Cosmic Rift

By Kenn Brody

He was the last of the heroic Kerr Pilots. His ancestors may have been asked to commit hari kari, so Tomo Chiyoko was not afraid to take a life-long journey to the mysterious cosmic strings 1000 light years away. His only company was Suzi, a rather linear AI whose main job was to keep him alive until the end of the mission. There was no return trip.
A short novel from the longer work, Curtain of Heaven.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenn Brody dba Broken Symmetry Publishing Brody
• Release date: Apr 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311785626

Kenn Brody

I'm a former physicist, CPA, corporate CEO and computer scientist. I've been writing under pseudonyms since I was in high school. Now it time to come out and claim the full territory of my unconstrained imagination, tempered only by what you, dear reader, enjoy. The intersection of humans with the underlying rules of the universe is my theme. It's a pretty rich source of ideas.I also enjoy the occasional adventure, such as the 4 years I spent at sea living on a cruising sailboat, Cadenza. You can find these adventures as audiobooks or short print stories among my works.Recently I find myself attracted to flash fiction, an entire story in 1000 words or less. I won an award for one of them, Peter's Head. You can find some of these in my anthology, Kaleidoscope.Over the years I have written many poems, some award-winning. I hope to publish a book of poetry some day, but a few did wander into Kaleidoscope.

Book preview

The Cosmic Rift

Tomo Chiyoko was bereft. His father had died, peacefully in his sleep as he should, and now Tomo was required to honor his father’s passing with some sort of ceremony. It was spring in Kyoto, the air was redolent with cherry blossoms and jasmine, and Tomo’s heart and mind were empty. He lingered under the pink sky and the orange sodium lights and contemplated… well, nothing at all.

There was no more reason to stay on Earth. Tomo decided to accept the offer from the High Z Project to become the last of the Kerr ship pilots. He would spend his remaining life on an ion drive ship headed out to the Great Rift and the cosmic superstrings that formed it. There would be no return trip.

But first he would honor his father and perform temizu, ritual purification, at the ancient imperial Iwa Shimitzu Shrine. His father was more or less loyal to the Shinriko Sect of Shinto, what Japanese called kami-no-michi, or the way of the spirit gods. His father’s name was inscribed at that temple, and perhaps his father’s spirit had already joined the yaoyorozu-no-kami, the eight million spirit gods of Shinto. Whether Tomo, himself, actually believed in spirit gods or not was irrelevant. The whole idea of a last rite for his father coinciding with his last act among human beings satisfied his very Japanese sense of rightness.

The next morning he put on his white clothes and made the long climb up Mount Otoko to the shrine. The path wound around the hill, taking a deliberate meander among the oaks and red-leafed maples, the stone lanterns and the steep-roofed resting places where the weary could catch their breath. He paused at the torii gate. Beyond that was Shinto sacred ground. He bowed twice, clapped his hands twice, keeping his hands closed on the second clap. Then he entered the swept white sand of the courtyard. He repeated that ritual at the second torii gate at a large, red tiered temple building. Beyond that was the station for temizu, with long handled ladles and a tub of water. A kannuchi, a Shinto priest, stood at the entrance in his white and red robes.

Tomo remembered this part of the ritual. Dip some water with the left hand, wash the right hand twice. Dip water with the right hand, wash the left had twice. Pour some water into the left hand and take a sip. Spit it out into the right hand and throw it away, never into the tub. Hold the dipper vertically so the remaining water washed the handle. Replace the dipper.

The priest knew him. You are here to honor your father?

Yes, and perhaps to purify myself for a very long journey.

Yes, the Priest agreed, a very long journey indeed.

The kannuchi took him in to the inner sanctum, the dwelling of the kami Hachiman, a protector of Japan, and instructed him in the precise manner and procedure of the misogi purification ceremony he requested.

On his slow walk down Otoko Mount he had a sudden flash of his father’s kindly, seamed face. Suddenly, grief struck him and seized his chest in an iron grip. He could not breathe. He staggered over to the nearest stone bench and managed to sit down. When he finally caught his breath, it came out in a gasping whoosh. He