Corpus Chrome, Inc.

Chapter IV

Chapter IV

The First and Final Rocket (A Science-Fantasy Meisterwerk by R.J. the Third)

“Full volume! Maximum brightness!” cried the popinjay.

Architect’s eyes sparkled as it gripped the fur couch with excited paws.

Champ spun the inflatable chair around to face the mote aquarium, which was one of the largest that he had ever seen. It was a two-meter wide, one-meter tall and one-meter deep frame of black bars that housed thousands of micromagnetic engines. The device heated up with a dull whir, radiating the smell of hot copper.

Three hundred thousand magnetized pixels sprayed into the viewing stage, luminous motes that were red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. The haze coalesced, took the form of a comet, and then flew to each of the rectangular cuboid’s eight corners like a parakeet trying to escape a cage.

“That’s the test pattern,” said R.J. the Third, didactically.

The luminous motes converged to form

Buddha. The porcine deity was clothed in a sumo diaper and a fedora; he held a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun in his right hand and the hair of a dripping severed head in his left. Buddha pointed the weapon forward and fired.

“Pause,” ordered R.J. the Third.

The smoke and sparks froze in midair, just outside the g*n barrels. “Before the narrative begins,” the host said, “I want you to see how beautiful a properly-calibrated mote aquarium can be. This image has no background, so you can look at it from all angles.” He motioned for his guest to rise and inspect the unit.

Champ stood and walked toward the mote aquarium, his patience almost exhausted. Buddha was as clear as reality itself—even up close, the pixel sculpture had no errors or limitations in resolution. The garbage man circled the unit and saw that the fat deity was just as fully rendered from behind, and when he looked through the top of the cuboid, he descried gentle creases in the big man’s superb fedora. Champ knelt and looked up through the bottom of the unit: The soles of Buddha’s splayed feet (victims of fallen arches, apparently) and the diaper that covered the sacred groin in between were also sculpted without error. (A notice of copyright inhering in R.J. the Third had been embossed on the Asian’s right heel.)

“Gorgeous, right?” inquired the host. “Inspect the muzzle flash.”

Champ withheld expletives and surveyed the puff of smoke frozen before the weapon’s dual barrels.

“Do you see the pellets in there? The shotgun pellets caught in midair?”

“I do.”

“In order to capture that level of detail, the unit must refresh flying pixels six hundred times per second—ten times faster than the human eye can even discern.”

“Amazing,” said Champ. (He felt that this must be the appropriate response.)

“Touch them,” implored R.J the Third. “The pellets.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to touch a mote sculpture.”

“That is the case with inferior units. It’s fine with this one—unless you are wearing a ring or have metal inside your hands. You don’t, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Go ahead.” R.J. the Third nodded his head like an emperor.

Champ cautiously slid his right hand into the mote aquarium and toward the muzzle flash frozen in front of Buddha’s sawed-off shotgun. Nine tiny spheres, each one-tenth the circumference of a green pea, pressed against his extended fingertip and then burst into white flashes of light. Champ jerked his hand from the unit. The smears of light contracted and again became nine shotgun pellets—the sculpture was fully restored.

“They call it childproofing,” said R.J. the Third. “Lots of m.a. sets were ruined by toddlers reaching in and touching things—to say nothing of the frequent pornographic accidents—so Tante Werks developed a model that could cope with tactile intrusions. The flying pixels are bonded and spatially retentive.”

Champ returned to his chair and sat down, commenting, “It’s incredible.” (He did not understand why people took pride in the technical achievements of others.)

“Resume play,” said R.J. the Third. The explosion reverberated in the seventy-two speakers embedded throughout the apartment;

the flash of gunfire dispersed. Buddha spat on the ground, cracked open the sawed-off shotgun and flung the shells behind him, where they disappeared—

beyond the perimeter of the mote aquarium.

Upon the bottom of the stage were the words:

Vengeful Buddha Presents…

A Science-Fantasy Mote Experience

Conceived, Wrought and Controlled by

the Extraordinary New Talent:

R.J. the Third

The pixels dispersed with a bright flash that made Champ wince, and then rendered

a speeding white rocket. Blood dripped from a c***k in its nosecone as it pierced clouds. In the rocket’s wake, amidst sidereal spirals and plumes of exhaust, appeared the title The First and Final Rocket.

The pixels dispersed and then rendered

a bathroom. A handsome black man of forty set his four-year-old son into a bathtub. The boy looked up at his father. The boy’s eyes glowed; the father’s eyes glowed.

The boy flapped his arms and splashed water. The father raised his index finger, shook his head and said, “Arthur. Don’t splash.” The boy stopped splashing. The father said, “Good boy.” The boy smiled.

“I brought you a present,” said the father. The word “present” echoed five times in the boy’s mind. The father raised a small box that was tied with a red bow. The box glowed. The boy’s hands glowed. The boy said, “Let me have it.” The father said, “You forgot something.” The boy ruminated. The word “present” echoed five more times in his mind. The boy looked at his hands. His hands shone brilliantly. He looked at the box with the ribbon. The box shone brilliantly. He looked at his father and said, “Let me have it.” “You forgot something,” said the father. The boy looked at his glowing hands and at the glowing present. The word “present” echoed three times and stopped. “I know. Please let me have the present.” The father smiled; his teeth glowed. The boy smiled; his teeth glowed.

The father set the box on the edge of the bathtub. “Can I get it wet?” asked the boy. “It is waterproof,” said the father. The boy said, “Waterpoof,” and untied the ribbon. He lifted the lid and looked inside the box. The boy cried out, “It’s a little man!” Inside the box was a translucent man filled with wires and doodads; he was fifteen centimeters tall. “It’s a homunculus,” said the father. “Honcles,” repeated the boy. “Homunculus,” said the father. “Honcles,” repeated the boy. The father laughed and said, “Honcles.”

The boy scooped Honcles out of the box. Honcles kicked his feet and flapped his arms. The boy giggled; the father laughed. “Put him in the water,” suggested the father. “He won’t drown?” asked the boy. “No. He’s waterproof.” “Waterpoof,” said the boy.

The boy put Honcles in the water; the homunculus floated, buzzed and then began a perfect breaststroke across the bathtub. “He can swim!” said the boy. “Put him on his back,” said the father. The boy flipped Honcles over. Honcles did the backstroke across the bathtub. “How does he work?” asked the boy. “Science,” said the father. Honcles reached the perimeter of the tub and turned around. He swam freestyle. The boy said, “I want to make science.” “A person who studies science is called a scientist.” “That’s what I want to be!” shouted the boy.

The pixels dispersed and then rendered

a book-filled study. Arthur, twelve years old, walked into the room. He wore a light blue uniform that said Science Academy.

Arthur opened a drawer and withdrew Honcles. Arthur set Honcles down on the table. Honcles’ left arm spun backwards, and the toes on his right foot twitched. Arthur took out his microsurgery kit.

Father came into the room and asked, “What are you doing to Honcles?” “Repairs,” answered Arthur.

The pixels dispersed and then rendered

Arthur, seventeen years old, and Father, with gray hair. They sat in the living room on the couch. On the mote aquarium, an astronaut walked across orange rocks. A woman announcer said, “Ralph Jasper is the first man to walk on Mars!”

Father looked at Arthur and said, “I wish I could walk on Mars.” Arthur shook his head and said, “I know from private calculations that Mars is covered with lava.” “All of it?” asked Father. “All of it,” replied Arthur.

Father pointed to the mote aquarium stage and asked, “Then how can he walk on it?” Arthur answered, “He isn’t walking on it. No man can walk on Mars.” Father was confused; he scratched his gray hair with black fingers. Arthur said, “They are lying to us.” “The astronauts?” asked Father. “No. The government and the elder scientists.” “Why would they lie about Mars?” asked Father. Arthur frowned and said, “I don’t know.” Father scratched his gray hair.

Arthur said, “I want to build a rocket so that I can visit outer space and learn the truth.” Arthur’s forehead glowed. Father asked, “How long will it take to build?” Arthur answered, “Seven years.” Father said, “I will help you.” Arthur’s eyes glowed; Father’s eyes glowed.

The pixels dispersed and then rendered

Arthur, twenty-four and strong, and Father, old and white-haired. They stood in the garage of their house; they looked up at a white rocket that was twenty meters tall. On the side of the rocket was painted its name: Truth.

“It looks good,” commented Father. Arthur said, “Thank you for helping me.” “You’re welcome.” Arthur’s eyes glowed; Father’s eyes glowed.

“Let’s go,” Arthur said, “I want to see outer space.” “We should eat dinner first, in case we are gone for a long time and can’t get hot meals.” Arthur nodded and said, “Okay.”

They walked into the house.

They walked up a hallway that was covered with pictures of Mother and waved to them.

They entered the kitchen and sat at the dinner table. A white monkey brought them each a big bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. To the monkey, Arthur said, “I want grated cheese.” The monkey did not move. Arthur repeated, “I want grated cheese.” The monkey did not move. Father said, “Please give Arthur some grated cheese.” The monkey grated imported cheese over Arthur’s spaghetti and meatballs. Arthur said, “I was thinking about the rocket and forgot to say please.” Arthur laughed and Father laughed; their teeth glowed.

The white monkey took the empty dishes. Father said, “We should probably use the bathroom before we go into outer space.” Arthur nodded in agreement and said, “You can go first.” Father went first; Arthur went second.

They walked into the garage. Arthur leaned a wooden ladder against the nosecone of the rocket. Arthur said, “You go first. There is one last thing I need to get.” Arthur hurried from the garage.

Father climbed the ladder to the rocket’s door, which was eighteen meters from the ground. Father reached over and typed the code. The door slid open. He went into the nosecone; the room was conical. Father climbed into one of the pilot seats; his back was horizontal and his feet were in the air. He looked through the windshield and saw the ceiling of the garage. Father buckled his seatbelt and waited for his son.

Arthur entered the nosecone and typed in the code. The door slid shut. He took the seat next to Father and buckled in. Father saw that Arthur held Honcles in his right hand.

“Ready?” asked Arthur. Father’s eyes glowed; Arthur’s eyes glowed. Father said, “Yes.” Arthur pressed the ignition. The engines roared. Truth shot through the garage ceiling. The windshield filled with blue sky and scattered clouds. The rocket shook. Father took Arthur’s hand and said, “I’m scared.” Arthur squeezed his father’s hand and said, “So am I.” Arthur’s belly glowed; Father’s belly glowed.

The rocket rumbled. Clouds flew past the windshield. Seven birds dispersed.

Two fighter jets pulled up alongside Truth. “Land this rocket ship!” said a fighter jet with a crackly voice. “Right now!” demanded the other fighter jet. “No!” Arthur and his father yelled together. “We will shoot you down if you don’t land!” said the first fighter jet. “Pronto!” added the other fighter jet. “Go ahead and try!” replied Arthur.

Arthur said to his father, “You steer while I handle this.” Father leaned over and grabbed the steering wheel. Arthur took out two joysticks.

The fighter jets fired ten missiles at the rocket. Arthur used the joysticks and shot ten anti-missiles that neutralized the threat. The fighter jets fired a flank barrage. Arthur shot back an anti-flank barrage. The fighter jets fired three anti-aircraft warheads. Arthur shot back three anti-anti-aircraft warheads. The fighter planes gave up.

Father pointed at the joysticks and said, “You’re good with those.” “Thank you.” “I’m very proud of you.” Father’s heart glowed; Arthur’s heart glowed.

Truth sped towards space. The blue sky darkened.

Ten defense satellites converged ahead of the rocket. The satellites shot lasers. Arthur spun the rearview mirrors around. The lasers were deflected. The satellites exploded.

Truth sped towards space.

A mechanical bird landed on the windshield and yelled, “You can’t go into outer space!” Arthur replied, “You can’t make us to do anything—you’re a mechanical bird.” “The Global Senate sent me!” yelled the mechanical bird. It showed Arthur documentation. “We’re going,” said Arthur, firmly. “You can’t!” “Why not?” “Because!”

Father turned on the windshield wiper. The mechanical bird caught the wiper with a talon and broke it. The mechanical bird pecked its beak against the windshield. A small piece of glass chipped off. The mechanical bird pecked the windshield again. A small c***k appeared. Honcles sneaked into an air-conditioning vent.

“That damn mechanical bird is going to compromise the integrity of this ship!” cried Arthur. The mechanical bird raised its beak for a final assault. Honcles, now outside, threw his arms around the mechanical bird’s neck. The two machines fell off the windshield. Arthur screamed, “Honcles!”

Truth sped towards space.

Arthur wiped tears from his eyes. Father said, “Honcles was a hero.” “He was.”

Truth sped towards space.

Arthur said, “We’re almost there.” Father said, “You should make sure your seatbelt is secure.” Arthur checked his buckle and said, “It is.”

The rocket plunged into a gelatinous wall. “This doesn’t feel like space,” remarked Father. “No, it doesn’t.” Truth plunged through kilometers and kilometers and kilometers of gelatin. Arthur saw a satellite stuck in the gelatin. Father saw a toy helicopter and a bottle rocket and a wrench. The windshield was covered with slime. The engine rumbled.

Truth transcended the gelatin and splashed into green water.

“It looks like space is underwater,” observed Father. “Seems like it,” said Arthur, confused. “Will the ship work in water?” “Yes. Truth is waterproof.” “I taught you that word.” “You did,” said Arthur.

The rocket sped through the green water.

Giant air bubbles drifted past the windshield, left to right. Father pointed to the right and said, “That way must be up. It’s where the bubbles are going.” “We’ll follow the bubbles,” said Arthur.

Written upon the stage was the following:

Truth followed the bubbles for seven months…

The words dispersed.

The rocket sped through the water. There was no air. There was no space. There were flooded moons, flooded asteroids, flooded planets and some suns surrounded by millions of kilometers of boiling water.

Arthur pointed through the windshield to a moon made of copper and said, “I see some lights on over there. Maybe they’ll know what happened to the universe.” “Good,” said Father. “I’m getting sick of food pellets.”

Truth landed on the copper moon.

“We’ll need to wear helmets so that we can breathe underwater,” Arthur informed his father. They put on air helmets. “And we’ll need to leave through the airlock so that the ship doesn’t get flooded.” They exited.

An alien with four heads drove a submarine up to the rocket ship. The alien got out of the submarine and swam toward Arthur and his father. The alien extended a tentacle to each man and shook appendages. “Are you hungry?” the alien asked with four mouths. “Spaghetti and meatballs would be nice,” suggested Father. “I can make some in my submarine, though it’s difficult for me to eat spaghetti.” “Why’s that?” asked Father. The alien waggled his tentacles. “These.” “Oh.” Arthur and his father entered the alien’s submarine.

“What happened to the universe?” asked Arthur. “It got flooded,” the alien said with the three mouths that were not eating salad. “Did the Earth government do it? The elder scientists?” The alien lowered its four heads and said, “No. It was my race. We flooded it by accident.” The alien chewed salad in two mouths and with the other two said, “We put a bubble around the Earth to protect it.”

Arthur said, “We flew through that bubble when we left the planet. We could’ve popped it!” The alien shook its heads and said, “It’s fifty kilometers thick—you can’t damage it. The fabric heals up when something passes through.” Arthur asked, “How long has the universe been flooded?” The alien answered, “For the amount of time it takes your world to swim three billion laps around the sun.”

The alien brought the humans spaghetti and said, “I told your Earth leaders all about it so you wouldn’t bother with spaceships.”

Arthur sniffed. He did not want to cry, but his eyes filled with tears that he could not control.

Father asked the alien, “If the leaders knew, why didn’t they tell us? Why didn’t the leaders tell us the truth!”

The alien pointed a tentacle at Arthur’s tears and said, “Because the truth would make everyone very, very sad.”

The stage turned black.

R.J. the Third whistled a C-sharp and said, “Sheer.”

The opaque apartment windows became translucent. Daylight poured in and assaulted dilated pupils.

Champ squinted.

“What did you think?” inquired R.J. the Third.

“Not very realistic.”

Architect, teeth bared, paws extended and claws unsheathed, leapt toward the critic, hissing like a snake.