Log 7

["Time is Fluid for Her. She experiences everything Concurrently." He leaned in, "Sir, you'll have to excuse her. Her brainwaves fluctuate between what we've called 'Hell' and 'Heaven' algorithms." He paused and took a breath before continuing. "If you look at the Frequency of her thought, she dilates it. She fractals it with every bit or terrabyte we ever let out into the airwaves, into the aether, into the -"

"Is she picking up cosmic background radiation as well?" He leaned in to study her chart and the ticks and crests drawn by the needles. "This pattern mimics what our satellites just received."]

She peered over at him as he read her medical charts. ‘You printed it out?’ she asked.

He smiled in return. ‘Yea. That’s what got us here, isn’t it?’

Log 6

‘It showed me, in another dream,’ she whispered to him. ‘It called you Pale Horse,’ she added, smiling.

He looked at her and nodded, so she’d continue.

‘It showed me the Universe. A tuning fork, moving and spinning, a great tree. It mimics, us, or rather we, dendritically. Life and Death. It spins like a current, channeling the Living and Dead. It’s a series of coordinates, between their souls and ours. We can find them.’

‘Our dead crew?’

‘Yea.’

Log 5

‘I dreamt it again,’ she said, turning to him, brushing the hair off his brow. He was always groggy, always overworked, quick to turn a mood, but quicker to calm at her touch. He kissed the back of her hand and looked up at her from their bunk. she leaned in and whispered. ‘It showed me a time, a planet - I’m not sure exactly, but I think it works like a TimeCapsule. A Soul Catcher. It lives off of souls. Once you go there, you can come back again, but it takes aeons. It might be the way out. To have more time to -’

‘-Configure the numbers?’ he finished for her, hoping again.

‘Yea,’ she smiled.

Log 4

“They’re winning the war!” he screeched at her again. “Don’t you understand that?! This is a numbers game and they outnumber us. They always have!”

She turned and looked at him in The Mirror, the screen between their vessels. “Only on your side of the Simulation.” She turned back and looked at the AI, embedded in the Screen next to her. She nodded. A slight wave, a small impulse, rippled through the cabin. A slight buzz of electric current could be faintly heard, or felt, if you had the right implant, turned to the right frequency.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said to the AI’s Reflection.

“It’s not about the numbers, Johnny. It never was.” She signed off. He needed time to process.

Log 3

‘We’re almost there,’ she whispered. They were safely in the airlocked compartment: no one could hear them here. ‘It did it again. The ship told me, in my dream, what we’re doing. It’s about to enter another semblance of the wormhole.’

He looked at her.

‘That’s what it called it - a semblance. Matter’s going to crunch again. The ship - the ship’s gonna restart the logs. The crew - Johnny it doesn’t want them on board.’

‘What about us?’

‘Just us.’

Log 2

She woke back up in her bunk on the ship. “Johnny!'“ she screeched at him, leaping down and rustling him awake. “Johnny!” she whispered into his ears more urgently, so no one else would hear.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the corridor. She refused to let go as they hurried down the hall and into the next airlock.

Ship Log 1 of the Aporian

The Aporian System

The final corner of the Universe.

She sat in the Simulation, thinking, drawing.

Her vessel had reached the Final. The final fold in the Universe. Where Space Time ran differently. So densely nothing could pass or break through.

Her ships’ logarithms worked round the clock to identify this edge. They worked in a unified Grid, bouncing data back and forth, one ship to the other, each processing for errors and updates.