Dystopia - Sofia's Journal

From the Story Arc: Dystopia

Previous Story in the Arc: Dystopia Chapter 1 by Krasniy Zakat (Sunday, July 02, 2006)

Next Story in the Arc: Dystopia Chapter 2 by Krasniy Zakat (Thursday, July 06, 2006)

(posted Tuesday, July 04, 2006)

Sofia’s notes

I went to the laboratory with Victoria today. After the visit was over, I had decided that it might benefit me to keep regular, detailed notes. This is what I am doing at the present moment. The notes are compiled in English. I am in the habit of typing in this language, and since this is the faster, by far, method I shall stick to it. It does not cause me any discomfort, and perhaps would be useful in case someone else besides me will have the need to use these records for their own purposes. Purposes like rescuing me, perhaps. Doubtless in these cases having a detailed account is handy.

The laboratory was a strange place. Rather comical, in its own way. Crey has a preference to sleek contours, impractically long and twisting corridors and glowing lights. Perhaps I am even echoing my husband’s thoughts here – I do not know – but if it were the case I would not be astonished. Long association breed similarity, I am told, and we have been similar enough even before over twenty years of joint lives must have made us into each other’s copies.

Despite the ludicrous look of the establishment the science is real enough. After we had arrived, I had some time to examine the place. It is full of machinery, almost bristling with signs that read: WARNING, and the room of the portal makes one feel as if one were in a cave.

I found few records only in the entire place, due to the almost complete lack of digital equipment of any kind. One must assume that Alex had taken his own PDA, at least, with him, in addition to more useless technononsense. He has not taken food, nor a spare shirt. He went in his lab coat.

Yet Alex’s reasoning is not always hard to follow, as I had explained to Vickie while at the laboratory. Presumably, he would have looked for a universe that was similar enough to our own for him to find an alternate self that suffers from the same problems, and that has arrived at some solutions. Such narrowing down of the incredible infinity that is all possible verses would make the task much easier. An infinity of thirty-two, measured against an infinity of ten billion is a small thing.

It seems strange to speak of infinites in such a fashion, even to me – and I had lived with a mathematician for far longer than I sometimes cared to. The universe – all of them out there – is a strange place. However, I have deviated from the topic and must return to it, for the sake of clarity and organization.

The laboratory was mostly vacant, except for the portal room itself, which has several machines quite unfamiliar to me. Most of them seem to be based around large levers and buttons, and calculating anything on them must be hellish. I am convinced that most of the records went with my husband in his portable computer, since there is very little way to store them on location. Perhaps for the best, for although I know the usual codes he uses it might not have been prudent to provide over vigilant Vickie with them.

I must admit, however, that Vickie’s concern seems to me more and more the realistic option. There was something in the laboratory that had caught my attention, and if it proves as ominous as it sounds to the uninitiated outsider the situation may prove graver than we suspected. Apparently my husband’s ideas, insofar as I could follow them, were correct, or successful to one degree or another. His search had been halted by someone – or something – else. Whether intended or not, I am not entirely certain, though I suspect that it was not unexpected.

Search halted by remote process. Origin of command: Current target dimension.

I must assume, therefore, that the universe which was the ultimate goal of my husband’s search had been found. I am not entirely certain how such ominous readouts could not have confounded his sometimes suspicious mind, but, evidently, he had assumed, and perhaps somehow assured, his own safety. For the period of the next five minutes, anyway. He had enough sense to close the portal after him, I merely hope I can recalibrate and reopen it again.

This assumption could be disputed, of course. It is also entirely possible that whoever halted the search in the first place came and snatched Alexander from our own world, to his own. For purposes unknown to me, and unguessable by me. If the case is, indeed, as the second scenario poses it, then he is in deep trouble already, and so will I be when I arrive.

I intend to merely proceed with a recon. Assuming that the situation is developing according to the first possibility, Alexander will not be appreciative of my coming in with a full army to disrupt his experiments, not to mention the humiliation of dragging him back through the portal as if he were a criminal. He is not a fool, nor is he a child, and if things had gone the way they should have gone I do not intend to shatter his trust in me, and everyone’s else trust in him, by making a rash move.

However, if it were and the situation is grave I should be able to return and wait for a group of people more experienced than myself, also enlarging the possibility that at least one of our alternate selves will be found, and will be able to help us.

And if it were and the scenario is so grave as to allow neither me nor Alexander to return… I do not believe I would care to continue living, nor return to this world alone.

It is growing dark, and I must be on my way; this laptop is going with me, even though it is heavy and inconvenient. I could almost wish for Alex’s abilities at the moment. Powering a dead battery is never an issue when you have an energy storage at your disposal – we, pyrokinetics are not so blessed.

I have deposited Schrödinger with Victoria. He didn’t like it, but relented finally, after much coaxing. The cat never does as I tell him. Alexander was the only one to whom he ever listened. In addition, he is distinctly unhappy, still. All threads are gathered and tied up, as they say, and I leave here with a relative certainty that things do not collapse to all hells in my absence.

Presumably I am well prepared.

I am scared to death.