The Last Stars

Some say that there were more suns, 'stars', than ours. That, as the Universe expanded, more and more stars became too distant to observe, we found ourselves increasingly alone. Till, one day, there was but a handful of stars in the distance, till, one day, there was but the darkness over the surface of the deep. Though, no real scientists believe such theories...

Recorded myths and rumours, Minerva Physics Dept. Page. 652

Dr Sinvent was the head of the observational department here at Minerva Social University. I could see him, often, in his glass office, staring off into the Universe – that empty void, as he often did.

"He's doing it again," said Dr Hadbury. "Looking out, as if there's something to be looked at. How is he still an accredited doctor?"

"I really don't know," I said, but I knew it was because we were desperate for scientists. That's why Dr Hadbury had been taken onboard. "Have you ever asked him about his theory? I've been thinking about asking. Just to see what he could say whether he is truly mad in the bad way, not the good way."

"There's nothing to be had from asking. There's only the slim, dangerous chance that his disease of unreal science latches onto you. Then you'd be mad too."

I laughed. "You're right, of course you're right." And we turned back to our quantumputers and began experimenting with matter creation, something from nothing, the impossible solution to our problems. We're running out of mass, and energy. But, in a moment of boredom, as all my inputs turned up negative outputs, I looked over at Dr Sinvent again. He was tall, the ideal height, and we all were – but his eyes were blue, some say from a genetic malfunction in the cultivation stage. And they shined with belief, a strong belief.

"Where are you going?" Said Hadbury, and I didn't know either, but I was walking over to his office and soon I found myself inside. Somehow.

"Dr Sinvent," I asked. He didn't stir, alone in his thoughts and belief, staring out, but immortals could do that for weeks, some months. One time, I nearly went a year. I tapped him by his shoulder, and he creaked his head toward me, dust falling from his face. He blinked.

"Dr Tins," he said. "How can I be of assistance?"

I looked over, through the glass, at Hadbury who was holding back laughter. The laboratory was other almost empty now – like the rest of the building.

"I want to know about the suns."

"There's only one sun," he said, and he narrowed his eyes at me.

"You know what I mean. I want to know about-" And I looked around the room before I whispered the words "-the stars."

He said nothing and blankly at me.

"Look," I said, "I know nobody believes you in this place, but nobody believes anything unreal anymore, not after quantum science told us how much of what we knew wasn't true. I miss the time before. When we knew things that weren't true."

He nodded his head at me and slowly smiled, his muscles taking time to move, but move they did eventually. "I know exactly what you mean. Would you like a drink?"

"Is it safe?"

"The coffee will be the perfect amount of imperfection, so perhaps unsafe enough to be delicious. And it is delicious. That I can promise you."

"You have persuaded me," I said, and soon he began pouring water into the device, and doing a whole host of other, strange, but deliberate manual acts in the labour, and eventually there came the drink. Hot, too hot, but tasteful. He has good taste, like all immortals, indeed.