Adée Rhysbury

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Origin: EID-A-L0N Operator: Adée Rhysbury To: ON-T-AS Payload: 1 Unit Status: Transmission in progress...

"This godforsaken, desolate universe never ends." Adée Rhysbury found the sentence she had just left in her logbook unfamiliar. To be precise: though it was written in her own cursive in her own logbook, to Adée’s eyes, it was merely a resolution composed of condensed space, ink volume, and stroke direction; it would be more accurate to say that the precursor thought behind it did not exist within her consciousness.

But Adée soon lost that sensation of estrangement. Instead, because this space truly was so godforsakenly desolate and endless, she muttered a curse, thinking that if just a little—a little more time passed, she might lose her mind. That is, of course, if there were no guarantee.

The Guarantee

The Guarantee is the most fundamental law of this Space. For instance, we already know these propositions:

• Mass curves spacetime.
• By consuming other living organisms, we obtain thermal energy.
• Entropy always increases. And every single proposition must resolve into truth upon at least one other proposition. Except for the Guarantee.

If the law of the Guarantee were not a foundational fact, not even matter could have been born in our universe. Like the three-body problem, we and the universe would merely sway as forms of eternally cycling energy within a dimensional lattice where only infinite shifts in physical laws exist. But now, you can look at your own hand. Therefore, our Universe is a universe of Guarantee. It means it possesses symmetry.

Cognition, a mechanism of response that isolates us from reality, has virtualized the fulfillment of expectation based on this symmetry as the fundamental law of intellect. Therefore,

"I expect that I will be rescued from here," Adée muttered obsessively. But the space beyond the viewport was merely a dull void. Hypnotized by the flashing graphs and various numbers displayed on the monitor, she waited for the rapidly decreasing figures to reach zero without losing consciousness, then pulled the throttle hard.

As output surged, the cargo she was transporting rattled faintly. 84.5% of the speed of light. Everything was as expected. In 172,297.676 seconds, the hull would have to initiate retro-thrusting to decrease speed by 31%. There was a godforsaken amount of time left.

Using the impending waypoint as an excuse, Adée approached her logbook, which had been tossed into a corner, and brushed a bit of dust off its cover. Bound in a luxurious 19th-century style finished with brown natural leather, this Tabula Rasa of Total Thought was undeniably obsolete and extravagant. In an era where a single silicon chip weighing a few grams could hold (almost) all the records of the universe, hundreds of sheets of pulp bound with oxidized brass buckles and thick cotton thread were, in themselves, an arrogant waste of mass.

Yet, it was the only thing in this space that guaranteed Adée’s biological presence. On this spaceship, the only organic materials were Adée herself, her logbook, a small amount of ceremonial food, and the recyclable plankton sealed inside the storage tanks.

Instead of heading straight to the galley, Adée began to examine her logbook. Each time she opened the cover and turned a page, the physical binding, standing firm like a spine, creaked minutely, aligning itself to the most stable position relative to her and the pages.

Amidst the dry air spat out by the life-support systems and objects whose surfaces had been immaculately finished since their fabrication, only the old leather and fiber of the logbook exuded a faint warmth and the organic scent left behind by beasts of the past. Unlike the cold, metallic panels, it slowly absorbed Adée’s body heat, wrapping rough and firm around her fingertips.