After the time storm cleared they found old girlie magazines, the wing of an airplane, dozens of mismatched shoes, holographic access cards, and confused sanitary bots all along the beach.
The report had a tang to it, a piquant urgency that meant allocating this world’s resources to a project hatched from a fever dream, from some allergic reaction to the present reality.
“The only thing that could explain it, I mean the absolutely only possible thing… is that I’m a brain in a jar. They’re experimenting on me. Nothing else would explain this, nothing could.” She said this calmly.
“Ten more steps,” he thought, “and I’ll be at the last door and out of this lousy universe.”
The performance lasted for millennium, the instruments were suns and planets, neighboring galaxies complained.
When the computer asked for the coordinates, secretly, deep down, it didn’t really care.
Without fuel the ship would drift nearly a million years. If he was risen once every ten thousand for maintenance there would be a hundred chances of failure.
The time stream calculations were incredibly complex, and except for a few sparse decades they would have to face overwhelming idiocy and violence.
“Of all the moments in the universe, you had to pick this one.” The time buoy had been completely destroyed.
Re-stacking the boxes was impossible while they were still full of old dead stars.
When confronted by the cloud of screaming eyeballs they decided to retreat.
After the third supernova they decided to move out of the neighborhood.
The first and second galactic transmissions were comprehensible, however the most recent was technically crazy.
The women of that world wrapped themselves in something so shiny it required protective eyewear.
Five different species had over-confidently tried to fly around the huge brightly colored space funnel, none successfully.