Meanwhile, aboard the subjectively infinitely distant Gravity Whelk…
…which had come to a dead stop, it was time for a pow-wow on the bridge…
“It’s as simple as this,” Folie opened the discussion. “Do we use the looney-drive, or stick with hyper-drive?”
“I have no input on the subject of velocity.” Kyboshed replied. “After all, since the fiasco with Dark Space, my name has been Mud. I was programmed on Scroton: my judgement is suspect.”
Folie was about to ask the same question of Placebo…
…when his mouth stopped working: he had seen something on the main viewer that, he was certain, remained invisible to the others…
“Excuse me,” he said, “but Dark Space has summoned me.”
“I’ll come with you.” Placebo volunteered. “To hold your metaphorical hand.”
Two seconds later…
“Hey,” Kyboshed shouted after his disappearing crewmates, “wait for me!”
And two seconds after that…
“Excuse me for being rude!” The Automatic Pilot boomed as Kyboshed departed through Engineering at maximum velocity. “I’ll mind the shop, shall I?”
Folie wasn’t entirely certain how far he’d managed to travel along the corridor before Dark Space took control…
Prior to any meaningful communication between himself and the realm of Space/Time, Folie demanded to know the whereabouts of his friend.
“Placebo is unharmed.” Dark Space’s voice by-passed Folie’s auditory system and spoke directly to his consciousness. “He might be a little confused though.”
Folie was displeased, but was loath to display his impotence by showing it. “Okay, Dark Space, you’ve got my attention: what do you want?”
“It is not what I want.” The genderless, disembodied voice replied. “It is what I don’t want. I don’t want you to go to looney-speed.”
“If you’ve been listening in on our conversation, you’ll know that time is of the essence. If the Gravity Whelk can save just one life, it’ll be worth the risk of travelling at unsafe speeds.”
“But I can’t travel at looney-speed.” Dark Space said with regret evident in its timbre. “If the Gravity Whelk activates the looney-speed drive, I’ll be left behind – alone again in the depths between stars.”
Folie hadn’t considered this possibility. “Oh, cripes.” He said…
…”what a quandary. How about this: we drop you off here: strut our funky stuff on Mars; then come back and pick you up.”
“This isn’t a sidewalk.” Dark Space replied. “There’s no kerb for me to wait on. You can’t consult a map or sat-nav to find this location. It has no GPS co-ordinates. And there’s Galactic Drift to consider. I won’t be here when you get back – if you get back. Folie, you can’t leave me behind!”
Folie had never felt so torn. “Release me for a few seconds – to think about it. I’m aware that you could stop this ship from going anywhere if you so wish – so the fact that you’re asking, rather than telling, is a significant development. Give me five minutes.”
In the blink of an eye, Folie found himself standing in a corridor…
He looked out at the cosmos through a panoramic window. How would he like to be left behind? But he wasn’t a realm of space/time: he was just an earplug. He was also a young, inexperienced earplug who was so far out of his depth that he might as well be treading water above the Mid-Atlantic Trench. So he wandered along the corridor, trying desperately to come to the correct decision. Eventually he found himself standing before the reflective door of Engineering…
He saw who, and what he was, looking back at him. He also remembered what he’d told Kyboshed when he’d surprised the robot by kicking the recalcitrant air-conditioning unit into life. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to think too much: sometimes it can be best to just go with how you feel…
“Dark Space.” He said. “You’re not a passenger anymore: from now on, you’re crew.”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021