The Science Fiction Collection

By Charles Ynfante

"Voyage at the end of Time": The universe is collapsing back onto itself. A daughter, an historian, awaits to hear from her father, an astrophysicist, who has gone on an intergalactic pilgrimage to Earth at the end of time. "Sounds of Life": Aliens visit a planet.  "Love": Phineas wants to give his true love the perfect gift. "The Game": A football coach is put to the test by space Aliens. "Last World": A single flower is all that is left. "CLO[w]N[e]": A man clones himself --- genetic engineering --- wondering what it would be like to interact with himself. "The Strike": In the near future, a fighter jet pilot assigned to protect the President's plane, shoots it down, blaming the President for a world-wide nuclear war that has killed the aviator's parents and bride-to-be. "The Source": In the far distant future, Humankind is forced to live in hermetically sealed plastic domes. The Earth is barren and uninhabitable because of deadly viruses. Somewhere out there is an Anti-Body Source to fight the deadly virus and free Humankind from their confines. Three individuals risk all to save the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Ynfante
• Release date: Feb 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215897324

Charles Ynfante

Charles Ynfante acquired a Ph.D. in history from Northern University Arizona in Flagstaff, Arizona.  He was a Fellow at the United States Memorial Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC. He has authored numerous books of fiction. He was a participant in Hollywood motion pictures, television, and theater.

Book preview

VOYAGE at the end of TIME

PROLOGUE

It was a week ago, a Thursday evening, that my father and I left the Center. It was a warm evening and clear. There was not a breath of wind. The streets were quiet and, for the most part, empty. The trees in the park stood black against the golden yellow sunset.

I was born and raised on this planet Kio. I am an historian. My father, an astrophysicist, had moved here from Lamboonda, an artificial planetary system three galaxies distant. He had come to study the effects of trailing gravitational fields in this part of the cosmos. As of late, however, our disparate interests have been waylaid because we have volunteered our time to the Center. The Center is a clearinghouse for all rescue operations, helping to evacuate those who are stranded on their planets.

These rescue operations are now absolutely vital, for humanitarian reasons, because everything in the universe is going to die. The universe is collapsing back into itself, imploding, into the final and ultimate Black Hole. Because of Kio's position on the edge of the universe, the effects of the Collapse are not as apparent as elsewhere. As a result of this fortuitous location, Kio is able to receive communication from those societies located closer to the center of the collapsing universe.

As an historian, I have been collecting and collating the impressions and reactions of those communities now entering their final phase of existence. I maintain this historiography despite knowing that my efforts are to no avail—-for shortly nothing of the universe as we know it will exist. Nevertheless, I continue at my work because it is my chosen endeavor. I prefer to continue up the last seconds.

My father, on the other hand, has been more physically active than I in the efforts of evacuations. Populations on planets close to the Black Hole are transferred to distant planetary systems, which are still stable and unaffected by the magnetic pull of the Collapse. In this way, these populations -—human, alien, or otherwise -—derive the benefits of perhaps another twenty years of life. That is all the time we have left before we ultimately succumb to that densely knotted sphere of gravitational and molecular fusion.

Twenty years of life and the universe is no more! The end of history is at hand!

My father was quite pensive as we walked. I am compelled to go to Earth, he said. A pilgrimage I regret that I had not taken in an earlier year of my life. It is essential, therefore, now more than ever, that I experience the planet that had given birth to our progenitors, our nameless ancestors.

But the parsec in which the Earth is located, I said, is experiencing a reaction more radical than others in that sector. It would be extremely dangerous to go.

My father held my hand firmly. We were all the family we had. And that I was a woman, his daughter instead of a son, did not diminish the love I knew he had for me.

As we strolled in that tranquil evening, my father spoke of our past on Kio. Embraced arm-in-arm with me, he mentioned again my mother. It is still fact of life -—as close as it all is now to total extinction -—that Nature continues to produce disease and viroids that cripple, maim and kill their hosts. And even in the horrid face of extinction, research has not tired for cures against them. The life and death struggle for which we are engineered will continue reliably until the final seconds. As a result of Nature's cleverness, my mother died of a viral-induced malady still untreatable by any known standard. My father and I shared memories.

There were others on the street: shoppers, workers, lovers. And in the air was the wonderful fragrance of food. The birds sang and flew about. And although I felt a great love for my father, this emotion was tinged with melancholy. I became thoughtful.

Why haven't we heard from Earth? I asked.

There are several possibilities. Perhaps there is an unusually large ion storm interfering with transmission, or maybe something is wrong with the transmitters on Earth.

What went unsaid was that maybe the Earth had already been pulled into the Collapse and destroyed.

It won't take more than six months to get there, said my father. I'll find out.

Will you take an evacuation team?

No. All of them are too busy. With the status of Earth unknown, it would not make sense to pull them away from their already busy schedules.

I wish I could go with you, I said.

So do I, but you have your work here, and he smiled. You'll be with me in spirit, though, always. We kissed.

Because of my frail condition, I have never been able to travel far from Kio. A journey by hyper-drive through intergalactic space was completely out of the question for me.

If all goes well, my father said, I should be back in about a year. I know the evacuation teams here can use all the help they can get ...

I sensed my father's guilt. I reassured him. You would have to go anyway, in an official capacity, to see if anyone can be saved.

But there is the possibility that Earth's population may have left already on their own transports, and the world by now is entirely deserted.

No one will know, I said, until you go.

There was a silent acknowledgment between us.

Time is very dear, indeed. He looked deeply into my eyes. I'll miss you while I'm away.

When will you leave?

Within the hour.

The most optimistic prediction had set the universe at achieving zero-mass in twenty years—-at which time everything would be gone, compressed out of existence. And here I had only minutes with my father until I saw him again in a year or perhaps never!

There was so much I wanted to tell him, so much left to do with him. But his desire to see Earth, and our responsibilities, our duties toward people and other living things, were more obliging. I endeavored to be more mature and courageous, intending to see my father off in a confident manner. But I could not help but cry. We embraced and kissed one last time. He disappeared down the street.

I went to my apartment, distressed at his leaving. Friends of mine, who earlier in the week had agreed to a social get-together, called, wondering why I had not made an appearance. When I explained what had happened, they urged me all the more to join their party. Subsequently, their support and understanding have helped me immensely. How invaluable are friends!

By way of a prior arrangement, which my father left in the form of written instructions, he would record a description of his experiences on Earth and then transmit that description in one entirety. Consequently, six months after his departure, I received his transmission. I would preserve that narrative for what little posterity remained.

I remember that evening vividly. I was in my study upstairs, seated comfortably in my leather chair. The room lights were off. The only other light was from the night sky through my generous window.

And so, on my laser-radio, I listened to my father's strange and terrible adventure, perhaps the last I would ever hear from him. And as he spoke, I attempted to visualize him among that vast celestial garden of stars, racing headlong against the Death that was coming to embrace us all.

A winter breeze stirred the trees and plants outside. But for that, the only sound was that of his voice.

MY FATHER’S NARRATIVE

The launch from Kio was routine, the warp uneventful. During my extended six-month hyper-sleep, I did not dream, or at least do not remember that I did. Suspended animation is not conducive to subconscious hallucination. Consequently, when I awoke, I was already safely within the confines of Earth-space, near the center of the universe. All ship systems were operating normally, and the mission was still go.

There is no beauty like the beauty of outer space. The experience of space, the exhilaration of it, is in feeling the impact of its vastness, of its wide-open nothingness. To be sure, there are wonderful sights: amazing configurations of binary-suns, planetary systems, gas clouds. And the peace is unlike the peace anywhere. But the feeling is unique.

Imagine galaxies -—baskets of stars! -—drifting by as gently as snowflakes; interstellar dust clouds showered with the light of new-born suns; novas exploding with the quickness and brilliance of lightning; pulsars pushing their way out of the microwave background with kaleidoscopic kineticity.

And imagine time. Moving as I was faster than the speed of light, I was defiant: I could neither age nor grow old. In outer space, I was above the laws of physics and of Nature: I was in the realm of God. This sensation, this fact, gave me comfort and security.

Few people can grasp the concept of infinite immensity. And this vastness is -—even more so than the apparent luminosity -—the hallmark of space. The exhilarating sensate experience of it never abates.

Soon, I was near my destination. My repeated attempts at communication with Earth proved futile because of an unusually large and persistent ion storm between my ship and Earth. Until I passed this storm or until it subsided, there would be no way of learning the situation on Earth. As it turned out, however, this communication blackout was not due to the storm. Its cause I shall make clear shortly.

Eventually, the Earth came into view from out of the blackness as a blue and glowing light, small at first but growing larger even as I saw it. Our world came out of that void softly and swiftly, dream-like. I was relieved to see that it was still safe and intact.

I entered into an Earth-insertion orbit, a gravitational fix, and immediately initiated the full-spectrum scan. The ion storm was far behind me. Consequently, I expected to receive replies to the messages I sent. But when no reply was forthcoming, I began to wonder what the matter was.

There were three possible conclusions at this total lack of response. The first was that the population of Earth, small as it was at just less than two million inhabitants, had been decimated by a great catastrophe. The second conclusion was that the populace was indeed alive, but because of technical difficulties unable to offer the greeting I anticipated. The third conclusion was that the people of Earth were in fact aware of my orbit but were unwilling to acknowledge me for reasons of which I could not then determine. I also considered that perhaps my own communication equipment was faulty, but this concern was only in passing: the integrity of my ship's organic circuits had been audited and was in the best of working order.

I circled Earth in the silence of my cabin in a mild state of perplexity. I gazed at the brilliantly colored planet, wondering. Naturally, I would descend. I had not taken the risk of coming so far only to say goodbye at this juncture. So, I left the ship in orbit and, by way of my shuttle-vehicle, landed upon the surface of the Earth.

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I found myself in the countryside. By making physical contact in a desolate terrain, I would not attract the same attention I would if I had touched down in a more populated area. My instinct -—a hunch -—told me to stray clear of the more peopled parts of the planet until I could ascertain the actual situation.

I opened the hatch of my shuttle-vehicle and climbed off my saddle. When my feet alighted upon the soil of Earth, I felt altogether different. Perhaps it was the fragrance of the vegetation and flowers. I could not determine it. At any rate, I laughed as I scooped up soil in my hand. Earth at last!

My euphoria, however, was not so complete as to neglect my reasoning. I hid my shuttle-vehicle with what brush I found to protect it from curiosity-seekers and perhaps a collector or two.

The only significantly populated center was a city twelve miles distant. The walk would not take long, and it would give me a more vigorous outlook on a world I had only previously experienced in 4-D holograms in the museums back on Kio. Besides, should I meet anyone on the way, a leisurely and extended conversation with that individual would be more pleasing and advantageous than the conference-like atmosphere I would have been sure to receive had I