The End of All Things took me longer to write than most of my books do, in part because I had a number of false starts. These false starts weren’t bad—in my opinion—and they were useful in helping me figure out what was best for the book; for example, determining which point-of-view characters I wanted to have, whether the story should be in first or third person, and so on. But at the same time it’s annoying to write a bunch of stuff and then go Yeaaaaah, that’s not it. So it goes.
Through various false starts and diversions, I ended up writing nearly 40,000 words—almost an entire short novel!—of material that I didn’t directly use. Some of it was recast and repurposed in different directions, and a lot of it was simply left to the side. The thing is when I throw something out of a book, I don’t just delete it. I put it into an “excise file” and keep it just in case it’ll come in handy later.
Like now: I’ve taken various bits from the excise file and with them have crafted a first chapter of an alternate version of The Life of the Mind, the first novella of The End of All Things. This version (roughly) covers the same events, with (roughly) the same characters, but with a substantially different narrative direction.
In an alternate universe, an alternate version of me went ahead with this version, and The End of All Things ended up being a rather different book. Which would be cool. I’d like to meet up with that John Scalzi and trade books.
Please note: This version of the story is noncanonical and mildly spoilery for the version that is, in fact, canonical. While you don’t have to read the official version of The Life of the Mind to read this (or to enjoy it), I recommend that you do to fully appreciate the compare and contrast.
Also, this version ends on a bit of a cliff-hanger. Which will never be resolved. Sorry about that.
Enjoy!
—JS
PART ONE
The Robert Anton skipped into the Inhe system, near a small asteroid that in the not too recent past had served as a Rraey space station and repair dock. The Rraey had officially abandoned it, along with a substantial number of other territories, after a series of military political setbacks, contracting back to the species’ core planets and systems. “Officially abandoned” did not mean it was not in use, however.
Control, sent Giovanni Carranza, pilot and captain of the Robert Anton. This is the Robert Anton, requesting docking assistance.
“Copy, Robert Anton,” said an artificially generated voice, the standard voice of Control. “You’re some distance away. Can you maneuver any closer to base?”
Negative, Carranza said. Engines are dead. Maneuvering jets are dead. Both died on the other side of the skip.
“How did you get to skip distance?”
Inertia, Carranza said. Burned the engines as long as I could before I had to take them offline. Saved enough energy to run the skip drive. It was a very slow trip.
“Copy that,” Control said. “Your status otherwise, please.”
The Anton is heavily damaged, Carranza said. Hull compromised, weapons systems partially destroyed. Communications work, obviously, but outside sensors are dead. I knew I skipped from timing alone. If anyone other than me were on the ship, they’d be long dead. We’re a mess.
“Did you complete your mission?”
There was a hesitation. Yes, Carranza said. The mission was completed. It wasn’t pretty but it got done.
“It’s going to take us some time to get you back to dock,” Control said. “We’d like to start analysis of your mission as soon as possible. Please send along your mission logs and recordings, as well as your damage report.”
Sending, Carranza said.
“Thank you,” Control said.
The Anton took a beating. I’m not sure it’s repairable at this point.
“I’m looking at your damage report now. You may be right about that.”
What does that mean for me?
“You don’t need to worry about that right now.”
You and I agreed that if this mission was successful that I would be done, Carranza said.
“I’m well aware of our agreement,” Control replied.
I don’t want the state of the Anton held against me.
“We asked you to complete the mission,” Control said. “You did what we asked you to do.”
I know it’s been harder for you to get more ships. To get more pilots.
Control didn’t say anything to this.
I would like my body back, Carranza said. I would like to go home.
“Don’t worry,” Control said. “We’ll take care of you.”
Thank you, Carranza said, and then died as Control signaled the release of a neurotoxin into his brain. The effect was instantaneous; Carranza had felt relief that his wishes would be granted and then he felt nothing at all.
The person behind Control waited until it received the signal that Carranza’s brain was past any attempt at revival—not long at all—and then ordered tugs to bring the Anton into dock and crews to take what was salvageable from the ship before reducing it to scrap.
Carranza had been correct that it was harder to get ships recently, but the Anton’s useful days were done. As were Carranza’s. Pilots were also hard to come by. But their usefulness was limited by their ability to believe they would ever be free. There would be no way for Carranza to believe that after today.
A waste.
But fortunately, a replacement was on the way.
* * *