THE FOLDED ONES

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

I’m about to find out if that old adage is true.

#

It was an accident. No one’s fault but maybe my own, though my compatriots would say it was a failure of the team. In any event, it was my duty as elevator repairman for the cargo tethers linking Armstrong Moonbase to the primary orbital docking port when the usual robotic climbers were misbehaving, And as it was often too tedious and time-consuming to send a human crew on the tether holding the tramway, we’d go up in a skipper – a small spider-like capsule not dissimilar to the ancient LEMs from Apollo days – in a rendezvous maneuver. This could be tricky, as we’d have to catch one of the tethers holding the elevator steady between the Armstrong’s gravity well and the stationary docking station, rather than attach to the dock itself, depending on how far down the uptether the robot in question was locked up.

At least one of us would have to then “scurry” down (snail crawl would be a more apt description) the equatorial uptether while the rest would maintain the docking station, configuring the needed counterweight adjustments to the downtether locked to the lunar nearside south pole. As I was the most experienced in these matters, however rare, I got to pick my partner. That was, and always would be, Sturgel.

Once we had maneuvered the skipper to the closest point of attachment, Sturgel would guide the locking arms in while I suited up. Once he had grabbed ahold of the tether, I would go through the airhold, floating out into the ever-present darkness, punctuated only by the Moon’s grayed glow below and the sun’s reflection on the underside of the docking station. The uptether, despite its coiled massiveness, could be occasionally lost amidst the black. I concentrated on my target, the lone robotic perched there, its mandibles maintaining their death-like grip on the tightly woven graphene and nanotube composite fiber making up both nearside tethers and their twins on farside.

Once I contacted the robotic, I immediately realized what had halted it in its tracks: a badly frayed portion of the tether. Probably a micrometeorite. I let Sturgel know what I had found so he could prep for detachment of the robotic before passing me the coil replacement and the needed tools to make the switch. I waited, floating prone above where the robotic would soon be removed, my emergency lifeline attached just above, and my thoughts momentarily drifting away to my Trudy and the two youngsters, Emily and Daniel, who knew nothing else but life on the Moon.

That was my first and last mistake, for as Sturgel was detaching the robotic, the loosened tether broke free, whipping across my line of vision just before it severed my emergency lifeline, slamming me into the robotic. I reached back to activate my jetpack. It was no longer there.

Even before I realized I was adrift, I already knew no amount of fancy maneuvering on Sturgel’s part could hope to capture me before I disappeared over the Moon’s horizon.

So, yes, I did involuntarily scream over my comm. And I was sure Sturgel heard those screams, and screamed back, agonizing over what few choices he had, and how even those crew at the docking station, busy maintaining the counterweight during the expected repairs, would soon be well aware, as I was, that I was lost.

#

At first I think my eyes might be playing tricks on me.

I’m already habitually measuring my breathing even though it’s basically fruitless long-term. I talk incessantly to Sturgel, my voice increasingly hoarse, determined he give me his personal assurances that my family is taken care of regardless of whatever political and economic flaming hoop excuses the powers-that-are will most assuredly will conjure up. Sturgel says yes, yes, yes to all of that but as also isn’t giving up on trying to save me, even though he must know in the back of his mind that it’s pointless. No rescue vessel can react fast enough to make the impossible real.

Meanwhile, my eventual fall into the Moon will be spectacular from my point of view but nary a blip to those on the surface. I won’t be the first elevator repairman to suffer this fate, but it has been awhile, so I do my best to imagine that Stugel will follow through and make sure I will be suitably remembered and honored with a plaque or something, maybe even a statue so my kids can see what pops looked like in his glory, even though I’m under no illusions my job isn’t necessarily considered glamorous enough to warrant much notice in this routine day and age.

There it is again: a sliver of vertical blue floating in the distance, just before the Moon’s horizon. As I am spinning a bit, I can’t draw a continuous bead on it, but it’s definitely there, and not some aberration from lack of oxygen or too much CO2 (though it’s a little early for that kind of thinking). And after each spin, the sliver grows closer, and closer, and closer.

Until it’s almost upon me, the sliver taking on the appearance of a massive sky-blue eye, suspended at a ninety-degree angle. It’s approaching so quickly now, I barely have time to throw my hands out in front of me before its sheer intensity blinds me. I spin around one last time before the universe snaps shut, just gone.

#

I suppose I passed out, or fell asleep, or something. When I finally will my eyes to open, I’m enveloped by a glow I can’t describe. My vision is clear, but I can’t discern anything that make sense. Then I realize I’m breathing normally. My hands reflexively reach up, flailing about where my helmet should be. It’s not there. And neither is a floor.

Where … how am I standing?

I glance up and find myself involuntarily taking one big step back.

There are human figures approaching. They aren’t dressed radically different than what I wear around my family’s living unit. Yet, they aren’t quite … human. There are subtle differences, even accounting for variety: pronounced foreheads, eyes further apart, extended noses. But otherwise … human.

I find myself turning away, searching for an escape hatch, some other reality to hang onto. But as I survey my surroundings, I realize I’m in a shimmering bubble with no discernible markings indicating an entrance or exit. When I happen to find myself glancing back down again, I realize I’m not really standing at all, but rather suspended just enough to simulate being erect.

I stumble forward a bit, trying to get my bearings. One of the “humans” reaches out and steadies me.

“Mikel.”

I gaze at the one “human” whose hand – hand? More like a claw with six fingers – still rests under my extended forearm. I open my mouth, but words refuse to form. He – he? Not even sure of THAT, except the voice sounds masculine – releases my arm, takes one step back, then rests his “hands” on my shoulders to steady me.

How does “he” know my name?

“I’ll explain as best I can. Upon cursory observation, you’re like us, except more primitive,” gesturing with his head that gestured unnaturally to both sides, as if on an invisible hinge. “We too fell into … here, though not exactly as you did. Difficult to explain further.”

I manage one word. “Try.”

He nods, then exhales and inhales, his chest heaving outward like a frog’s vocal sac underneath his loose tunic. When he speaks, the others – there are three: one decidedly female in form, though her ears more closely resembled conch shells – half-circle me, as if in support of what I’m supposing is going to be some momentous reveal.

“Given your appearance, and what you are wearing, we’re surmising you’re from our ancient past. So obviously that means we’re from your future, or some future, I suppose. We were on just another expeditionary mission, working outside our ship, performing routine maintenance. And now we’re here. We don’t know when, or even where. We wish we could tell you with more certainty.”

I pitch forward just a bit, and multiple hands – claws – reach out, right me again.

When I’ve regained my composure, I stammer. “W-where’s here?”

The female answers first: “To the best of our current knowledge on such matters, we suspect we’re in a quantum bubble writ large, imbedded inside a spacetime fold, which you have encountered as well.”

I know about both; one does pick up bits and pieces when not catnapping through Theoretical Space Physics 101. But that’s why the class is called “theoretical”: quantum bubbles only exist on the subatomic scale. And folds? Yeah, right.

“Oh, they exist, Mikel. In fact, we were studying just such phenomena while orbiting what you call Proxima Centuari B when we obviously collided with one. Correction: it collided with us.”

“How are you--?”

“Oh, that. Trans-consciousness is standard training for exonauts.”

“Trans—exo—you’re going to have to slow down it down just a tad. For us primitives, you know.”

All of them chuckle, if that’s what they’re doing. Sounded more like hiccups.

The man in front interjected. “Trans-consciousness. Telepathy? We explore exoplanets in our system for future habitation; thus, exonauts. And … we could just not speak to you, but thought you might not be ready for that, given your rudimentary mind. And your trappings,” gesturing at my suit.

I look down at my suit. “You mean, this?” I let out one big boom of a laugh. “Well, you can’t survive in space without one, so …”

The female let out her own “laugh”, more of a bird chirp on repeat than anything. “Meaning, you haven’t adapted. Obviously from the beginning of--.”

“Beginning of what?” I know my tone has an angry tinge to it, but at this point, I didn’t much care. “I don’t know what happened! One minute, I’m thinking about my family back home while preparing to crash into the Moon, the next—”

The four stare at one another, their mouths agape. Guess I finally took them by surprise. Good for me.

When the first male regains his composure, I can tell he’s thinking hard about what and how to say what he’s about to say. I find that satisfying, a pleasant tingle racing through my belly at the thought.

“W—what year are you from?”

I grin. “What, you can’t pick that out of my head?”

The female interrupts. “We hear some, but unless you’re opened, it’s much harder.”

I make certain the smirk doesn’t leave my lips. “2053.” I pause for effect. “And you?”

The female hesitates, then extends her hand. “If we’re still counting by Earth time, around 2360, I suppose.”

I can feel my face freeze. Guess it’s my turn to appear dumbfounded. Finally, I gather my thoughts enough to blurt out the first thing that pops into my head: “Ok, right. But—but, if you collided, or fell, into this—this quantum bubble thingy … and you’ve been here … all this time, or however long … and you said you were outside your ship when it happened … so, excuse me, but where are your suits?”

All four “laugh”, the mad chirping sounds forcing me to cover my ears.

The only two who haven’t spoken yet decide to chime in together. Yes, together, like twins, like their minds are connect--well, of course they are.

“For lack of a better explanation that you might comprehend, we’re … adapted. Space may be a vacuum, but there’s enough breathables present to sustain us during brief forays. Say, eight of what would be your Earth hours.”

Even before I can absorb that little tidbit of insanity, my next silly question still manages to escape my lips. “Yeah, but radiation?”

“Again, adapted,” the twins responded. “And, no, not twins; split zygotes. Common, reproductive rates being what they are.” A slight pause, then: “Were.” They glance at one another, a wisp of sadness in their expressions.

I want to sit down now, but it seems this quantum bubble is sans chairs. How inconvenient!

“Soooooo, what next?” I cut each one of them a stern glare. “How do I – we – get out of here?”

There is a moment of utter silence, like being back in the vacuum of space. Random thoughts skitter through my brain: how are we breathing? Where does the CO2 go? How are these guys still alive, with no food or water? Unless they don’t need either in their future; more of their “adaptation”? Does everyone in the future speak English? Whose future is this anyway? And bigger picture: where do these folds come from? Why are they here? What’s their purpose?

“Mikel, I listened in on all your questions. You’re opening. That’s good.” The female hesitates for just a moment, then continues. “Unfortunately, we don’t have all the answers. We can and do adapt for language. Bio-translators, to simplify our actual terminology. I can tell you one thing though, and this will come as quite a shock to you, as it has just now with us: we’ve only been here a little while.”

Yep, not to belabor the point but yep, I’m stunned. “What do you mean, ‘a little while’?”

“Earth time? I can’t say. Perhaps just a moment’s moments. Just as possible? Eons.”

I’m not even sure what I’m saying now before words just fall out of my mouth unburdened by any filter.

“Ok … so … here we go. I’m just an elevator repairman. Nothing fancy about me, at least nowadays. But I have to ask this at a minimum: what are these folds? Or, better yet, can we get out of this bubble? And, by the way, do any of you have names?”

The female again chirped her laugh. “Names? Yes, of course.” Pointing at herself: “Ambel”. Then the first male: “Pard”. Pointing in both directions at the “twins”: “Ta and Va”.

“Of course,” I retort, knowing my tone would come out as sarcastic, and not caring. “Ambel-Pard-Ta-Va”, singing their names over and over. My bubblemates – for lack of a better word to collectively describe my new companions - didn’t appear to know what to make of my frivolity so they start repeating my name over their rather twisted version of song. What’s amazing about that? They’re mouthing my name and the tune simultaneously.

Ambel claps her hands. “Second set of vocal cords. Again—”

“Adaptable,” I respond, shaking my head, having a hard time figuring out how that particular talent might be put to use in the future, or any future. I have a momentary wish to be transported to their time via bubble, fold, whatever, then banish it as quickly as it arose so these future humans don’t pick up on it. I realize I might be going crazy here.

Pard speaks first. “Mikel, here’s what we know: these folds are everywhere. They randomly traverse the known universe as far as we can tell, neither affected nor guided by any physical force we’re aware of. We don’t know their origin or how or even why they work, but we theorize they are either some remnant from the creation of this universe, or – and let me be clear, even our own technologists aren’t in agreement here – a transportation system set up by some ancient spacefaring race we have yet to encounter.”

This universe? I can’t help but shake my head again. Too much, too much …

Ambel chimes in. “But … we have been able to track certain of their pathways to a extent. Those stay constant. Wherever they came from, wherever they’re going; those factors appear to be calculatable. The only variable, the singular unknown is, not only where, but when. So, it stands to reason that, even if we can escape this bubble, we won’t arrive in our own time; past, present or future.”

My mind drifts away to Trudy and the kids, seemingly lost to me now. I try to imagine what they must be going through, not knowing for sure, since I supposedly just … disappeared, rather than crash into the Moon. Did Sturgel see what happened? Surely he was still tracking me at that point.

A sudden thought pops into my head. “Do you know how fast these folds travel?”

“It’s strange you should ask that,” Pard responded. “While it was by sheer accident we encountered this one, even though we knew were certain of its path--”.

Ta and Va interrupted. “It wasn’t the same one! It was stationary. This one, and the one we knew the track of, they—they—collided? Or—or, did one was enveloped by the other? Or, maybe they passed so close, the static one affected the dynamic one’s motion?”

I can tell my bubblemates are stumbling over by their own speculations. And their speculations are stirring up my own cro-magnon brain.

“Who knows? Who cares! One fold gobbling up another, like some interstellar shark? Guys! Maybe let’s focus here just a bit.” I wave my hands around. “Have you checked out this bubble thoroughly? Maybe there’s something you’ve missed about this whole phenomenon. Have you, you know, pushed on it?”

I realize they’re all hesitating to answer. Did they already know? Tried?

Ambel “speaks” into my mind now, a weird crackling tone, entirely unlike her regular voice, yet still recognizable as her: Afraid. Quantum bubbles; inherently unstable.

Should try anyway. What do we have to lose? Before I even now what I just did, I laugh to myself. I just projected my thoughts! Holy shit!

Ambel came back: Holy … shit? What is?

Now I can’t control myself any longer and I laugh long and hard. My bubblemates stand around bewildered. And while they’re laughing it up, I realize that what we’re standing on isn’t solid, more like a foam. Solid, yet squishy-looking. I suppress the temptation to reach down into that foam, find the bubble’s bottom, but when I really and truly start exploring this bubble, nothing is solid; it’s all foam. Quantum foam is the first thing that springs into my mind; I guess I didn’t nap out as much as I thought during TSP-101.

My hand brushes across something attached to my toolbelt.

“Goddamn it! Replacement tether! I have a whole coil of it, right here!”

My bubblemates are mutually startled, then confused, then their faces light up, and their expressions change so abruptly, I want to hug them all at once.

I’m shouting now. “Need a counterweight. Something to attach to the end. Then I’m going through this damn bubble, and maybe I’ll go through the fold too and out the other side and … and … hell!”

Before I can even bring myself to look at them again, I know what this means for them. If they join me, they’ll be somewhere totally alien, while I’ll be closer to home. Well, maybe not exactly where I want to be, but a lot closer than these guys ever will.

I watch as they huddle together. I try to probe their thoughts with my newfound ability but nothing. Maybe they blocked me out? I want to empathize, but my thoughts keep going back to what can I possibly use as my counterweight. There’s nothing heavy enough on me to serve as an equal or greater ballast.

Ambel turns to me, a crooked smile on her face. “We’ll be your counterweight.”

I’m speechless. I struggle to find words and fail miserably. Ambel reaches out, takes my hands in hers, nods. Pard loops the tether around me once then secures the connector latch to my belt before I can even conjure up anything appropriate.

“I—I don’t know … I don’t know where I’ll end up. Am thinking so many thoughts right now: is this fold still in the same place or is it the traveling kind, like Ta and Va were thinking? Will Sturgel be able to spot me? Will Sturgel, or anyone, still be there?” I pause to catch my breath. “Heck, what happens when I breach this bubble? Go thru the fold? This almost makes no sense!”

Ambel calms me and the twins join in while Pard is coiling the tether around each of their waists. He holds the coil up above his head, smiles, nods.

I bow my head, find myself fighting back tears. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. I turn away, towards where I think the fold’s entrance is, though I suspect it doesn’t really matter which way I face.

Suddenly, a hand reaches around, grips mind. “You might need this.” Ambel hands me my helmet.

I giggle like a schoolboy, latch my helmet snug to my suit, a real struggle since my hands are shaking so bad. Check the O2 level, still well above critical; consider flipping the comm on before realizing I’d never turned it off; luckily, the battery still has plenty of charge. I take one last look back at my bubblemates, the tether wrapped securely around each of them, with Pard in the back, his six-fingered hands gripping the reel like it’s his last meal – forgot to ask what have they been doing for food and water then realizing I’m neither hungry or thirsty, so maybe those things didn’t matter inside a quantum bubble? Time standing still? Who knows? Bigger brains than I will have to puzzle out that one.

If I come through this alive.

Deep breath in, Mikel! I close my eyes and take one step forward.

#

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it isn’t this.

When I open my eyes, I find myself standing on something solid. It’s silvery and highly reflective, but not in a distorted way. More like a mirror. A massive mirror.

A ship.

I stare first at my own image, transfixed by what I’m seeing. I don’t appear to be any different but what I notice behind me is beyond my comprehension. There’s a red sun there, and below that, a planet. A planet that looks not unlike Earth, just far larger. Gigantic would be a more apt description.

Before my brain can make sense of any of that, I feel a sudden tug around my waist. I look in the direction I assume this motion is coming from and see the tether still attached to my utility belt. And attached to the tether are my bubblemates. All of them.

Mikel!

I immediately recognize the voice in my head as Ambel’s. I watch as they pull themselves along the tether until we come face to face. They are all so happy, even joyous. They take turns hugging me. I let them, too stunned to do much of anything else.

Where--?

Home!

#

I could say that the future isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but I’d be lying.

Both Ambel and Pard have promised to figure out the rhyme and reason behind the folds so they can somehow help me get back to my proper time because they think I’d be more comfortable there, but I’m no fool. Even their future brains aren’t going to solve that problem. Yes, I miss my wife and kids – how couldn’t I – but I’m sure Sturgel comforted them, said all the right things, explained what happened, that they should be proud of me, mount a plaque, name a crater after me. Preferably something eternal. And I am comforted by the thought they’ll be forever taken care of, the family of a noble casualty in service to man’s continuing exploration into the beyond.

Better than what I actually was: a lowly elevator repairman.

Here in the future, I am celebrated in a way, someone who survived a transit across time through a fold. Everyone here wants to know every detail of humanity’s past, especially after so much was lost to some interstellar tragedy directly affecting Earth. Which is how I finally figured out why my bubblemates – not sure why I keep calling them that; I’ve become so intimately close to all of them – kept referring to Earth in the vaguest way.

By default, I’m becoming an emissary from the past – a historian emeritus, in the flesh. In fact, I’m invited to speak and even teach at so many conferences and educational institutions, my calendar is full for some time to come. But first I must “bulk up”; by that, I mean I need some chem- and bio-mods so I can more easily adapt to my soon-to-be-new-home’s gravity. Which could have been doubly difficult since I was so accustomed to the Moon, given I’ve been a resident there for so much of my natural life.

Oh, yeah, life. There’s an “adaptation” for that too, as Ambel is so fond of reminding me.

I’m still here on the ship, enjoying the view, soaking in the exoplanet jaunts – Proxima Centauri has five – and trying to fit in as best I can. The people are friendly, as friendly as can be expected considering I’m a shorter, odder-looking version of themselves. Ambel assures me I’ll eventually find my place in their society, but I think she knows I sometimes miss companionship of another sort. How can I not?

Sometimes I find myself hanging out with Ta and Va, who are the most determined of the four in solving the mystery of the folds. I admire all the work they’ve put into this, though I’m noncommittal when asked whether any of their studies will lead to a satisfactory explanation. Just as well, because I’m not sure I want to know. The original fold has long since disappeared into the endless reaches of space.

So just before I’m to leave the ship to begin my history-making tour of Proxima Centauri B, I’m alerted to the appearance of a new fold just beyond the orbit of the furthest exoplanet in the system. Ambel asks if I’m interested in taking a jump over to see it up close.

I think you, dear reader, know my answer.

-END-