Comments
Loading Dream Comments...
You must be logged in to write a comment - Log In
Massive science fiction-style stargate towering over the barren landscape of a desolate moon, its colossal ring pulsing with energy as the shimmering event horizon swirls like liquid light. Surrounding the stargate is an immense industrial complex, with towering structures and intricate machinery bathed in the cold glow of distant starlight. The moon's surface is lifeless and heavily cratered, casting long shadows under the eerie luminescence of a nearby gas giant. Sleek starships, ranging in size from nimble fighters to colossal freighters, glide steadily toward the gate, their engines leaving trails of blue ion light.
By the time the alert chimed, no one looked up.
Most of the passengers had already adjusted their feeds for the delay. A few
skimmed headlines, or argued softly with recommendation engines; one person
stared through the forward viewport with the unfocused patience of someone who
had seen this exact view too many times to count. Outside, the aperture continued to
churn, luminous and indifferent, holding open a path across distances that once
required poetry to describe.
“Transit clearance pending,” the ship announced, apologetic without conviction.
Someone sighed. Someone else checked the local clock, then remembered it no
longer mattered which side of the jump they were on. The news scrolled on: market
fluctuations three arms over, a diplomatic incident that would resolve itself before
anyone aboard arrived to care, a reminder about baggage alignment protocols for
nonstandard continua. The miracle outside remained perfectly operational. It was the
scheduling that was unreliable.
There was a time when crossing the gulf between stars meant farewell speeches,
calculations written in trembling hands, and the knowledge that nothing familiar
would ever be seen again. That era ended quietly, sometime between the third
expansion of the corridor network and the first lawsuit over missed connections.
Now the only inconvenience is congestion.
The gate does not inspire awe so much as impatience. It works too well, too often,
for too many people at once. Distance has collapsed into a bottleneck. The universe
has been reduced to lanes, priorities, and an apologetic delay notification that will be
ignored the moment clearance comes through.
Outside, the boundary between here and there remains open.
Inside, someone mutters that they really should reroute traffic through the outer
corridor during peak hours.
