I stand on the barren wastelands of an alien world, blood red soil encasing condensed minerals. No liquid in sight. It’s ten times too hot for life to exist, so how did I get here? I vaguely remember an asteroid slamming into the shuttle I boarded. I scratch my head at the fact that I’m not instantly vaporized. There’s a crashed space shuttle in the distance, although I’m certain this one is much more massive than the pod I took. I can just make out the narrow line of flames catching on the kilometer-high antenna.
Staring at the eerily purple sky, I feel a chill run down me. A literal one. This creature resembles a huge cephalopod, teeth razor sharp, lining the round mouth which sits in its belly. Tentacles, cold, slimy, begin to wrap around my waist, my torso, closing in on the flesh on my neck.
Suddenly, I’m in my bed, lying in a stressful position, breathing too frequently for comfort. It was only a dream, I tell myself. I sit up and see my bedclothes encircle my loin, proceeding to fall to the ground. Well that explains it. Slippers on, yawning, I order myself out of bed and find my way to the living room.
A cup of warm cappuccino awaits on the table. Vanessa must have gone out early this morning, commonplace for a part-time reporter, I guess, but she always remembers to leave me a drink when she does so. My sister’s known for being on the move to unusual places to film news, in fact, since she’s not scheduled on the launch site, she’s probably somewhere bizarre already, like the octopus museum or something. Crumbled copper walls engulfs the place like a sunken submarine. Tanks filled with a boiling, foul-smelling liquid that used to be water houses what few octopi still remain there. Never knew why they decided to build it, it just makes no sense to have it standing for half a century and counting, and it receives zero visitors anyway. If she is there, I’d bet they’re having trouble coming up with anything sophisticated enough to say or show on camera.
The surprisingly bright New York sunrise demands attention through the triple-paned window, tinting the drink a light brown. I take the cup, sipping the sweet contents. My eyes wander in the distance towards the site. Launch is due in three hours. This is the first ever human launch to the fifth dimension.
Technically, there exists four dimensions in our universe——length, width, height and time. Though students before 2029 were taught three—— time wasn’t officially considered a dimension until then. But then, on a sacred day two years ago, first of April, 2036, scientist and professor Paul Meighner managed to grasp the fine clues of the fifth dimension through observing a tiny black hole located just a handful of light years away from Earth. I know about the universe here and there, but even so I’m no astronomer, and I’d have no idea what Meighner’s study was talking about if there weren’t explanations, but if everyone says it’s correct, then who am I to argue? However back then it was April Fools, so no one believed him or anything about the paper he published. That was until a few days later, a group of French scientists issued another dissertation on the same exact subject, proving that his research was indeed valid, and following evidence throughout time cemented its correctness, blowing the astronomy field into chaos. As the trend continued, more and more skeptical individuals desperately tried——and failed——to overthrow his discovery. Gradually, people accepted the existence of the fifth dimension and, through numerous government debates which themselves could fill a whole book, prepared to launch the daring ones who were willing to put their life on the line for science, into the black hole in question and out the other end.
Of course, they’re not gambling on a universal scale. Meighner’s esoteric study pointed out that the traditional Spaghetti Theory of how matter falls into black holes is totally untrue. An individual standing beside a black hole will barely even notice it. As his body gets quantized and passes through the barrier between universes, all consciousness is gone from him for an instant, just enough for every neuron in his brain to be transferred out the other side.
Like I said, I’m no deep-end expert at black holes, but I’d get Meighner’s point fast enough. The question remains though.
Would it work?
Almost a year ago, the Global Astronomy Confederation, or GAC, decided it was applicable for such an activity to be thrown into action. And so here I am today, nervous as wreck, trembling to pack my bags when I realize I don’t need to take anything with me. All I need is knowledge hopefully enough to ensure the launch doesn’t go wrong. Whatever the outcome is, it’s going to be a first. I arrange my suit and tie that I’ve been saving specifically for this occasion. They were a gift from my sister last year. Highest quality dark silk on the market, pearl white stripes on the tie with the big Zoner logo on both pieces. Clearly she requested for them to be specially designed to fit my image.
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