The End of the Universe

April gave Walker a look.  After what they had learned – not to mention all of the impossible odds Arcadia had faced in her past – that was a foolish thing to say, especially to an admiral... and especially to someone like April.  'Can't'?  'Can't' was not a word in his vocabulary – nor one he liked to hear.

Walker thought about it for a second, as soon as he said it.  "Okay, it can be done," the engineer admitted, "but not by us."

April's look passed from Walker, over the faces of assembled engineers and science officers.  Jordan Rampart flanked April at his elbow.  Nearby, the warp core thrummed softly, content, as if it had not a care in the world.

"Think, gentlemen – think," April said.  "Outside the conventional limits.  There has to be a way to get from here, to there, without being erased by the inversion."

"We don't have that kind of technology!" Walker insisted.

"Then use the technology we do have."

Walker opened his mouth to protest again.  April gave Rampart a sidelong look.  Walker had come aboard around the time April left, when he was still captain.  The lines of the command hierarchy had changed – he was Rampart's man, now.  Since Rampart was ship's exec, yet still ranking captain, that made responsibility for the state of the crew his, now, more than ever.  April was "merely" head of the exploration program, using Arcadia as his personal command ship.

And Rampart knew it.  His green eyes thinned, appraising the frustrated engineer.  "Take a break, Jeff.  Go refresh yourself."  His tone, though casual, was clearly no less than an order.

"Aye sir," Walker sighed, and trudged off.  They had been at it for hours.  He sounded reluctant to go, with a gargantuan task facing them and no results yet on how to deal with it – but, also, a little relieved.  Maybe a break was what he needed.

April checked his armpadd's time-index.  He still had other things to do before going down to Memiklon, and time was, as always, against him.  "I think I'll be going too.  Maybe if I'm out of your hair, you'll get more done."  He turned to exit.

"Don't worry, Admiral," Rampart called out after him.  "We'll think of something."

"I hope so, Captain."

Engineering's doors slid shut behind him.  In the hall, April turned, striding away.  Arcadia's corridors had changed little – still comfortable, carpeted, brightly lit.  It was easy to forget: Beyond these walls, space, the universe, could still be a dark and dangerous place – full of unexpected mysteries and ungodly phenomena... of magnitudes impossible for some civilizations to fathom, even as highly advanced as the Federation.  He hated to admit it, but Walker was right.  Presently, what he wanted them to do was impossible, with their science.  For all of their innovations, some things remained that they just could not do.

But he also believed in the advancement of science.  If it could be conceived, it could be done.  And he could imagine the possibility of surviving the end of the universe.

For every power in the universe, another existed, somewhere, more powerful.  Every time they met, the side with less advantage faced the proverbial straw which might break the back of the proverbial camel.  For the Federation, that time had not come yet – but it had come close, on several occasions.  Still, the Federation had survived this long.

It was not exactly in danger this time.  Greater powers existed – a rational conclusion in lieu of demonstrable facts.  But they were beginning to see signs, demonstrable facts, of one such power, on a scale not even the Cireans, who displaced Earth into a parallel universe a year ago, could match.  This 'mystery power' did not directly threaten the Federation, nor pose any warning of attack.  They probably did not even know the Federation existed.  But the reverse wasn't true, and those in charge of the Federation had instructed them to 'do something' about it – if anything could be done.  For once, Stephen April had an inkling of how an ant might feel, looking up at a giant, even if the giant was only human.  Maybe if they bit the foot of this particular giant, it would get their attention... but it was not a tactic he would applaud in the socially responsible Federation, and certainly not one he would employ.  If it got attention, it might not the kind of attention he sought.

Every unknown power they discovered gained some sort of appellation which quickly fell into vernacular.  This time, they were calling them "Shapers".  They were changing the shape of the universe.  To change the shape of the universe, meant to alter its direction of expansion – a process which took billions, trillions, and several multiples of those numbers to the nth degree, to achieve, in years... working backwards, across time.  The Shapers, whoever they were... or whatever 'it' might be, collectively... existed in the far, far future.  The future was reshaping the past.

He had met with Libra and other select senior officers, along with some of the Arc's civilian scientists, earlier, in one of the briefing rooms.

"Examine this paradigm, Admiral, and you'll see the difficulty we face."

Libra activated the display, a three-dimensional display of the known universe, with strings of galaxies spread out like strands in a jumbled spider web.  The edges of the field were fuzzy, where astronomers couldn't see beyond the final barrier... 'the end of the universe'.

Here there be dragons, April thought, recalling inscriptions from ancient Earth sailors' maps.

"The problem with going forward in time is the problem with going back," Libra explained.  "When we travel through time, we traverse a few centuries, maybe a few millennia at most.  We're also traveling through space – very short distances, by comparison.  The scale at which these so-called 'Shapers' operate spans billions, trillions of years – eons.  Here's the problem: As the universe expands, the available space for transit changes."  While speaking, he thumbed a touch-sensor on his armpadd, lighting different-colored lines in the image.  Each new line appeared successively, denoting specific stages.  "The blue lines mark the boundary of our universe over time.  The further it expands, in a sense the larger it becomes, the farther into the future you are, and the less space you have to go back in time.  The yellow area is roughly the present extent of our universe, in this era.  The red is its estimated extent where we believe the Shapers have commenced restructuring.  The universe will be, frankly, so vast by then, that to jump forward, from our time... is like shooting a needle into an ocean.  It's a much larger volume to explore, and we haven't even mapped our entire universe yet, now."

Crimson added, "Since we don't know the state of civilizations in that time, we don't know if the resources to locate them will be available.  It's a safe conclusion that the Federation, as we know it, will be long gone."

Libra continued, "To work backwards through time, as the Shapers do, requires circumventing the universal boundary limit.  They would have the same problem, of shifting expansion, trying to go back from their era.  They must have the technology to transcend it, which essentially makes them..."  Libra paused.  "...gods, compared to our level."

"Gods?"  At the head of the table – his old customary position, still his favorite spot – April blanched.  "Mr. Libra... you're a science officer."

Libra grinned, momentarily embarrassed.  "Yes, sir.  But as you can see, if you were to go back, from their era, in a basic straight line, you'd end up somewhere 'outside' of the universe.  That's exactly what they're doing."  Libra leaned on the table, voice and face full of awe.  "Think about it, sir!  They know how to surpass the limits of our universe!  They can move into other dimensions, places we can only predict theoretically to exist, but which we're physically incapable of entering."

"If they're restructuring the universe and rewriting physical laws, I'd say they're pretty capable."

"Exactly."

"So if they can do it... why can't we?"

Libra fostered April with an astonished look.  "We would need... centuries, to study and learn."  He stood up straight.  "As it is, we have the time – as a society.  My professional conclusion, Admiral, is that there is nothing we can do about it, presently, with our current understanding.  All we can do is sit by, and watch... and learn.  In a few decades... maybe a few centuries... we may know more, and be able to influence the experiment."

Experiment.  In a sense, April hoped it was more than some mere 'experiment'.  A project of the Shapers' scale had a profound impact.  Otherwise, why do it.

"And, hopefully," Crimson added, "that will give us an opportunity to open a dialogue with these Shapers."

"Decades.  Centuries."  April stroked his chin, ruminating, then lowered his hand.  "Thank you."  He looked to Rampart.

Rampart stepped to the table.  "Thanks, all.  Dismissed."

April continued walking the corridors, restless.

The Arcadia was a silhouette, dark but for the green-red glow of her nacelles, and slits of soft light, marking viewports in her hull.  Silently she moved, gliding over a maroon field blanketing the stars, the nebular remnant of an ancient supernova, thinning and fading to the passage of time.

Turbulence roiled through Stephen April's mind.  He sat in a chair in his quarters, staring out the window.  It was not a real window, of course; the viewport relayed visual interpretations from hull-mounted sensors.  The soft curving band of light which signified their destination – or, part of it – was coming into view, a long, golden loop against the billions of burning stars which made up the galaxy.  After greeting the Memiklon ship which came to escort Arcadia into their space, his ship proceeded at warp until entering the sector, then dropped to sublight.  It was only a few hours away, now.  Somewhere off of Arcadia's port side, unseen to him, the Memiklon ship held formation alongside.

The past few days had been busy, for some; dead droll, for others.  Not everyone appreciated the aspects of a scientific mission, especially when science and politics wove together.  That carried nuances even fewer could understand – except those whose job it was to understand the significance.  It provided a unique opportunity, unlike any history had ever provided, for interaction and betterment of all in the Federation, and for the people of Memikon – but only an opportunity, at this stage.  They had not even begun the mission yet.  Everything heretofore had consisted of the gathering, analysis, and planning for implementation of information, regarding that mission – the reason they were here.  Science, data... all of it was very important.  The universe was, in a sense, information.  That information could be read, like a book.  It could be altered.  It could be rewritten, and change the very nature of the universe, and every lifeform in the universe was part of it... the equation, rewriting itself.  That was what they did already, all the kinds of sentient life who transformed their environments... from moving a simple rock, to restructuring galaxies.

Apparently, restructuring galaxies was very much on someone's mind... lots of someones... or, more precisely, would be, in several trillion years.  It did not start with Memiklon, but the Federation's involvement in the discovery did.

Memiklon was unusual, for a class-M planet.  Its orbit carried it through a dense zeryon particle field.  Such levels of that particular radiation should have made life impossible on the planet.  Yet, a thriving society existed there.  Having discovered warp drive only a year ago brought Memiklon into contact with others – beings aboard ships who already had warp drive.  Luckily, they were under Federation surveillance, so Starfleet was prepared to greet them.  Still 'new to the scene' and a little wary, the Memiklons stayed close to their home system and shunned openly sharing information with outsiders.

Until recently.  They wanted to meet.  Once again, the Arcadia would be the Federation's olive branch to a new society.  Scientists – both on the Arcadia and in the Federation – were anxious to learn what effects the zeryon field had on their development and physiology.  April, for his part, was anxious to just get down to his roots, meet a new race and explore a new world... something he had not done in what seemed like such a long time.

But it jumped into a whole new area, once the initial greetings were made – satisfying Memiklon custom by meeting their vessel at the edge of their space.  In that opening exchange, they traded information.  Sciences leaped on it, with their usual, methodical gusto – and in less than an hour, after combined, computer-aided analysis by Arcadia's experts, they had come to a startling conclusion... which was why the Memiklons chose to share it.

When Memikon intercepted the zeryon field, it experienced a temporal inversion... fallout from a time far in the future, where some mighty civilization had goals nothing short of monumental in scope, and the technology, apparently, to reach them.  UFP scientists and astronomers had noticed it, at disparate points across the universe, within the last decade.  Subspace gave them an avenue ancient astronomers never dreamed about.  Astronomy in the pre-subspace era was predicated on light, which took time to travel across the cosmos and deliver information – hence, the 'speed' of light.  Modern astronomers could see farther, and get results faster, through subspace, which transcended that limit.  They had detected odd fluctuations, impossible by natural means – which nature could not produce.  Memiklon's zeryon field, the very presence of life on Memiklon itself, was an example of such an occurrence.  With expert analysis and study, it quickly became clear: Someone was 'rewriting' the laws of nature... of physics.  They were restructuring the universe itself – molding and shaping it into a form other than what nature would produce.  It was a long-term project, and it started in the future.  The future was rewriting the past... on a scope never before seen.

It changed the tone of Arcadia's mission significantly, and profoundly for April, who had to meet with the Memiklon representative on their planet's surface.  Memiklon scientists also knew what was happening.  They wanted answers.  Who was doing this, and why?  They needed Federation help.  The trajectory of their current orbit carried them towards the next zeryon passage.  The next temporal inversion would eradicate all life on Memiklon.  It was still months away; Memiklon's orbit took sixteen months, Earth-time.  But they had to evaluate the situation and start planning now.

When he had difficulty focusing, he induced theta waves.  He closed his eyes for a moment, and time stopped in his mind.  On the edge of an internal chasm, he hovered, for a seemingly endless eternity.  Biochemicals spurred to life, activating a soft buzz in his brain, not unlike awakening from a dream.  Thessians taught him the technique.  At a self-improvement center in San Francisco, they had gained renown, teaching many over the decades since their race joined the Federation.  It came as a surprise, learning on his first visit: It was not a Thessian skill.  It came from Earth.  Masters in many cultures, regarded as "mystics", had known how to do it for millennia.  It took time and practice for most, to hone the skill to this level.  April was gifted.  He intuited, caught on quickly; nailed it in weeks.  So it had been, all his life.  He taught himself to read at an early age.  While part of Stephen April took pride in his ability, pride did not rule him: Where his almost metaphysical intuition came from... That intrigued him more.

In that instant, as his eyelids snapped open again, he felt refreshed, alert once again.  The buzz lingering in his brain... It was a pleasant sensation, as endorphins flowed to high levels.  Very good.  If only he could retain that feeling, throughout the day.

Still, he didn't know how to respond – as in sickbay, when Brisk's new nurse offered her hand and said she looked forward to working with him.  Was she a mind-reader?  Her response seemed too coincidental, after April's inner ambivalence over previous comments – as if she sought to settle his own unease.  He accepted the token, and said simply, "Likewise, Lieutenant", shaking her hand in the most affable, friendly and charming manner he could muster – just before Berkowitz called.

When he took Amanda's hand, her skin felt warm and soft.  Why did she feel a need to make this connection with him?  They were comparable strangers, just two people posted on the same ship.  Working together?  Chances were, they would see little of each other, after this week, once Tabatha's nano-treatment concluded.  He guessed it was more to settle her own mind, make her feel better about herself.  He offered a smile; it cost nothing and to some people, meant so much.  Supporting the notion was no problem, really.

Pulses of white light flickered through his eyes, tiny painless starbursts, as nanites moved into the area of his brain controlling his breathing.  Years ago, April saved a group of Klingons, trapped in a section of their ship after a Jem'Hadar attack – exposing his lungs to fatally noxious gases.  That was during the war with the Dominion.  He had to take injections of triomomesicycline at regular intervals for years, afterward.  The Borg restored his lungs with an injection of cybernanites, but that still left him with significantly altered internal physiology.  Now the nanites were undoing all of that... restoring him to the condition nature bestowed.

It started in a corridor on deck seven.  April had left the bridge, following contact with the Memiklon ship, now escorting them at standard warp to their homeworld.  Up on three, Rampart had taken the con.  Important matters needed to be discussed, with the departments of sciences and engineering, pursuant to their arrival.

Walking down the hall, eyes fixed overhead on new light fixtures, April noticed something different: A soft fuzzy glow accented their radiance, something there before his promotion.  Holosupplements, he guessed, tied into the illumination system.  He nearly tripped over something, and stopped.

A curved blue plane had appeared, sloping downwards from one wall into the other, as if bisecting the corridor.  On close inspection, it seemed to be a synthetic polymer, shimmering like plastic.  He reached out a finger to touch it, thought better of it, and retracted his hand.  He murmured, thinking out loud, "Don't tell me the holocontrols are malfunctioning again...."

"It is my fault, Admiral.  I am sorry."

A formless silver figure appeared... as if mercury had taken a humanoid shape.  April regarded the manifestation standing there, lacking distinct facial or bodily features – no eyes, nose, ears, hair, clothing, or anything else.  Not even fingers or toes.  But, it did have a mouth – when it opened, speaking to him.  April recalled that this was the holoform generated by the Wembahdnaw scientist, for remote interaction with the crew, since it could not leave its tank.  He wondered why it never chose a form more... personable.

"Mr. Libra and I are conducting experiments with planar geometry in quantum resurrection," the silver 'man' said.

April's brows twitched.  "Quantum resurrection?"  He knew a fair bit about fields of quantum study, but had not heard that term.  He also knew that the customary protocol, addressing the Wembahdnaw by as many personal names as possible in direct conversation, did not apply (fortunately) if he wasn't addressing the marinoid, face to face.

"Yes."  Apparently the Wembahdnaw wasn't going to explain the term.  "It became necessary to extend the structure throughout the ship.  It should be only a minor inconvenience, for a short time."

"And how long is 'a short time'?"

"Three ship days.  Possibly four."

"Days!" April exclaimed.

"The experiment is very important, Admiral."

April rubbed his chin.  "If Libra's involved, I guess he approved it... but he should have passed it by me first."

"Captain Rampart knows.  Did he not inform you?"

"No."

"Ah.  Well, perhaps the report was lost."

"I doubt it.  Reports don't get lost on this ship."

"Never?"

"Not while I've been here."

"Was it not a Terran who stated 'There is a first time for everything'?"

A short time later, they entered Stellar Cartography.  Speaking of holographics....

Stel-C had been converted into a kind of Zen garden.  In the middle of a stone wall, inscribed with Japanese glyphs across from a medieval-design Buddhist temple, sat an unlikely sight: A golden, shimmering, saddle-shape.  It rotated continuously, a three-dimensional projection locked inside the two-dimensional image... a defiance of what seemed physically possible, to a conventional eye.  April's photo-lens shifted, as he privately requested more information on what he was seeing, and scroll-outs of data appeared, identifying it as part of the experiment.  It could have represented several things.  It could have been, simply, a saddle – someone's odd idea of art, in this holosetting.  But while Stephen April didn't know everything, he had studied, and was educated enough to know what it was, most likely, in conjunction with the nature of this mission to Memiklon.

He made his way towards the group gathered near the center, on the edge of the sand, around a single, high-tech console, standing prominent in the scene.  One of them was bent down, doing something in the sand.

"Ah... Admiral.  Good; you are right on time."  The Klingon looking up at him, April recognized as none other than Hon Jurmol... with whom he shared something of a past.  As he did with Klin'daq'ra Sei'mossin, the other Klingon scientist standing upright, flanking him.

Around them stood an odd conglomerate.  The Arc's Wembahdnaw resident, silvery form re-manifested in Stel-C... another holo-genoid (holo-generated humanoid) lacking distinct features, this one iridescent and multicolored, conjured by Ensign Fibonacci... "HQ" – the plasmoid Hovers Questioning, humming, hovering and crackling between them... the not-so-plain-ol' human Lieutenant Libra... a foot-high ball of fur, and various other, interested personnel from the science departments.

The brightest scientific minds on his ship had gathered, their collective intelligence and resources focused on this issue.  After today, their precedent would spread throughout Starfleet, and the Federation... to every mathematical civilization in the galaxy.  This had gotten all of their attention.

"What is this?" April asked, in general, but looking down – as what Jurmol was doing caught his attention.

The Klingon's finger traced shapes in the sand.

More than mere shapes.  Fantastic, interweaving patterns of complexity, circles, glyphs, geometric lines cumulatively indicative of some ancient language which baffled the best minds in modern analysis, and most certainly baffled Stephen April.  He hunched on his heels, one hand dangling between his legs, the other playing absently with the hem of his uniform coat.  It made him feel... twitchy, in the act of looking.  He peered closely at the tracings decorating the ground before him.  Grapevine had it that Stephen April knew everything.  In fact, he didn't.  Far from it – and most certainly he did not know what he was looking at, underneath the surface.

Yet something about it seemed... intimate.  The longer he stared at it, the deeper the feeling became, while eluding final definition... and he, more apprehensive.  Hairs prickled on the back of his neck.  The effect was not unknown to him.  He remembered it when he spoke with the Hledexh, in the Wenga sector, in the Delta Quadrant.

"Infinity surpasses the abstract boundaries of our kind," Jurmol said.  He always was a bit... odd, for a Klingon – not only in speech and thought, but in that he defied the stereotype.  He didn't glare, growl, drink, fight, or any of the other unruly customs for which Klingons were renowned.  "We will not live forever."

April didn't know what he was talking about at first.  He started to look away, to Sei'mossin, who usually provided translation, when no one immediately grasped Jurmol's metaphors.  But the patterns... staring at the patterns, he suddenly understood what he was seeing, and what Jurmol meant.  Equations.  They were equations, based on preliminary data from Memiklon.  Associative language, audiovisual without the electronic component... that was what he saw, there in the sand, combined with the Klingon's words – an impression akin to psychotropic drug effects, without drugs of any sort.  Complete transmission of information, in 'words' no tongue could pronounce.  He did not have to know the language beforehand – he didn't.  The language taught itself.  All one had to do was look at it.

Some said Hon Jurmol held a level of brilliance beyond any other Klingon in the history of Klingons.  Today, scientifically, April believed it.

"That doesn't concern me," April said.  He dealt with the here and now.

He lied: It did concern him, on a personal level.  It concerned him deeply – the thought that someday the Federation would be gone.  Something would replace it.  What, he didn't know.  He forced himself to realize: Historical bias, to think of any post-Federation era as some kind of 'dark age', tainted his perspective.  He had to remember that, and resist such apprehension.  But it was not easy.  The Federation was his king and country.  The light.  The most ambitious democratic experiment ever undertaken, and having survived this long, it far surpassed the 'experimental' stage – much like the alliance of North American states, which constituted the nation of his ancestors... a project of similar scope and endurance.  But that experiment had failed: The United States fell.  Did the Federation's fate wait at the end of a similar road?

All of that took a back seat to the conclusion worming through his mind, from the data displayed so simply and elegantly, in the sand.