Neither Life Nor Death Held Sway

The whole holiday was spent in Martin Wilkerson's abject agony. The art museums' exhibits, which were supposed to divert his attention, instead stoked his fixation with antimatter and the anti-universe. Every attraction inside the barriers seemed lifeless and boring, unable to capture his attention. Until they arrived at a science museum that focused on the physics of space and flight, that is. Martin Wilkerson might have spent weeks there.

He wandered the corridors, fascinated by the layouts and propulsion systems of vintage aircraft and spaceships. He laughed at the 1960s display—the rudimentary boats of that time hardly worked. He was amazed that someone had used such antiques to escape the environment of Erath.

Then he reached the display on Maris. Martin Wilkerson sat down to watch a film about the impact of the accident, which was documented in great detail in both stories and films. Raw video from the day Maris struck was shown first.

Abruptly, he found himself in a television-equipped room—his room in the mental hospital. On the screen, he saw Maris grow closer. The reddish Korium shield was arching over the city as he looked out the window. He looked back at the screen as Maris broke through Erath's atmosphere, a fiery sphere rushing toward the surface—toward billions of people, most of whom knew they were doomed, but some of whom were fooled into thinking their shields would protect them.

As the camera lens started to melt from the intense heat coming from Maris, time seemed to slow down. Each second dragged on, developing with painful thought.

The feed then stopped. As if sound itself paused in respect for the souls dying at that moment, the television turned black and the room fell silent for a few seconds.

A roar and shockwave came simultaneously, shaking the floor and echoing through the museum's hallways. The shield held. He was secure. Erath had used cutting-edge technology to retaliate against Maris.

Martin Wilkerson's head reeled from the vivid memory and he snapped back to the museum. He tried to hold on to the memory, but it slipped away. He had seen a buried piece of his history—he had been present when Maris struck, and now he recalled.

To capture the energy of Korium explosions, Jonathan Aston worked hard. He had to direct the blast's energy and control it. As he struggled to find a method to make an explosion into a strength, days turned into nights. Then he had a daring thought.

He could direct a ship wherever he wanted it to go if he could create a diamond cone to direct the explosion into a small area. Although it would take several tubes and chambers, as well as frequent explosions to maintain speed, the idea sounded worthwhile.

The memory that the impact video screen had unlocked left Martin Wilkerson dazed as he sat in front of it. Something connected to his past had brought back memories. That was crucial—in order to recover his past, he had to come across aspects of it. Unfortunately, it would take a very long time to piece everything together this manner. He clung to it because it was his only lead, even though it wasn't practical.

In order to uncover his past, he needed to locate Katherine Branson and ask her for assistance. He might recover more of himself if he had another experience with his past. He saw her looking absently at an ancient warplane, admiring its defective design, which was primitive by today's high standards.

"I had a memory, Katherine Branson! In fact, I remembered something from my history!

Martin Wilkerson, that's fantastic! How did it occur?

Suddenly, while watching the Maris impact footage, I recalled my location, my actions, and every detail of the crash. I relived everything, like a flashback.

"So the video brought back memories for you?"

"Yes, I believe that seeing items from my history will improve my memory. Even though I might not get all back, it's a start.

"Is there any way I can help?"

"I hope so."

On his propulsion design, Jonathan Aston worked nonstop. After forging a huge diamond, he now found it difficult to shape it to his exacting standards. The work was difficult and unsatisfying; the shape of the room hardly emerged since progress was slow. The work was made considerably more difficult by the rarity of diamond saws and cutters, which are prone to wearing out against the refractory gem.

When the test chamber finally came together, Jonathan Aston conducted his trial. The Korium combination burst as planned when he detonated it. Erupting from the small orifice, the blast surged down the cone—but the force was too great for the constraints. The room shot skyward and collided with the metal ceiling. The impact damaged the diamond's integrity even though it was stopped. Before conducting additional experiments, a new chamber would be required.

To help him navigate his past, Martin Wilkerson turned to Katherine Branson. When she initially took him to her former flat, the impact was profound and instantaneous. Two recollections competed for dominance.

Armed with statistics and images to support his claims, he was speaking with Katherine Branson.

Chasing a man through the front door, he stormed into the flat.

Citing formulae, he gave Katherine Branson an explanation of Maris and the impact.

With the intention of killing her, he followed the man.

Erath's orbit had changed, he warned as he went over the equations.

With a revolver in hand, he charged the man, determined to kill her.

He warned Katherine Branson that when Maris hit the sun and released enormous solar flares, they would all die from radiation.

He kicked the man first in the face and then in the groin.

He told her that Erath's closeness would make the flares more deadly.

Blood gathered on the carpet as he repeatedly pounded the man.

Katherine Branson should persuade the president of the danger if Erath's orbit was not adjusted, he advised.

He saw the revolver on the floor next to the man as his breathing stopped.

He had returned to the flat.

Forced to start over, Jonathan Aston went back to work on a new diamond chamber. As before, the work was exhausting, time-consuming, and unpleasant, but it was necessary. It was, too.

To avoid earlier mistakes, the subsequent test drew on previous lessons. It worked. As Jonathan Aston put it, the Korium engine worked—not perfectly, but well enough. It was just the start.

Dizzy, confused, and overwhelmed, Martin Wilkerson fell to the ground. Within him, two memories had fought for dominance, their pieces jumbled. The bewilderment was greater than the agonizing ache.

A pounding headache began to take hold as he fought to sort out what had happened. He sat up and struggled to get the psychological assault off his thoughts. It was excessive. He would be ruined if he continued to search for memories. He needed a break, a chance to go home.