shape looming above him, stretching across the width of the field. The ramp was lowered from the side of the cruiser, and he grabbed hold of it. The ramp lifted, and a moment later, Kramer was inside the ship's hold. The hatch closed behind him.

As he climbed the stairs to the main deck, the turbines roared up from the moon and into space.

Kramer opened the door to the main deck. He suddenly stopped, staring around in surprise. There was no one in sight. The ship was empty.

"OMG," he said. The realization hit him like a wave, leaving him in shock. He sat down on a bench, feeling dizzy. "OMG."

The ship surged into space, leaving the moon and Earth further behind with every passing moment.

And there was nothing he could do.

“So it was you who made the call,” he finally said. “You were the one who contacted me on the vidphone, not some hospital on Earth. It was all part of the plan.” He glanced up and around him. “And Dolores is actually—”

“Your wife is okay,” the wall speaker above him said in a flat tone.   “It was a scam. I’m sorry to deceive you like this, Philip, but it was the only idea I had. If it had been another day, you would have been back on Earth. I don’t want to stay in this area any longer than I have to. They’ve been so convinced of tracking me down in deep space that I’ve been able to remain here without too much risk. But even the stolen letter eventually got found.”

Kramer nervously smoked his cigarette. “What are you going to do? Where are we going?”

“First, I want to talk to you. I have a lot to discuss. I was really disappointed when you left me, along with the others. I had hoped you would stay.” The dry voice laughed lightly. “Do you remember how we used to talk back in the day, you and I? That feels like ages ago.”

The ship was picking up speed. It shot through space at an incredible pace, racing through the final part of the defense zone and out beyond. A wave of nausea hit Kramer, making him bend over for a moment.

When he stood up straight, the voice from the wall continued, “I’m sorry to escalate things so quickly, but we’re still in danger. Just a few more moments and we’ll be free.”

“How about those yuk ships? Aren’t they around here?”

“I’ve already slipped away from several of them. They’re really curious about me.”

"Interested?"

“They can tell I’m different, more like their own organic resources. They don’t like it. I think they’re going to start pulling away from this area soon. Clearly, they don’t want to get involved with me. They’re a strange race, Philip. I would have liked to study them closely and try to learn something about them. I think they don’t use any non-living materials. All their equipment and tools are alive in some way. They don’t construct or build at all. The concept of making is alien to them. They use existing forms. Even their ships—”

“Where are we going?” Kramer said. “I want to know where you're taking me.”

"Honestly, I'm not sure."

"Are you unsure?"

“I haven’t sorted out some details yet. There are still a few unclear parts in my plan. But I think I’ll have them figured out soon.”

“What's your schedule?” Kramer asked.

“It’s really quite simple. But don’t you want to come into the control room and take a seat? The chairs are way more comfortable than that metal bench.”

Kramer walked into the control room and sat down at the control panel. Staring at the pointless equipment made him feel weird.

“What’s wrong?” the speaker above the board rasped.

Kramer gestured helplessly. “I’m—powerless. I can’t do  anything. And I don’t like it. Do you blame me?”

“No. No, I don’t blame you. But you’ll get your control back soon. Don’t worry. This is just a temporary solution, taking you off this way. I didn’t think about it. I forgot that orders would be given to shoot me on sight.”

“It was Gross's idea.”

“I don’t doubt that. My idea, my plan, hit me as soon as you started talking about your project that day at my place. I immediately saw that you were mistaken; you people don't understand the mind at all. I realized that moving a human brain from an organic body to a complex artificial spaceship wouldn’t mean losing the mind's ability to think. When a person thinks, they are.

“When I realized that, I saw the possibility of an age-old dream becoming real. I was quite old when I first met you, Philip. Even then my life was nearing its end. I could only look forward to death, and with it the end of all my ideas. I hadn’t made any impact on the world, none at all. My students, one by one, left me to enter the world, to work on the big Research Project, the quest for better and bigger weapons of war."

“The world has been battling for a long time, first against itself, then against the Martians, and now against these beings from Proxima Centauri, about whom we know nothing. Human society has developed war as a cultural institution, similar to the sciences of astronomy or mathematics. War is a part of our lives, a career, a respected calling. Bright, attentive young men and women step into it, rolling up their sleeves just as they did in the time of Nebuchadnezzar. It has always been this way."

“But is it inherent in humanity? I don’t think so. No social custom is inherent. There were many human groups that didn’t engage in war; the Eskimos never understood the concept at all, and the American Indians never adapted to it well.

“But these dissenters were eliminated, and a cultural pattern was established that became the norm for the entire world. Now it has become deeply embedded in us."

“But if at some point along the way, another method of resolving issues had come up and gained traction, something different from gathering people and resources to—”

“What’s your plan?” Kramer asked. “I know the theory. It was part of one of your lectures.”

“Yes, it was during a lecture on plant selection, if I remember correctly. When you approached me with this idea, I realized that maybe my vision could actually become a reality. If my theory is correct that war is just a habit, not an instinct, then a society evolving separately from Earth, with minimal cultural roots, might develop in a different way. If it didn’t take in our perspective, if it   could start fresh, it might not end up at the same dead end we've reached: a cycle of escalating wars, leading to nothing but devastation and destruction everywhere.”

“Of course, there would need to be a Watcher to oversee the experiment initially. A crisis would likely occur very soon, probably in the second generation. Cain would appear almost immediately."

“You see, Kramer, I think that if I stay mostly inactive on some small planet or moon, I might be able to keep going for nearly a hundred years. That should be enough time to observe the progress of the new colony. After that—well, after that, it will be up to the colony itself."

“Which is just as well, of course. People have to take control eventually, on their own. One hundred years, and after that, they will have control of their own destiny. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe war is more than just a habit. Maybe it’s a law of the universe, that things can only survive as groups through group violence.”

“But I’m going to take the chance that it’s just a habit, that I’m right, that war is something we’re so used to that we don’t see it as a completely unnatural thing. Now about the location! I’m still a bit unsure about that. We still need to find the place.”

“That’s what we’re doing now. You and I are going to check out a few systems that are a bit off the radar, planets where the trading opportunities are low enough to keep Terran ships away. I know of one planet that might be promising. It was mentioned by the Fairchild Expedition in their original manual. We can start by looking into that.”

The ship was quiet.

Kramer sat for a while, looking down at the metal floor beneath him. The floor pulsed softly with the motion of the turbines. Finally, he looked up.

"You might be right. Maybe our way of thinking is just a habit." Kramer stood up. "But I wonder if something has crossed your mind?"

"What's that?"

“If it’s such a deeply rooted habit, going back thousands of years, how are you going to get your colonists to break away and leave Earth and its customs? What about this generation, the first ones, the people who started the colony? I think you’re right that the next generation would be free of all this, if there were an—” He smiled. “—An Old Man Above to teach them something else instead.”

Kramer glanced up at the wall speaker. “How are you going to convince people to leave Terra and join you if, according to your own theory, this generation can’t be saved and it all has to start with the next?”

The wall speaker was quiet. Then it made a noise, a soft, dry chuckle.

“I’m surprised at you, Philip. We can find settlers. We won’t need many, just a few.” The speaker   chuckled again. “I’ll share my solution with you.”

At the far end of the hallway, a door slid open. There was noise, a hesitant noise. Kramer turned.

“Dolores!”

Dolores Kramer stood hesitantly, looking into the control room. She blinked in surprise. “Phil! What are you doing here? What’s happening?”

They gazed at each other.

“What’s going on?” Dolores said. “I got a video call saying you were injured in a lunar explosion—”

The wall speaker crackled to life. “You see, Philip, that problem is already solved. We don’t really need so many people; even just one couple might be enough.”

Kramer nodded slowly. “I get it,” he said quietly. “Just one couple. One man and one woman.”

“They might be okay, if there was someone to keep an eye on things and ensure everything went as it should. There are definitely a lot of things I can help you with, Philip. A lot. I think we’ll get along really well.”

Kramer gave a wry smile. “You could even help us name the animals,” he said. “I get that’s the first step.”

“I'll be happy to,” the flat, impersonal voice said. “If I remember correctly, my job is to bring them to you, one by one. Then you can handle the actual naming.”

“I don’t get it,” Dolores hesitated. “What does he mean, Phil? Naming animals. What kind of animals? Where are we going?”

Kramer slowly walked over to the port and stood silently, staring out with his arms crossed. Beyond the ship, countless fragments of light sparkled, like countless coals glowing in the dark void. Stars, suns, systems. Endless, without limit. A universe of worlds. An infinite number of planets, waiting for them, shining and winking from the darkness.

He turned away from the port. “Where are we headed?” He smiled at his wife, who looked nervous and scared, her big eyes filled with worry. “I don’t know where we’re going,” he said. “But somehow that doesn’t seem too important right now... I’m starting to get the Professor’s point; it’s the outcome that matters.”

And for the first time in many months, he put his arm around Dolores. At first, she tensed up, fear and anxiety still visible in her eyes. But then, all of a sudden, she relaxed against him, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Phil … do you really think we can start over—you and me?”

He kissed her gently, then intensely.

And the spaceship zoomed rapidly through the endless, uncharted emptiness of the void…