Power of One
Floating...
atop a sea of infinite possibilities.
No resistance. A gas-like solution that only appeared as water, behaving more like helium. We stared timelessly into the energy above—no abyss. We were the chosen—the last campaign before obliteration?
We couldn’t recall our names, nor where we first came from. But who can truly measure the course of one man’s life?
Stars danced above across a dark blue, radiant sky with many moons. Some fell to this magical place below—but there was no danger. Impacts here brought no destruction. Even rocks were welcome. All were invited to this Neoplatonic realm of wonder.
A meteor drifted on its ancient course, skimming just outside the galactic expanse, as if forever hesitating to enter—yet content exactly where it was. It looked back across hundreds of thousands of years, recalling what it had long since forgotten, passing again those familiar galactic giants and distant, wandering bodies.
Over time, perhaps, the comet took on the attributes of planets and stars it would never closely encounter. Did it make a choice? Perhaps. This blue streak in the heavens seemed to absorb the best of all it passed.
We were departing Galaxy 7-14f, having harvested a rare element from a dying star—Persius-9. It exists only in the brief moment before a star consumes itself into a black hole. A mere fragment could power our homeworld for 100,000 years.
But there was a catch: the element had to be placed into an artificial solar containment field within 12 hours—or it would destabilize. That deadline had passed weeks ago, according to our synchronized timemeters. For this reason, we each wore analog nuclear timekeeping devices.
Our jump to light speed had collided with a guided, rover-class comet. Readings showed Persius-9 reacting with Moscovium-12 upon impact, forming a new element. The ship split in two.
Captain Stevens and I—Captain Bricker—thought we were finished. Yet we awoke, still breathing, surrounded by flashes of light and the blaring alarm—welcomed by a sensation so blissful it defied comprehension: peace, harmony, fulfillment.
The comet’s size was staggering. Our logs had suggested it was large—but not this vast. It felt like we’d stepped onto a living planet of infinite beauty. With each step, it revealed more. Territories grew and changed—each unique, each mind-bending.
The air was euphoric, like breathing joy itself. The more we inhaled, the more our lungs expanded—so did our bodies. What was this place of strange and glorious wonders?
Exotic plants burst forth—first like mushrooms, then shifting toward microscopic organisms. As we neared them, their husks opened, releasing flavors beyond imagination. Gravity responded to thought. Everything was alive, celebrating life itself.
Free will? There was only one will now—a unified, resonant will.
Ordinarily, we would never ingest unknown matter. But we didn’t feel foreign. We were one with the comet. It felt like home—as if we’d always been here.
We forgot our pasts. The comet, continuing its 225-billion-year arc, erased our memories gently. What once felt like moments now seemed like millennia. We missed no one. We knew where all souls belonged. Peace. Happiness.
If not for this journal—and the data logs that by all reason shouldn’t exist—we would remember nothing. Yet somehow, we will return to Malstruk-14. We will be the change—though unknowingly.
Let us return, then, to those recorded moments.
To any who may receive this transmission,
we offer ourselves in harmony and peace.
—Emperor Bricker
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AI Data Entry | Mind Sync Compilation
As we ventured deeper, we discovered the comet's surface was limitless. It used our thoughts to shape its lands—drawn from the deepest, most beautiful dreams we dared not imagine.
New foods emerged. As loneliness crept in, creatures took form—fierce, loving, loyal. Chimerae born from code—code sourced not only from our DNA, but from every body this comet had ever encountered. Photons and quarks, harmonized through familiarity. Balance.
We were sung to sleep by healing tones—spinning, resonating, harmonizing like angelic choirs.
Women were formed from light—crafted like our wives, but infused with purified souls. We shared love not through form, but through energy. There was no shame, no secrecy. Only what should have been.
Other men came—not to compete, but to build. A Brotherhood of master artisans. Speech faded. Words were unnecessary. Mutual understanding was our only language.
A great mushroom burst open—and suddenly, an alarm.
I looked up—collision imminent.
I pulled hard. We narrowly avoided impact.
“You alright, Stevens?”
“Yeah, Roger—what just happened?”
“Must be the element... it’s affecting our minds.”
“Think this stuff will give us the energy we need back home?”
“As long as we hit hyperdrive now,” I said, “we’ll make it.”
What mysteries still await...?
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