THE SOUTHWORTH PLANETARIUM
70 Falmouth Street Portland, Maine 04103
(207) 780-4249 usm.maine.edu/planet
43.6667° N 70.2667° W Altitude: 10 feet below sea level Founded
January 1970
2021-2022: XLVIII
"Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about." -Oscar
Wilde
THE DAILY ASTRONOMER
Monday, November 29, 2021
On the Bridge
It was a small blessing that nobody could hear the explosion. The very
sight of it from the bridge was sufficient to provoke the profoundest
terror into every crew member unfortunate enough to witness it. The
nervous chatter that had persisted between the testy and tired crew members
became, well, more nervous.
"The fifth ship annihilated in this quadrant within the last 11.4
minutes!" the overly precise hybrid wolf-arachnid reported from the violet
tinctured observation portal.
"The enemy apparently possess warheads capable of destroying fleet
vessels with a single shot, provided, of course, the laser strikes within
13- 24 degrees of either side of the forward bow," interjected the
bejeweled Betelgeusian, voice heightened to a panicked pitch and tentacles
flailing as though ensnared in a maelstrom.
"What are we going to do?!" the conjoined dwarves shouted, in
unison, of course, as they gripped the thrusters with four trembling hands.
"Remain calm," the Captain said over the deafening cacophony of
shrieks, gasps and wails that served as a brilliant accompaniment to the
sight of flaming ship parts that suddenly careened past the main
observation window: a wide, pristine pane of reinforced quartz that
afforded everyone a safe view of all the transpired in front of them.
"Are you seeing this, Captain?!" a voice screamed over the speaker
"Yes, Leo," Captain Beiser replied solemnly. "I'm seeing it."
"What should we do?" Leo demanded, his tone clearly perturbed.
"Stay the course, Leo. No deviations."
"Are you sure, Captain?"
"One hundred percent. Our fuel supply is sufficient, I presume?"
"Yes, sir."
Beiser remained firm. "You have my instructions, Leo."
"Yes, sir," Leo replied, his tone indicative of deep concern.
As the speaker snapped off, Beiser spoke to his crew. It was one of those
moments that separated a good captain from a sub-standard one. The
capacity to exhibit pure confidence when none was to be had. "Plenty of
time to grieve once this battle ends, folks. Helmsley, fortify the
shields. Lullanna, send a transmission to the closest enemy vessel.
Perhaps we can persuade them to discontinue hostilities. Cassandra,
prepare a damage survey to determine if our ship sustained any breach from
that explosion. Belioupee, Eepuoileb, you two ensure that the photon
cannons are prepared. Contact Leo if you detect a sudden power reduction."
At that precise moment, a white hot beam scraped by the ship,
causing sensors to release deafening shrieks.
"Temperature spike on the starboard side!" Cassandra yelled while
looking at her wall monitor. "No direct hit, but the outer structure
integrity is compromised!"
The dwarves turned their heads. "That's the very area where the
cannons are housed. We might no longer be capable of answering their fire."
"Ah, perfect..." the Captain said, lowering his head in his
hand. "Now my migraine has returned."
Helmsley: "Shields only at 18% and decreasing by 3% every 17
seconds!"
Cassandra: "That means the shields will be at 6% in about one
minute!"
Helmsley: "No, it will be at 15.93% in a minute. Open a math
book once in a while!"
Cassandra: "Oh, excuse me, professor. I'll go kill myself!"
Helmsley: "Don't bother! Look where we are!"
Lullanna: "No response from the other vessels, Captain. Should I
continue my attempts to establish contact?"
The Captain waved his hand dismissively. "By all means, go
ahead..."
The following second, which seemed to last half an eternity, was
an abrupt shock of incandescence and rumbling as the ship just off to their
starboard side erupted into a ball of flame. Abandoning every last
pretense of calmness, the bridge crew members screamed in hopeless
desperation and hugged their respective stations as the ship was tumbled
and tossed as though on the waves of a storm-swept sea. At that moment,
the usually imperturbable captain jumped violently as he felt a nudge on
his shoulder. He looked up wild-eyed at Ogilvy, the thin, lanky, fidgety
on-board philosopher.
"Yes?!" the captain demanded while trying to ignore Hemsley's
desperate prayers and the smoke plume suddenly visible outside the main
window.
"Captain," Ogilvy said, gulping and nibbling his fingers, "I don't
remember what I ate for breakfast this morning."
Stunned, the captain stared incomprehensibly at the philosopher and
so was unable to see the errant piece of ship flotsam smashing against the
ship, causing a spider web-like crack to form along the panoramic viewing
window.
"What?" the captain shouted over the din of deafening screams and
alarms.
Ogilivy bit his knuckles. "I don't know what I had for
breakfast, captain...."
"Could. This. Possibly. Wait?" the captain seethed, seeing in
his peripheral vision the conjoined twins vainly trying to bolt from the
bridge in opposite directions.
"Oh, I so wish it could, Captain, but, alas, I am experiencing a
particularly difficult existential crisis."
"Look out the window, you fool!" the captain demanded, pointing
to the scraps of metal and three alienesque bodies drifting lazily across
the view field.
Ogilvy tumbled into the captain as the bridge quaked and
shuddered. A voice called out over the wailing, "Shields and cannons
inoperable; hull breached in sixteen different locations and bridge doors
disabled, preventing evacuation."
"And I don't recall lunch, either, now that I think about it,"
Ogilvy added as he pushed himself off the captain, whose migraine curiously
didn't improve.
Had the bridge not gone dark at that moment, the captain's
expression would have vaporized Ogilvy, whose chatter continued despite the
chaos. "I don't seem to remember waking up or attending the academy or
even my parents, for that matter. My recollection is, well, reminiscent
of that void out there. Captain, I am flummoxed and uncertain about how
to alleviate my angst. I just seemed to have appeared suddenly...
spontaneous existence. Nonsensical, actually. I mean, after all, why do
combat-class spaceships need philosoph..."
At that moment, a blinding white sphere of blue-white flame
crashed into the window while everyone on the bridge, captain and
philosopher included, screamed out their last breaths.
"Gotcha!"
"Wait a minute!" Stephen flipped over the piece of paper and
looked down at the ink circle. "No, look, Albert, that's too big!"
"No, it ain’t!”
“It is. Look!”
Stephen withdrew the ruler and measured the ink circle’s
diameter. “See? Three millimeters above regulation size.”
“Let me see.”
Albert examined the ruler closely and then sighed. “Oh, I
guess…”
Stephen grinned and smugly said, “That means that I get that
ship back and without any damages at all!”
Albert sneered. “Fine! You won’t keep it long, though.”
Stephen drew the ship again on his piece of paper next to the
scribble mark that covered the original craft. It was a particularly
unimpressive ship: a semi-circle atop a trapezoid dotted by little
dots. The two boys had been engaged in a paper ship battle for the last
fifteen minutes. In this simple game, a long piece of paper was folded in
half. Ten ships were positioned in various spots on both sides. Each
player took turns drawing a circle on their side of the paper and then
folding it over. Then, the player drew over that circle and if it only
slightly touched a ship, it was considered damaged. If more than half the
circle connected with the ship, it was destroyed.
“There. A brand new ship fully intact.”
Albert beamed. Stephen rolled his eyes.
“Oh, thank you,” the captain said to Cassandra as she brought
him a steaming cup of Darjeeling tea. “Yes, Professor Ogilivy,” he then
said between sips. “You wanted to talk to me.”
“Well, yes, captain, I am experiencing some metaphysical
concerns that I thought it advisable to discuss."
“Metaphysical, eh?” the captain said, holding the cup to his
lips. Such was the exquisite flavor of the tea that he couldn’t help but
be in a congenial mood.
“I seem to have suffered a loss of memory.”
“Sounds more psychological than metaphysical to me, perhaps you
should report to sick bay for an evalua… oh!” The captain jumped, causing
some of the tea to spill over his chair. “What was that?!”
“Incoming fire, captain,” Helmsley said, looking hard at his
console. “Shook the hull but no damage.”
“An unprovoked attack? Hmm…. Lullana, send out messages to all
proximate vessels. Let’s find out who’s trying to ruin our day.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Look, the psychologists can help with that,” the captain said,
wiping tea droplets from his shirt. “I suddenly have other matters with
which to contend.”
“Well, it is not just memory, but nothing is making sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“For instance, that attempted assault just now. We didn’t see
any incoming light.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t,” Helmsley interjected. As the bridge was so
quiet apart from the soothing hum of the computers, he couldn’t help but
overhear the conversation. “A laser beam wouldn’t appear in space because
it isn’t passing through any material. In order for the beam to be
visible, it would have to reflect on intervening material such as smoke or
another medium consisting of particul... Whoa!”
“Was that another attack?!” the captain demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Damage?”
“Getting reports now, sir.”
The captain gulped down the last of his tea. “What’s going
on?! One minute we were floating around with these other ships and now
this?”
“One of those ships just exploded, Sir. Look!”
Ogilvy directed his finger toward the window. “We’re seeing the
light from that explosion, are we not?”
“Because the light is radiating in all directions, not just
one!” Helmsley said, bracing himself against the console. “Captain, I
think we’re in trouble!’
“Damage report?”
“Substantial hull breach. Repair in process.”
“Belioupee, Eepuoileb, prepare the cannons for return fire.
Lullana, any luck?”
“Nothing, Captain. No responses to any transmission.”
“Fine time for reticence.”
“Captain, Helmsley’s cogent explanation notwithstanding, I have
developed a hypothesis that, well, might prove a bit disconcerting.”
“Not now, Ogilivy,” the captain said with the bite of
impatience in his voice. “Can’t you see we’re in a bit of a crisis?!”
“That is the point, Sir. It is a crisis, at least a
metaphysical one.”
“Later!” the captain demanded, swatting at the philosopher as
though he were a persistent gnat.
The bridge shook and the tense silence exploded into
shouting.
“Remain calm,” the captain commanded, struggling to maintain
his own composure. “Shields to full.”
“Shields down to 46 percent.”
“Oh, Hell!” the captain snapped. “Evasive maneuvers?”
“Our ship is incapable of motion, captain.”
“Is it? How did we get here?!”
The usually diffident Ogilivy was so astounded by this latest
piece of information, that he hopped down the bridge and stood before the
panoramic view screen through which plumes of billowing smoke and fragments
of flaming ship parts were suddenly visible.
“Everyone!” the philosopher shouted with as much energy as he
could muster. He was pleased to see that everyone was looking in his
direction. Of course, they were paying more attention to the expanding
ball of flame out the window than to him.
“I… I hypothesize that we are akin to virtual particles and came into
existence only a few moments ago and we either snap in and out of existence
just as precipitously or else we dissolve into oblivion.”
“Shut up!!” they all shouted in unison as the blinding flame
devoured the ship.
“There. Gotcha! Regulation size, too!”
Stephen threw down his pen. “Yeah, you did.”
“And, it was your last ship. I have one left. I win!”
“All right, Albert,” Stephen sneered. “You win.”
Stephen stood up from the kitchen table and strode into the
living room while Albert drew additional sections onto his one remaining
ship. He half listened to his friend talking from the other room. “Mom,
we’re finished. Can I have my Nintendo Switch back?”
“No, you may not! You get it back tomorrow.”
“Oh, come on, Mom. We played that stupid paper ship game you
showed us.”
“And now you can go outside and play. It’s a beautiful day.”
“And do what?”
“Run around. Play tag. Get out some energy. Do something
besides sitting in front of your video games. Honestly, you’re going to
turn into a zombie.”
The heated conversation continued for a few moments while
Albert continued to doodle. He stopped when Stephen walked into the
kitchen. “Come on. Let’s go outside. Mom is being totally unreasonable.”
Albert dropped his pen and followed his disgruntled friend out
the door. A few moments later, Stephen’s mother wandered into the kitchen
and noticed the paper ship game on the table. “Hmmm," she said,
picking it up. "My son actually put ink to paper. Now, where’s that
laminator?”
Jean Paul stopped momentarily by the cappuccino dispenser.
The dispenser’s violet light flashed as a robotic voice said, “Serve hot
and enjoy!” The wall-eyed old man withdrew the beverage and smiled
broadly at the aroma. He and his companion then continued their stroll
down the interminably long corridor, dark apart from the neon lighting
running along the metallic floor and the light shining through the grates
spaced ten meters apart.
“I mean, all of our needs are constantly met, Jean Paul. We’ve
existed here for an interminable period and though we seem to be fulfilling
no purpose, our lives are strangely satisfying, what with symposiums each
evening in the observation room. And apart from that horrific battle that
ended so long ago I can only vaguely remember it, nothing else seems ever
to have happened outside our ship. I don’t know, Jean Paul, I insist that
something is amiss and perhaps we should conduct a more thorough
investigation.”
Jean Paul stopped, placed the cup within a magnetic beam so as
to suspend it in mid-air and clasped his companion’s hand in his own.
“Simone, my dear, none of the others is troubled.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? So much time in space aboard
an immensely large craft teeming with nothing but existentialist
philosophers and yet we’re all so blissfully happy, anyway. We don’t age.
And we remain suspended in deep space.” Simone’s voice broke ever so
slightly. “There’s no exit and I must wonder if we shall remain here
forever.”
“Is that such a cause for concern?”
“Isn’t it? It doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“Come,” Jean Paul urged, offering her his left arm and grabbing
his cup with his right hand, “maybe it’s not meant to make sense.”
Simone took his arm and they resumed their morning stroll.
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Finding new parts of the ship every day? Eternity with our
friends and with each other in deep space and with access to an
inexhaustible reservoir of cappuccino? No, it doesn’t bother me at all.”
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"I mean, we're not even speaking French, for Heaven's sake!"
"Let it go, Simone. Let it go."