We weren't considering a biological solution. Procreating was no longer an option. Life teetered at the precipice of failure, through little fault of its own. We were the last remnants of humanity, experiencing the heat death of the universe. When I say I am human, it is like comparing a protozoa to an elephant (a creature briefly mentioned in history textbooks). We barely resemble those creatures that lived on long expired Earth. For this reason, I feel no compulsion to describe myself or my companions. Just know, at fifty-three hundred and seven, I am considered young, and would have many decades of thousands of years to live, if we had sustenance to live on. Already subsiding on miserable rations for weeks, we only had food for a few more days. Conventional farming failed long ago, and we subside on the crumbs of a dead civilization. But we had enough. We are minutes away from completing our desperate mission.
The records indicate that our pre-expansion ancestors on Earth knew about the inevitable heat death of the universe. Eventually, all systems, large or small, tend toward entropy, and in this ever expanding universe, energy will spread itself equally. This equality, across a near infinite space, will result in an emptiness, “like butter scraped over too much bread,” to quote one of my favorite books. Our ancestors knew these facts in the dawn of time, nearly 1.5 quadrillion years ago. For clarity's sake, I am not living at the heat death of the universe. That's further from me, than I am from the humanity of Earth. But nearly all galaxies, solar systems, and planets have ceased to exist. A remnant of stars and planets, like orphaned children, travel on their solitary courses through empty space. Our ancestors knew this would come to pass. But they did nothing, leaving the problem for future generations.
Eventually humanity couldn't ignore the threat, but like the ancient Earthers who ignored climate change, my predecessors continued to deceive themselves. As the edges of our galactic empire crumbled over millennia, one president told the people the truth. Life in the universe was ending forever. While most despaired, he funded secret projects, searching for a solution.
At first, inspired by our discovery of the Purpose Project, we considered an analogous solution, but one worthy of our technological advancement. Our community discarded this concept, realizing it was pointless. In the face of eternity, even the Project would fail, obliterating its purpose. We were searching not for a salve to our current state, but a true solution, to rejuvenate life. From this realization, the Restart Realignment grew.
I am one of the most advanced physicists in the history of the universe. This isn't an attempt at bragging. I know I stand on the shoulders of millions of intellectual giants who preceded me. I only say this to explain why I can't describe how the project works to any but my contemporaries. Explaining my science to ancients would be like relating quarks to a quail. It would require thousands of pages, if not dozens of years, with diagrams and demonstrations. But even the people of ancient Earth discovered the Big Bang, and that is enough for the broad picture. The universe has been expanding ever since the Bang blasted, without any signs of slowing down.
We discovered a method to rapidly reverse the process. Like pulling the plug in a tub, we can draw everything back into a single point. Presumably the concentrated stuff would recreate another Big Bang, restarting the universe.
“How do we know we aren't the first civilization to restart the Big Bang? How do we know we aren't the hundredth iteration of the universe?”
That was Eldrith. With hunger gnawing at our organs, we stood, sat, or reclined in the dim emergency light of our vessel. Talking. It began when Eldrith called us together. We had been anxiously awaiting the conclusion of his work, the final key to our success.
“I'm ready to input the last calculation, but,” he said, “I won't, not until I'm convinced of its success.”
“Our calculations show a 99.999% chance of success,” I replied.
He was already looking at me, before I spoke. “Let me rephrase. I am not concerned with the material success, but the reason for its purpose.”
I suppose, as the youngest, my idealism makes me hot headed. He pushed me roughly aside as I leapt at him. In a moment I was bound to a metal outcropping.
“Mynos,” he said, looking down at me, “I'm asking a simple question. Satisfy my curiosity.”
Breathing heavily, I sat stunned from the rough handling I'd received. I motioned for a moment to gather my thoughts. My fellow scientists hadn't moved except to exclaim at my tumble.
“I'm a scientist, not a mystic,” I began, looking at Eldrith. “But I think life is good.” I thought my point, while concise, was clear, but I could see he wasn't satisfied.”
He shook his head and motioned to Lycene. “Tell our friend here why he is incorrect.”
She responded to the cue, as if an actor in a play. “What does he mean good? Mynos, do you mean life is good because it is enjoyable?”
I hadn't considered the meaning of good, but I decided to play along, “Yes. I've enjoyed my life.”
She laughed, that clear sound, that I'll never forget, and said, “But what about the hunger you are feeling right now?”
“It's temporary. It will pass.” My stomach grumbled in protest.
“Imagine that we don't finish the project, due to some failure in our calculations, and we spend our last days dying in agony. Now imagine, reflect, on the trillions (or more) of living things that have died in terrible torture of pain and terror. Drowning, burning, decapitation, starvation, dehydration, cancer, heart failure, stroke, wounds on the battlefield, accidents, degenerative diseases, broken limbs, infections, fevers, murder, and the anticipation of all those deaths. Imagine not only these, but those who were deliberately tortured, mutilated, and left for dead. How can you say life is good?”
I had never considered these questions. As I said, and I will probably say again, I'm not a biologist, but a physicist. “I don't know enough to contest these points. Maybe the suffering of death doesn't ruin the average life.”
“You concede?” asked Eldrith.
“No,” I said, casting about in my mind for a rebuttal, “What about the striving of life to survive. It's in our genes, our desire to ensure that life of some sort continues. I'll never have offspring, but I could consider all future generations of our project my children.”
“No good,” replied Eldrith, with a smirk, “As a rational, conscious creature, I can reject any subconscious desire to reproduce. As for life, if it is mostly suffering, as Lycene contends (and I do think you've failed to rebut her point) then as a knowledgeable being, I should prevent the creation of future generations.
I stared up at him at a loss, my limbs pinioned to my sides. There was nothing I could do. I tried a bluff.
“But you are really going to press the button,” I said, with a smile. “This is just you pulling my leg (to use an ancient idiom).”
He reflected my smile with a grimace. “No, I'm afraid not.”
Part II: Next Week
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