Creative Destruction

by Bill Kowaleski

Epilogue

Paul Welton stared out the window of his small apartment, considering the restrictions he was facing. For almost five years, he would not be able to visit his family or friends, nor communicate with anyone on the other side of the firewall, nor walk beyond the mysterious Barrier at the edge of the compound. He had been warned to restrict to the daytime his walks in the large courtyard of the apartment and office complex.

The courtyard was a pleasant garden three times as big as an American football field, full of unfamiliar shrubs and flowers tended by Cygnian gardeners, laced with curving, crushed stone walkways, surrounded on three sides by the four-story cluster of apartments, offices, and laboratories, and blocked on the fourth side by a three-meter tall, solid white wall made out of a material similar to concrete.

In the roughly four months he’d been behind the firewall, the weather had stayed perpetually warm and sunny. He’d been feeling more and more uneasy about his surroundings. Something wasn’t right, something was in fact quite strange. His view out the window for example: why didn’t he see the three large cooling towers, so prominent to anyone entering the facility from the outside, visible from Lake Michigan, visible from space, in fact?

The towers were reputed to house the reactors, but he’d been in the reactor complex, and it was small, much smaller than the towers that had become a trademark of the Upper Zion plant, so much so that they almost always formed the backdrop of any news story about the plant.

The weather was strange, too. Shouldn’t it be getting colder? He knew enough about northern Illinois weather to know that it must be October by now, and the days should be getting shorter and colder. But every day was the same as the last: balmy, pleasant, sunny. No one ever spoke of Earth dates inside the secure zone, so his reckoning of time was approximate.

Most of the inhabitants were Cygnians, and they lived by the Cygnian calendar of fivedays. There were three hundred two fivedays in a Cygnian year, and each day was roughly twenty-one hours. He was almost sure the days he’d been experiencing were too short, in fact right around twenty-one hours, but he had no Earth-based timepiece to measure each day’s duration.

The sun had almost set, reminding him of another perplexing topic: nights. He’d been warned not to go out at night, that the courtyard wasn’t safe. In fact, he’d never noticed any Cygnians outside after dark, and he hadn’t gone out after dark, either. But with Andrew gone to Botswana and everyone intensely occupied with bringing the next reactor online, he decided that tonight he’d sneak out and see what scary things might be lurking. What did he have to lose?

An hour passed. Welton had a pleasant dinner in the cafeteria, sitting with two of the five humans that lived on the secure side. Surrounding them were a number of Cygnians messily slurping redgrain from silver bowls on the floor. They ate quickly and moved away, but some engaged in thought conversation about technical matters or upcoming trips home. Paul greatly envied their ability to freely return home, a privilege he would be denied for a very long time to come.

After dinner, he observed that it was completely dark outside. He lingered in the hallway, saw each human return to his or her room, the Cygnians retire to their communal sleeping space. He slowly approached the door to the unlit, pitch-black courtyard. He pulled the door slowly, fearful of an alarm, but nothing happened. He stepped outside, his eyes trying to adjust, and soon he could see faint shadows cast by the light coming from the complex’s windows. He looked around, fearing attack by some animal, but he saw nothing, heard nothing. He walked the circumference of the courtyard slowly, warily, stood still, relaxed. There was nothing to fear here, nothing out of the ordinary.

Then he looked up.

Paul knew the night sky, had spent many nights as a boy with a telescope and a sky atlas, and what he saw was as shocking as anything he’d ever seen in his life. He struggled to find a familiar constellation, something to set an anchor for his latitude, tell him the time of year. But stars dotted the sky thickly in patterns he’d never seen, patterns he knew were impossible anywhere on Earth and, to his right and left, his eye caught three objects, unmistakably moons: a larger one, twice the size of Earth’s moon, with a bluish cast, the other two moons ghostly gray-white, barely more than large stars. He sucked in his breath and considered what it all meant. He was not on Earth, that was clear. But then, where was he?

A slamming sound shocked him. His heart shifted into a race as he swiveled around looking for its source. He was standing as far away as possible from the doorway he’d used to enter the courtyard and it was from that door that he saw movement. Two Cygnians stood just beyond the door in the courtyard.

“Busted!” he thought, but then he sensed thoughts coming from the Cygnians. They were his two closest friends on the secure side, Guard-Robert and Technician-Peter. They ambled slowly toward him, transmitting reassurance.

“A beautiful, starry evening, Paul,” Technician-Peter began. “You can see all three of the moons, a rare treat on this world.”

“Yes,” added Guard-Robert, “such beauty, such a temperate climate. I don’t mind working here at all.”

“Well, good evening guys,” Paul said. “I guess y’all aren’t gonna bust me for breakin’ the rules and comin’ on out here.”

“Oh, no.” Guard-Robert transmitted amusement. “It was more like a guideline and, anyway, this day had to come. Why don’t you sit on that bench to your right, Paul, this may take a while.”

Welton sat slowly, feeling strangely content, almost as he had as a twelve-year old boy camping out in the back yard, telescope and star atlas beside him, discovering the vastness of the universe. “We’re not on Earth, are we, guys?”

“It’s not just that we’re not on Earth,” Technician-Peter said, “it’s that we’re not even in the same universe that Earth and Cygnus Prime inhabit.”

“Oh, my, I wasn’t ready for that!”

“You’ve expressed several times your confusion about the heat transfer. You’ve noted that the numbers don’t seem to add up. I’ve assured you that we’d get around to explaining it all, but that it was very complicated. Well, let me take you the next step down the road.

“The simple explanation, the one without the math, is that this universe has properties that make it just a little easier to start and maintain a fusion reaction. The ratio of the strengths of the nuclear force and electrostatic repulsion are just a little more favorable to nuclei combining. Not a great deal, mind you, or this planet would have ignited but, most assuredly, smaller, lighter bodies can become stars here, and often do. Yet in so many other ways, this universe is like ours. It even has doppelganger planets. This one, for example, is a kind of mash-up between Earth and Cygnus Prime.”

“So are y’all telling me that all the key elements, the fusion reactions themselves, are taking place in an alternate universe, and you’re funneling the energy to Earth?”

“Exactly!” Peter transmitted appreciation of Paul’s quick understanding. “You totally get it. No fusion reaction occurs at Upper Zion, in fact no Cygnians are there or anywhere else on Earth, except when a very few of us cross the firewall of course, which isn’t that often.”

“Then... wait a minute...” Paul stuttered, trying make sense of the crazy idea growing in his mind, an idea just too crazy to be possible, but it had to be... “The towers in Lake Michigan, what do they do?”

Guard-Robert transmitted intense amusement, like a hearty laugh. “They pose for the cameras.”

“They’re fakes?”

“They’re what you Earthlings call a Potemkin village,” Guard-Robert explained. “They create the illusion that there’s a fusion reactor complex at the Upper Zion location, but all that’s really there is an energy receiving and dispersal station. The fusion reactions only occur right here, on Cygnus Alterna-Six.”

“But why—”

“Because it’s much easier to sustain a large reaction here. Plus, it’s an extra layer of security and safety. Security is my profession, and I am considered one of my planet’s foremost experts. It was my idea, actually, to build the Potemkin village. If there ever was a serious attack on the facility, they’d at worst destroy a bunch of empty, cheaply-made props. If they knew the energy was being generated here, it could be possible to mount an attack through the firewall, though that would have less than one chance in ten to the tenth power of being successful.”

“So you Cygnians built that phony reactor complex on a one in ten billion chance of an attack?”

“We’re known for our excessive caution,” deadpanned Technician-Peter. “But seriously, there’s another, better reason for the phony complex. It creates a strong identity for Upper Zion, impresses Earth’s people as a center of new technology, makes Earthlings feel that they are in control, that they are the ones generating the energy. A power receiving and dispersal station just doesn’t feel the same. At least this is what the Sociologist told me. He was a strong proponent of Guard-Robert’s concept and our planet’s foremost authority on you Earthlings.”

Paul Welton sat silently, considering all he’d just learned. It made sense, it fit together, except for one thing.

“What about those smaller generators, like the one that burned down Keyshawn’s father’s house? Is the energy for them generated in this universe also?”

“Yes and no. They actually ignite the reaction here and then move it into the reactor, where it is maintained under high pressure and fed its water fuel. Only the largest reactors require so much pressure that we must generate the energy here and transport it to the place it’s needed.”

Paul shook his head in admiration. “Man, I cannot believe it. All the effort and thought that’s gone into creatin’ fusion power on Earth, and y’all just made an end run and did it the easy way!”

“Well of course,” Technician-Peter replied. “Why not? Once you understand altverse technology, you realize that you can do almost anything. All it takes is finding the right combination of physical constants and properties; in other words, specifying the parameters of the appropriate alternate universe. Why exhaust yourself trying to do something in a universe that works against you?”

They’d run out of things to say for the moment, so they all turned their eyes up to the exotic sky. The moons had moved considerably. The largest one was near the horizon now, and the two others had drifted very close together almost directly overhead. The night had turned cooler, but it was still far from uncomfortable.

Technician-Peter turned his eyestalks back toward Paul. “It has been my observation that we Cygnians and you Earthlings are more alike than I thought possible. We sit here, like old clan-mates discussing the wonders all around us, and we can all feel the excitement, be overwhelmed by the sheer scope of all there is to know and discover. Both our species feel this way. It bodes well for our future together.”

“Well,” Paul cautioned, “we’re not all so open-minded, my friend. Some humans are nothing but big balls of superstitions and fears.”

“Yes, we are aware of political movements on Earth to try to expel us and dismantle Upper Zion. This amuses us, knowing that no Cygnians are even stationed on Earth, and that there are no large fusion reactors to dismantle there. It makes me feel that in some ways, Guard-Robert and I have more in common with you, Paul, than you do with some other members of your own species.”

Paul sighed. “How right you are, Peter, how very right you are.”

Guard-Robert’s eyestalks quivered, indicating that he’d had a thought. “Technician, do you realize that you and Paul have something else very significant in common?”

“Oh, yes, Guard, I am most aware of it, but I doubt Paul knows.”

“What was that you said, Peter? We have something else in common?”

“Yes, Paul. Just like you, I cannot go home. It’s for a very different reason, but I spend all my time here.”

“Yeah, I did notice that. You even stuck around for the musk season, which was a pretty small thing here, what with there being only six females and eight males during the festivities.”

“Yes, I’ll need to get accustomed to that. I miss the giant party at home, but I cannot go back to Cygnus Prime for many years. You see, I was a member of the Green Band herd, but I betrayed them to save Keyshawn on Tertia. Until that evil herd is broken up, they will always be looking for me, to punish me for my betrayal.”

“So that was you, the Junior-Clansman that Keyshawn told me about! He was over here a while back and spun the whole yarn for me; about how y’all helped to find him in a cave in the mountains, and how your clan-mate ended up being eaten by some kinda wolf creatures. Musta been tough, changin’ sides like that.”

“No, it was the easiest thing I ever did. Green Band is the most evil force on our world and, even though I was born into it, it was easy to make the decision to turn away from them. Every day I think about it, and every day I again am thankful to be free of them. GFG was most generous to give me this employment, and their herd was most kind in accepting me, giving me great honor and providing me with a new functional name, Technician, which I am most proud of.”

It was Paul’s turn to have a minor revelation. “Say, Peter, that guy who got killed during the rescue on Tertia, wasn’t he also named Peter?”

“Yes, I inserted his name, the name that helps you Earthlings identify us as individuals, into my thought translator as a small memorial to him. I was there when he died. It is a rare and horrible thing for us Cygnians to witness such a violent death. I will never be able to forget it.”

They stared some more at the strange sky, silent until a sudden gust of wind chilled Paul. “I think I’m headin’ back in, guys. Y’all got that nice blue fur to keep you warm, but I’m just wearin’ a t-shirt.”

In the hallway, his eyes trying to adjust to the harsh artificial lighting that glowed in wavelengths mimicking those on Cygnus Prime, Paul looked at his two extraterrestrial friends with new eyes. They were strange when he’d first seen them, but that had passed, and now what he saw were creatures that impressed him tremendously. They were intelligent beyond comprehension, and capable of loyalty and friendship as strong as that of the best people he’d ever met. Thank heavens they were benign! With their intelligence and technical capabilities, Earth would have no chance at all if they’d chosen to be warlike. There was so much that humans could learn from them, so much good that could come from their working together.

Paul walked slowly down the corridor to his apartment. As he prepared himself for bed, the enormity of what he had been witnessing fully enveloped him. He fell on the bed and his mind soared beyond himself, the room, the power complex, the planet, the universe. For just an instant he grasped the immensity of it all, but then it slipped away.

In that instant he knew how small he was and yet, at the same time, he knew that he was a part of something much larger. He had a role to play. He had a reason to be. At that moment, he would have agreed with James Martin, a man he’d never met, that sometimes there was no better choice than to just “jump on the train.” He sighed, relaxed, and drifted off to dreams of infinite lives, infinite universes, and infinite possibilities.