Thin. Stretched. Drawn out. In the dark spaces between the stars, the web of consciousness attenuates, each element a cold point of concentration in an infinite pool of blankness. Too near a star, destruction. Too distant, numbness.
       The artificially modulated electromagnetic waves, penetrating Aurora’s field, drew the swarm, irresistibly, to intelligence on the third planet. Not too near, not too far from an insignificant sun in an unremarkable spiral arm of a very ordinary galaxy. But, even among the stars, curiosity must be cautious. As Aurora began to explore this innocuous world, a bolt of energy like a fishhook pinned the swarm to the planet. Retreat impossible, escape only by disintegration.
        “Did you see that, Isabelle?” Doctor Gerhard Weber turned to the colleague monitoring the Large Hadron Collider beam position. “That deflection needs attention.”
“Yes. No. Wait. The radiation monitors… We need to abort and recalibrate.” Isabelle de Faux pulled the red emergency handle down. “Better safe…”
        Aurora waited, coalesced about the point of pain, struggled back and forth but, no. Only an external force could remove the fastening. Assistance from the intelligence behind the entrapment was the only hope. Some few million sparkles – shards of conscious silicon – needed to be despatched to see if whatever was responsible for this catastrophe could be persuaded to help.
        For Gerhard and Isabelle, their shift had been a disaster and now, in the dawn, even the sky seemed infected. Waves of brightly coloured light dazzled; overhead in Geneva, and along the Southern horizon. “Not our problem,” Isabelle said. “What we need is sleep.”
 

“But, of course, it was their problem.” Anna kicked a pebble along the beach. “Gerhard said on the telephone, in the month since, he has hardly slept. Only worked. Every coil checked before they’re allowed to restart.”
        “Meanwhile, we just wait? Ask him again to get us, at least, a pass to the visitor centre.” Ingrid sounded as bored as Anna felt.
        “Not allowed to open. Not a CERN thing. WHO. Like the safety goggles.”
        “I hate those things. I think I’m allergic. I’m taking them off.” Ingrid had complained about them from the start.
“Don’t even think about it. Look over the lake, clouds of sparkles. If they get in your eyes the madness starts. Definitely unsafe.”
        “You believe that?” Ingrid laughed. “A government plot to control our thoughts?”
        “Why would they ever do that?”
        “To stop people having fun, being free. Mad hallucinations? Alien kidnapping? Trips to starships? All scare stories. I’m taking off the goggles. They say it’s very… sexy.”
        “No. You mustn’t… ” Too late. Ingrid’s goggles were on the ground. “Ingrid? Ingrid! Are you OK?”
She reached over and shook her. “Are you there? Can you hear me, Ingrid? Are you being abducted? It isn’t sexy, like they say, is it? You’re not turned on, are you?”
        “I’m… here.” Ingrid sounded miles away. “No. Not sexy. Just a… very strange… conversation. Take off your goggles, too. I need you here.”
        The conversation was strange. Mainly because Ingrid believed it was real. But if it wasn’t, how was Anna sharing her hallucination? An extra-terrestrial? Called Aurora? Visible as coloured bands in the sky? Trapped because a powerful machine had been switched off? Maybe Gerhard was right, and his failed experiment was the cause of the weird colours.
        “We have to help, Anna.” Ingrid insisted. “Like the kids rescued ET. They can’t stay here. They’re weaker already – tomorrow’s too late. We have to get the collider switched on to free them.”
        “We don’t even know they’re real. People have hallucinations. Face it, Ingrid, this is one of those. And, why us? Even if we want to help, what can two fifteen-year-old girls do?”
        “Aurora says they tried to tell other people – thousands – but their minds were closed. If we carry a jar of sparkles into the control room, they can do the rest. If we try it, we’ll see they’re telling the truth.”
        Anna was still protesting as the jar filled with sparkles. “My brother can’t get us into the building, let alone the control room.”
        “Say you must see him. You know how unreliable the phones are, with the radio waves disrupted. We can meet him in reception.” Ingrid put the lid on the jar and headed up past the UN building. “Put on your goggles. It’s ten kilometres.”
        At the French customs post, the street was blocked.
        “You see,” Anna said, “we can’t even get out of Switzerland.”
        “Documents, please. And health certificates.” The gendarme smiled. “Now inside, for identification sans lunettes.”
The door closed behind them, and they removed their goggles.
        “Wait!” The gendarme beckoned his colleague. “Your eyes – sparkles, I think.”
        “Impossible! An artefact of your goggles. Look more closely.” As the two men removed their goggles and peered at her eyes, Ingrid opened the lid of the jar inside the carrier bag.
        “Should we leave them?” Anna hesitated at the door.
        “They’re OK. Enjoying themselves, I think.” Ingrid laughed.
        At the control centre, the outer door was locked, isolated with WHO tape barriers, but eventually Gerhard appeared with security staff and a key. “Why so urgent?” he asked.
        “It’s not a family thing,” Anna said. “Restart the Collider. To solve the psychosis problem.”
        “You’ll need to explain to the Director General. He’s the only one—”
        “No. Bring them.” The leader of the security detail interrupted. “And I’ll have that!”
        He snatched the carrier containing the jar and marched them into the guardroom.
        “Now what is this?” He extracted the brightly coloured jar.
        “Whatever you do,” Ingrid said, “Do not open that.”
        “And why not?” He put his hand on the top.
        “Just don’t do it. It’s… valuable.”
        “We shall see about that!” He unscrewed the lid.

 

Free. Floating. In the dark spaces between the stars, the web of consciousness renews itself, each element a cold point of concentration in an infinite pool of blankness.