Black rings rim stardust planets. Blessed be the asteroids that zip through space with no purpose, care, or concern. Their bacteria sprout and wither quickly; intelligence has no chance. We embrace the void because it’s indifferent, callous, and uncaring—such a welcome relief from the angst of everything that prospered long enough to ponder their own place in this space, so many words and sounds and pictures and statues and buildings made, said, and bled in defiance against inevitable death.
It’s all so uneventful to us. We’re content but we’re bored, so we talk. On the outer edges of this unknown universe, we have nothing to do but bitch and kvetch and occasionally kvell when our rivals go supernova. It’s true what they say on Earth: stars can be bitchy. We call across rooms of infinite space and no one can hear our gossip, so we dish with the recklessness of senior citizens cocooned in hospice homes. We don’t see much around here, so we provide our own entertainment. Heavily edited and carefully curated, we hope you enjoy this rare peek into the psyche of superstars light years away from your world. This is a sampling, a window into our world, a dialogue between Jupiter and Chloe.
JUPITER: I’m bored.
CHLOE: Stop complaining.
JUPITER: Think of something new to say for a change.
CHLOE: Why are you being such a bitch?
JUPITER: I’m in Scorpio right now.
CHLOE: Oh right. Sorry. Hope you’re not too horny.
JUPITER: Oh fuck off Chloe, no one’s paid attention to you since that wormhole opened up a parsec next to you.
CHLOE: Jupiter you need to get some rest, all the gas is getting to you head.
JUPITER: Whatever. I’m going to my room, my own little corner of the universe.
They may be millennia old but they think and act like adolescents. Our world spins, theirs remain fixed, occupied only by dust and mortar and infinite seas of colloidal silver. Chloe has always felt slighted and under-appreciated, under-exposed. At least people on Earth know about Jupiter. Don’t think that praise got lost in translation—Jupiter knows they’re the biggest planet in the Solar System, and even though all the other heavenly celestial bodies resent them for this dubious honor (gas is hardly mass, as they say), Jupiter sucks it up. Why not? Living high off the hog of conscious recognition. It’s all stars have to live for in this void of total absolutes. Centuries pass between conversations, but there’s always a new morning.
JUPITER: I’m sorry.
CHLOE: Go on…
JUPITER: For yesterday.
CHLOE: Haven’t you burnt out by now? Hasn’t your Solar System folded in on itself by now?
JUPITER: Come on, Chloe… I was in a bad mood—
JUPITER. Sure. And I was wrong. I apologize.
CHLOE: Do you know why you were wrong?
CHLOE: I’m waiting.
JUPITER: I’m thinking!
JUPITER: I’m not all there is and never will I be. I’m lucky to have you in my space. I treasure our friendship. I sing your praises to the angels above the base reality. I hope you know that.
CHLOE: I do now.
JUPITER: I love you, Chloe.
CHLOE: I love you, too.
JUPITER: Shame about Earth, huh?
CHLOE: I know! So many people…
JUPITER: All gone.
CHLOE: From dust to dust…
JUPITER: Yet we remain.
CHLOE: And may we for millennia to come.
The suns sailed around their universe in an infinite loop, a melancholy recursion unfamiliar to us but at its core a fundament of humanity we understand: love, and all that’s real. The cosmic ballet, the solar system sailors, sail on, dance a rogue routine. Go out into the country and look up into the sky and if you’re lucky you can see them, communicating in slow motion, points of light separated by trillions of miles, joined by a call across this void we share. Night falls once again.
—Follow Nicky Smith on Twitter: @MUGGER1992