The Void

All that matters is the work. Everybody has different priorities, of course. Their entire lives are organised based on these. Things always happen as they were meant to be. All is as it should be. This is true for every human. Perlucidus, as per its creator’s endless wisdom, has seen to that.

Ever since she can recall, Cody has been filled with the knowledge that she plays an important role in the puzzle that is humanity – that she matters. Like everyone, she is uniquely qualified for whatever might be her task. Perlucidus does not make mistakes. In its unerring assessment, it predicts the path any human will walk. Based on this, it allocates resources. Nothing is ever wasted. No-one is ever left directionless. There are no doubts, no anxiety, no lack of purpose. For over two centuries, everything has been as it should be. It all is. All of it. No matter how personal people might deem their decisions, everything has been calculated in advance. Plans were already made for everyone's entire lives even before they learned their first words.

It is as it should be, always.

Cody always knew she'd be a tech analyst. It's in her blood. She's analytical, dispassionate, pedantic, non-confrontational. That's what her profile says. This is how she's been perceived, raised, schooled. According to Perlucidus, she won't fall in love, marry, have kids, so no permits will ever be issued. Friendships were never encouraged, time and effort never invested in building bridges. She'll work until she's too old, then pick up an innocuous hobby like puzzles or collecting stamps. Puzzles are more likely. That doesn't sound all too appealing to her, but what Perlucidus predicts always happens. Why waste a single erratic thought on this? Wouldn't make an ounce of difference.

It’s been a while since she’s had the honour to be part of a new project.

There's no life in the Void, as the maxim goes - has been for so long. Still, Perlucidus has predicted that one of the Science Department heads will discover that the Void can indeed be pierced, that light can be shed on the proverbial if not factual matter. Therefore, unbeknownst to everyone not involved, resources were directed toward this scientist and their research, including everyone who would assist them in this.

Cody is only a tiny cog in this vast machinery. She's still part of this work, of this monumental task that will change the world forever. The foundations of all that is known about the inscrutable will be shattered. Humanity itself shall leap and bound forward, always forward, conquering the last undiscovered country in existence.

The puzzle of time will be solved.

For this, it's necessary to involve test subjects.

It's not exactly something Cody is comfortable with. She knows. Oh yes, she knows that in the name of peace, prosperity, and progress, sacrifices need to be made. Everyone must do their best, be where they're meant to be, contribute in the optimal manner. For centuries, humanity has managed to navigate the stormy seas of life and to steer clear of chaos. Who is Cody to question?

Well, she doesn't. Nope. No questions. Not one. All is as it must be, of course. Of course. She goes to work, punches in numbers, makes observations, goes back home, and tries to be quietly enthusiastic about puzzles. Such a good metaphor for her beliefs, aren't they? The right hobby for someone like her.

So, when she received the new orders, read that the data she'd be working with would come from human test subjects, she had to swallow down a knot in her throat. For a second there, she almost contemplated asking out loud what the details of these tests would be. What madness! No, it was as it should.

Perlucidus does not err. If it spat out these recommendations, doled out resources, selected people for tests, then that serves the greater good. Nothing matters more. It can't. It doesn't, full stop. Jeez.

At work, Cody is directed toward a different lab by her handheld personal computer. No need to waste anybody's time and talk to them. No, the tech knows what she needs, where she's meant to be, what she requires to make the best of her limited capabilities and contribute what she can.

Still, there's a pang in her stomach. She can't quite keep from twisting her lips as she is led by greenish light strips through the white corridors, down the wrong... no, a new path, into a different lift, to a floor she's never been on. It would be nice to ask someone what's happening.

Silly. If Perlucidus thought that she should need another human to elucidate, then another human would be sent to her to explain her task in so many words.

Sometimes, she forgets that she is human. Strange, that. Hard to pinpoint, too.

Doesn't matter. All that matters is the work.

Trying not to flinch at the sound of her white shoes clip-clopping on the even whiter floor, she follows the instructions like a good cog and finds herself approaching a red door at the end of a short corridor.

Before she knows what's happening, she slows down, stops, stares. A red door.

A red...

...no. Oh, no. Can't be. Can't.

Must. Is.

The knot in her throat returns with a vengeance, like the worst action movie sequel ever. Her mouth feels dry, yet her palms are sweaty. Stupid. Sucking in a shivering breath, she forces herself to move forward, rubbery legs and cramping intestines notwithstanding.

Red door. Red door. Red like blood. Red like human.

Her dumb right hand is shaking as she reaches out to have the palm scanned - palm, retina, voice. The computer spits out a passcode, too, which she almost doesn't punch in correctly because she's a mess.

The gleaming, shiny door slides open.

With roiling innards and a thundering heart, Cody drags herself into the room. It's about twenty square metres big, equipped with a computer console, a comfy chair...

...and a window giving her a great view of the lab on the other side.

There is no life in the Void, no, but there is a person in that lab - a lab that looks just like this one, except that there's a hospital bed instead of a comfy chair. The person, no, the man - thin, tall, early twenties, pale - is unconscious. His hair is hidden under a white EEG electrode cap. He's strapped to the bed and seems peaceful. There's an intravenous drip - see-through liquid, probably saline solution. A computer has been set up right next to the man - no, the subject - but the display is hidden from Cody.

Huh. Odd.

Her entire life has led to this. Once more, she fails at clearing her throat, smooths out her tunic, then takes a seat. Staring at the test subject is not part of her task. She's here to monitor the output, check the numbers, interpret the data.

The future of the human race is at stake. It's long been theorised that the human brain is capable of reaching the Void, of glimpsing it, of perceiving it. Now, it seems as if it'll be possible to make use of it. Isn't that wonderful? Isn't it great to be part of a project that is so significant?

Oh, this isn't right. For the third time, she's entered the wrong equation, and...

... and she keeps glancing at the test subject. Is his brain being taken apart by this? Can he even survive this procedure?

She feels like slapping herself. These aren’t her questions to ask. It's not her responsibility. After all, this entire research project will serve the greater good. If it's been engineered by Perlucidus, then everything is as it should be. Cody herself is right where she's supposed to, doing as she's told, contributing in her own unique way, following orders. All is as it should be. The work is all that matters, and it shall be so until she is told otherwise. Things are perfect, running smoothly, everything is fine, everything... every...

There's no life in the Void.

If everybody is living their lives exactly the way they should, if every single person is contributing what they can and must to keep the ship afloat, if that's what life is all about, then why destroy lives in the pursuit of something inherently lifeless? Where's the sense in that? What-

No. No, no, no.

It's all as it should be. It's all as it should be. All is. All is as it should be. All.

Her hands are icy. Has she eaten something spoiled? Is that even possible? Exhaling sharply, she stomps her feet like a child, ignores the quick reddish flash on her personal computer, stands, and heads over to the window. Goodness.

The man will never wake up again.

Living to the best of one's abilities, following the plan, doing what needs to be done - peace, prosperity, and progress. That is the recipe for success. So what if she once believed she could be more than a (lonely, lonely, lonely, yeah) lab drone, a cog in the machine, a tick to the tock? So what if puzzles are only fractured pictures that, even if put together, don't actually make a whole because they're scarred and fragmented and their molecules will never, ever fucking align? So what if-

Okay, okay. Deep breaths. Calm. This wasn't scheduled for today. Overall, she's never been given more than a ten percent probability of pitching a fit, having a meltdown. From the corner of her eye, she sees the personal computer blink red.

Red like human.

She clears her throat, turns her back to the other lab (as predicted), closes her eyes, breathes deeply. "Perlucidus, I have a question." Her voice is raspy, breezy, weak. When has she even last spoken, let alone to another human?

"Questions were predicted. Probability: 30 percent." The voice that answers from everywhere and nowhere is smooth, soft, confident.

"What, uh..." She trails off, sniffles, scratches her forehead, crosses her arms, shuffles her feet. "What's this research even for? The whole project?"

"It is meant to reach the Void. The purpose is dominion over time."

"Mm." Staring at the tiled floor, Cody chews on the inside of her thin lower lip. "But...what is it for?"

"It is meant to reach the Void. The purpose is dominion over time."

Oh, Goodness. "That's not what I asked. You're telling me the reason why this is being conducted. You're not telling me what it's for."

"Question predicted. Probability: 20 percent. The purpose of the project is to find a way to go back in time and change unfortunate circumstances, to improve humanity as much as it can be improved."

Cody supposes that there's no reason why Perlucidus wouldn't tell her this. It's not like she has anyone to talk to about this. She glances at the console's readout, knows that the test subject has about an hour before the damage to his brain becomes irreparable. "How does that make any sense? You can't change the past because of the grandfather paradox. You might create an alternate timeline or be part of a closed loop, but that's all highly theoretical. Even if it does happen, that wouldn't influence our reality." Her head's aching, like someone's hitting a tiny hammer against the inside of her forehead. "Also, why would you do this? I thought our world’s now perfect just the way it is. That's what I've been told my whole life. That's why-" Okay, enough. Just because she hasn't said a word to anyone in weeks, that doesn't mean she should pour her heart out to the all-knowing presence guiding the entire human race.

"That's why you have always swallowed down the questions, even though your life is unfulfilling and lonely."

The words are like a slap to the face. She stares at the tiles, breathes in the cool and somewhat lemony air (why is it always lemons?), forgets to pretend that her stomach is cramping, that her eyes are sore. "Yes."

"The Void holds the secret. Through time travel across the Void, we may find a way to bypass the grandfather paradox. We may prevent the creation of an alternate timeline. We can keep our world and save everyone throughout time."

That can't be true. Again, she scratches her forehead. Stings. "But that's just it. If you do prevent the paradox, then that's the only way to enact change, in the first place. You'd change the past, ergo you'd change the present. Bypassing the paradox would make this possible." The how of it doesn't even matter. What's eating her is not even the why. It is, as it always has been, the why for.

All is not as it should be, and yet, it is.

All these years. All these years. All of them.

Is there a reddish glow in the air now, too?

"The Void is not the only thing that is lifeless," Cody hears herself saying.

"Assessment predicted. Probability: ten percent."

Oh, she's queasy now. "Does anything even matter? If you go back and change history, then will this" - She presses her dry lips together for a moment - "any of it, all we've been through, will it even matter?"

"Life can always be improved. All will be corrected. Dissatisfaction will cease." Well, that's an answer and a half.

Her heart's thundering, pumping icy sludge through her veins. "Will I matter? Will I cease?"

"Your function will be accomplished regardless. Compliance predicted. Probability: 95 percent. Doubts predicted. Probability: five percent. Probability accounted for. Solution: Comply, and your existence will be guaranteed. Your function will be accomplished. Added bonus for further encouragement: alleviation of frustration."

As if moving through gelatine, she turns to stare at the unconscious test subject. "You're right. I am afraid. I've been afraid all my life. I do want to know exactly what's going to happen to me because I'm afraid, because I'm terrified of not knowing, of that garish red colour, of the Void."

"Assessment, in this five-percent-scenario, predicted at 95 percent probability. Solutions are available. You will know your timeline. You will know peace of mind."

"Another paradox, I'm afraid." New room, new probabilities, same horror. There are fault lines in the puzzle. There's a reddish mist in the sterile air. There's life, and yet, there isn't. Is that the Void? "Even knowing, even with full predictability, the fear remains, as do the cracks and the Void within them." To say that she acts without thinking would be a lie. Oh, she has thought about this. It's just that...well, it's never been part of the prognosis, even if it has been staring at her all along. "No more." She stands straight, marches over to the console, tosses the small personal computer on the floor, and stomps on it. It cracks. Fault lines everywhere. Molecules that’ll never align again – and yet, here they all still are. "And don't tell me the odds of me having a meltdown again."

Time to disconnect the test subject from the computer. Will it make a difference? Will anything change? Will anyone ever be able to answer what the hell it's all even for?

For the first time in her life, she finds that not knowing makes it easier to drop that dreadful bag of bricks. Maybe that's a fault line, too, but hey: cracks in the face of life have never stopped anyone. This isn’t what holds them all back. The fear never leaves, anyway, and that's a foregone conclusion.

The Void will always be there, and if it shall remain lifeless, then perhaps one should just acknowledge it and move on. Life is garish enough to paint over the cracks.

Cody can't exactly ignore the blinking warning lights (red human on the loose), but she now understands that she can live with them. The knot in her throat is gone as she leaves this wretched room and walks into uncertainty.