Sunday, May 25, 2014

You call out, "Hello? Is anybody here? I need help!"

No answer. You think you hear a clanging sort of sound in the distance, but the noise disappears as quickly as it appears, and you are left to ponder what to do, not having a clue about where you are, or even what universe you are currently in.  Did your ship manage to pass through the center of Quasar Alpha before it was ripped apart?  Which side of the supermassive black hole are you on right now?  And who found you and put you here?  And what have they done with your ship?

Your ship is gone.  You did not say this, and no one said it to you, but you hear it just the same, loud and clear, smack in the middle of your head.  Again, you hear the faint clanging sounds, like the creaking of some old piece of heavy machinery, long in use.  What is going on here?

The graivtational pull of the ICT system ripped your ship apart molecule-by-molecule.  There it is again -- a thought emanating directly into your own head, although you certainly did not willingly put that thought there.  You suspect that the being that must have saved your life after your ship disintegrated is speaking directly into your brain.  Earth is full of stories of other life forms capable of amazing feats of technology, physical prowess or mental thought, and telepathy has long been suspected of being possible for higher developed life forms, although precious few on earth seem able to tap into the rarely-used portions of their brains to access such abilities.  It seems you are now able to comfirm what Earth-bound scientists have long suspected about the existence of such extra sensory perceptions.

You crane your head around to see if you might be able to see who is speaking with you, but all you see is the room you are currently in, and fuzzy blackness through the entryways on either side.  "Who are you?" you ask out loud, to no one in particular.  The voice responds, directly inside your head again -- My specific identity is not important.  For your purposes, all you need to know is that I am one of the Caretakers.

"The Caretakers"? you ask, again aloud, "What does that mean?  Caretakers of what?"

Of the ICT.  We spend our days within the vast tunnel network connecting various planes of the universe to one another through wormholes, like the one you tried to travel through to get here.  Observing, learning, and of coruse maintaining the tunnels to the extent needed to keep the lines of transport open.  Your ship broke apart while passing through the wormhole from your world, and right now you lie in the middle of two planes of the universe, not fully remaining in your world anymore, but not yet fully a part of the new, either.

You are suddenly very curious.  "Who else uses these tunnels so much that they require full-time on-site maintenance?"

Oh, many different lifeforms, comes the response directly into the middle of your brain.  You realize you are starting to develop a serious headache from all of this direct thought-contact.

Your brain is not ready for this degree of direct communication just now.  Sleep for a bit, and when you awake, we can drop you via a maintenance shuttle either at Maxoni, a nearby system where you should be able to find another starship that can return you to your galaxy, or to Omega-Emlot, considered by most to be the leading world in this galaxy, where you can expect to see and learn things you never would have dreamed of where you come from.

As the thudding pain in your head increases, you feel yourself drawn closer and closer to sleep, until you cannot possibly fight it off any longer.  You drift, dreaming of your two choices as far as what to do next.



Shall you choose Maxoni, aiming to get a new ship so that you will not be stranded here forever, trillions of light years away from home?

OR


Or do you prefer Omega-Emlot, to try to find out as much as you can about this new quadrant of the universe?

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