Sign-off Supernova
Suppose just for a moment that a star collapsed, sending out a shockwave of force.
This in itself is hardly an impossibility; such events occur at regular intervals across the not-so-empty field of space, each one a thundering detonation that tears apart a star from within, leaving either a dead, gravity-heavy husk, or a hole bent on destroying all matter that comes its way.
But suppose that this star was not merely one of a thousand, or a million, destined to die. Suppose such a star were...encouraged to meet its final end.
Some would ask about those who caused it. What were their motives? Was such an act planned or accidental?
Others might ask about the star's location – were inhabited planets nearby? Were peoples, civilizations and cultures wiped out?
To answer those is simple: greed, accidental, two, four peoples, three civilizations and eight broad cultures.
But these are not the questions or answers that matter. On their surface, they seem relevant, but in the larger scope of the universe, are incidental. It is the question of how such a collapse happened that will reveal the real truth, how such titanic force was unleashed that will provide a broader answer.
For that, we must go to Balgan, perhaps the loneliest world on the Outer Arm of the galaxy, one settled by traders and left desiccated and hollow after had it had been stripped of all its natural resources. Three star-jumps to the nearest port mean that Alliance ships rarely bothered with it, and the weekly supply run was often late – by as much as a week.
Vens Carbal was one of the Last One Hundred, a group of settlers that refused to leave Balgan even after all sources of its income had dried up.
He had spent two and a half weeks waiting for a single part to fix his water purifier, and knew that if the part didn't come soon, he was going to have to go begging next door for a drink, something he had no desire to do – he knew his neighbor, but didn't like the man.
What Vens didn't know was that a star would soon die by his hand.
***
The delivery goon looked different than usual, but not so out of place that Vens really noticed. All of the employees of the Alliance Arrival fleet bore similar features, since over ninety percent of them hailed directly from the central planets in system 1. Tall and broad shouldered, those who were drafted into serving in the Arrival fleet were the bottom of the barrel – meaning they were too stupid to make it as grunts that died on foreign planets for dubious causes.
As a result, it took Vens three times as long as it should have to get his purifier off of the truck and explain to the goon what address he had landed at. If Vens had been just a little less honest, he could easily have picked up a number of interesting items meant for others on the surface, many of which he could use. Bad blood with his neighbors wasn't worth it, however, and he knew that they had to stick together if they had any hope of surviving the next time the Alliance went to war, pulling delivery ships off of their routes and co-opting them into the role of troop transports.
Once the paperwork was found and completed, the goon proved at least marginally useful at getting the purifier off of the truck and into his front yard. As soon as the large Steelplas box touched the ground, the goon let it go, and it was all Vens could do to keep it upright and avoid a crushed torso.
“Bye,” the goon said without ceremony, hopping into the pilot's seat and jamming the engine throttle. Vens had to jump back as the delivery craft roared to life, sending out a wave of flame that cascaded over and around the box. Thankfully, Steelplas was meant for just such idiocy, and once the heat had dissipated from its surface, Vens dragged the box inside.
Five minutes later, he was cursing loudly.
He should have checked inside – he knew better – but the goon had been in such a hurry, and the box had the right stamp on the outside corner. The Pliven Corporation was very exacting about its packaging, and as soon as Vens had seen the water purifier notation near the edge of the box, he'd turned his brain off. Perhaps the problems of system 1 were catching.
None of the parts in the box were familiar to him, though there was a set of diagrammed instructions that looked easy enough to follow. Despite his curiosity, however, he left all of the pieces inside their Steelplas casing – it wasn't a purifier, and no matter how interesting it turned out to be, he didn't need it.
A week passed and he came back to the box. He'd been forced to borrow water every day for the past three, and though his neighbors were accommodating, he could tell their supplies were low as well. He'd spoken to an Arrival Fleet rep about the package, but was told it would be at least a week and half more before anyone could come out to take it back and provide him with what he had ordered.
Grabbing the instructions, he began pulling parts out of the tall box, operating on the assumption that most Pliven technology used the same basic set of principles, and that there was a good chance he could make some of the new device suit his purposes.
After an hour, he knew he had nothing he could use to purify water. In fact, he had nothing he had ever seen before. Half as tall as him, the shining metal device had two screens and one button – a giant, red circle with a large symbol painted on it, one he didn't recognize.
Jamming it a few times, he was disappointed to find that nothing happened, then kicked the device into a corner and stomped inside to watch the evening Visicast. He was in a foul mood; he hated having to beg or borrow.
The smooth face of the visicaster told him that something was wrong, and when he heard what it was he was stunned. The entire fleet was being dispatched to a trio of stars that had suddenly exploded, and that meant his purifier was going to be even further delayed.
A knock at his door sounded and he stood; who on Balgan would be calling at such an hour?
***
The body of Vens Carbal was never found. His murderer took only one item from the dead man's home. - a single piece of wire.
- D
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