Hanu? and I observed the collision quietly. I saw the images of the cloud reflected in the eyes of Petr. The politicians grew mute, newly filled glasses of Bohemia Sekt suspended in midair. For a moment, I wondered whether they had all forgotten that I existed. Hanu? too turned his attention away from me, did not search my mind for reactions, his body rising and falling in front of the observation glass.
What else rested within the contours of ever-expanding matter? What mysteries other than bamboo-legged extraterrestrials and volatile clouds of intergalactic gas and debris awaited me? Rusalka sang her joys and sorrows. Petr and his engineers and politicians gazed upon their many screens. (I had to wonder whether any of these men and women felt jealousy—as children, we had all wanted to be here, lone spacemen upon a distant planet, yet they ended up wearing ties and making promises they couldn’t keep for a living. I also couldn’t help but speculate about whether my mentor from university, Dr. Bivoj, was watching from the village house to which he had retired, whether he was ecstatic or enraged that his pupil had surpassed by light-years his most significant accomplishments.) Hanu? focused all of his eyes—thirty-four, as I had recently counted—on the cloud as if he too had never seen anything so unfamiliar. The fact that my extraterrestrial companion could still be in awe of these purple particles confirmed that whatever other life flourished in the universe had some level of cluelessness and thus a capacity to be genuinely curious. A trait proudly claimed by humans that could, in fact, be universal.
I held on to the restraints cutting into my chest and stomach, took a few deep breaths. Hanu? stirred. Petr finally turned his attention back to me, wiping sweat from his forehead. The dust particles rolled past in waves, poured over the observation window like shavings of wood flying off a chain saw blade. The contact was soundless, but JanHus1 trembled nonetheless. The trajectory of the spacecraft changed left to right, up and down, as its burning fuel struggled against Chopra’s chaotic influence. Petr instructed me to shut off the engines, and I did, now simply gliding along the rotating patterns around the thick core. On Earth, the Pet?ín Hill crowds raised their Staropramens and cheered the old adage: The golden Czech hands! I embraced the kitsch. Those raised beers were all for me.
How would Jan Hus feel about this encounter? Would he take it as a reaffirmation of his all-powerful deity? I wanted to think that his brilliant mind would embrace it as a token of complexity of the universe, a clue that the definition of deity goes beyond the abstract definitions of scripture.
“We are here,” I would tell Hus, “the only humans. Every time we venture out farther in thought or time or space (and isn’t it all the same, master?), we are giving your God a steel-bound handshake. You did it and now I did it too, even if my God is the microscope.”
I ran my fingertips along the panel and activated Ferda the dust collector. The control interface displayed the filter as it slid out of its protective shell and began to collect the dust particles. No, the belly of my ship would not go hungry. Already Ferda’s scanners displayed the structure of the crystals it had gathered. Lapping them all up like a dog’s thirsty tongue.
“The core is bringing you in,” Petr said. “It looks like it has its own mild gravitational influence. Feeling good up there?”
“Feeling great. How much time before I reach the core?”
“At this pace, about twenty minutes. Let’s allow ten more for collection, then activate the propulsion engines and shoot you out of there. We’ll stabilize your trajectory back to Earth remotely. After that, you get those golden hands in the lab.”
“Roger.”
I looked around and realized Hanu? had gone away. I did not feel his presence in my temples. An echo of sandpaper scratching upon metal spread through the ship. I listened to locate its source, but it seemed to be everywhere, a merciless grinding. The speed at which I spun was increasing quickly. The core seemed too close. Solid, like a piece of rock. Impenetrable.
The lights above me flickered, as did the Flat monitor. A rush of cool air chilled my shoulders.
“Something funny with your power source,” Petr said.
The scratching turned into a steady hiss. The lights flickered at more prolonged intervals. The ship was no longer merely trembling—massive vibrations rocked it back and forth, and the purple dust crashing against my window had become so thick that I could no longer see Venus.
“It’s speeding up,” Petr said, his voice cracking. He pinched his beard and pulled a few hairs out.
Senator T?ma stood next to him, a foolish smile frozen on his face, champagne glass now empty. The hired help all watched the screens, mouths agape.
The light bulbs above me exploded, their tiny, sharp pieces crashing against the protective plastic ensuring the shards wouldn’t float around the cabin. The blue emergency lights kicked in, powered by a generator disconnected from the main circulation, the same generator powering the Flat. A sharp emergency ring interrupted the gentle symphony of Rusalka. I focused all of my thoughts on Hanu?, hoping he would come back.
“Jakub, the mainframe is down. Visual diagnostics?”
I unstrapped from the chair and pulled myself toward the Corridors, relieved to be free of the rough vibrations now that I wasn’t attached to any surface. All seemed normal in zero gravity. Just as I was about to leave the Lounge to inspect the mainframe, I noticed a few purple grains making their way in between the thin bars of a filter vent. I leaped back toward the Flat.
“The dust is penetrating the ship,” I told Petr.
“Fuck, what?” he said. Seconds later, the video feed to the IMAX screen on Pet?ín Hill faded, leaving a paralyzed herd of onlookers squinting at the crude stadium lighting. Secret service agents ushered the politicians and journalists outside the Control Room while Petr barked orders at his engineers.
“All right, we’re calling it. Run the propulsion engines. Get the hell out of that thing.”
I checked the Ferda collection levels. Only about 6 percent filled—not nearly enough. “Another minute,” I said, “just one more.”
“The dust is eating through your ship, Jakub. The electrical cables are already eroded. Get out. I’d override your controls if it still worked.”
“I need just another minute,” I said.
“Do as you’re told. Propulsion in three—”
“I’ve spent four goddamn months,” I said. “My tooth is rotting, my wife left me, and now he’s gone too. One more minute.”
“Who’s ‘he’?”
“Just a bit of time, Petr.”
I took out my earpiece. A bit of time. I figured it would make me wiser, that one minute. Make me understand something about the universe, or myself. Perhaps I believed Hanu? that Chopra held the key to the beginning. Perhaps I was daring myself to die. See what the fuss was about.
Wisdom did not arrive at the minute’s conclusion. Within thirty seconds, the blue emergency lights melted into darkness, as did the Flat.