Author: Majoki
“Based on the most current cosmological evidence, the known universe is less than 5% ordinary matter, all the crap we can see and touch.”
“That’s still a lot of crap.” Grunden grinned. He always grinned.
Finnhil waved him off. “That’s nothing. We’re after paydirt, the thing that makes up over two-thirds of reality.”
Grunden’s eyes widened. “Porn?”
“No. That’s just the Internet. I’m talking about dark energy.”
Finnhil waited for Grunden’s backtalk. None came. He sighed. “Really? You have nothing to say to that. We’re on the verge of testing one of the most revolutionary ideas in scientific history, and now you have nothing to say?”
“Sorry. I was passing gas.”
“You are a living metaphor, Grunden. A living metaphor, but I need your pissant help today to film this. Get your phone out.”
Ever-grinning, Grunden did and started recording.
Finnhil cleared his throat. “Greetings. I’m James Monroe Finnhil. This day, I’ll achieve a breakthrough that will change the way we think about humanity and our supreme role in the universe.”
Gesturing with spidery hands, Finnhil motioned to the apparatus on the table before him. “Through years of experimentation, I believe I’ve determined the nature of dark energy, the force that drives all matter, seen and unseen, in the cosmos. My theory is simple but sublime: dark energy is intelligence. It is the source not of life, but of consciousness. Thought is literally a motive force.”
With forced flourish, Finnhil picked up a glittering form from the table that could reasonably be described as Buck Roger’s hairnet. Beaming with pride, he placed the glittering, filament-laced thing on his narrow head.
Grunden sniggered.
“Quiet you!” Finnhil shushed. “We’ll edit that out. No more interruptions. No more.”
“Nevermore.” Grunden grinned.
“Enough already.” Finnhil regathered himself. “Thought is a motive force. Dark energy is its quintessence, the moduli, the scalar fields that result. Viewed through this lens both the Drake Equation and the Fermi Paradox coalesce into what I call Finnhil’s Final Solution.”
Grunden sniggered again, but Finnhil charged on. “The proof of extraterrestrial intelligence, the signs of their communicating civilizations, is all around us. We are that proof. The concept of dark energy only exists because of thought and reason. It is a product of intelligence. Cosmological expansion is really a factor of the growth of sentience, of intelligence, of reason in our inter-galactic brethren.”
Finnhil spread his hands expansively. “For those paying close attention, we were alerted to thought as motive force over a hundred years ago. Like many break-through discoveries, mine stands on the shoulder of giants. None greater than Edgar Rice Burroughs. He alone understood the relationship between dark energy and intelligence. Through his iconic John Carter he showed us the way to tap into the invisible forces that could propel us to faraway worlds. Burroughs was the one who sussed this truth for humanity.”
Finnhil’s spindly fingers danced about his head. “The device I’m wearing is wirelessly connected to an apparatus I call the Perturbational Complex Engine. In essence it is a wave generator that reinforces neural activity. I am about to use it to focus on a single thought, a bold concept, that will send me to Tomorrowland in the Magic Kingdom. That is fitting. The imaginative pioneer, Edgar Rice Burroughs, paved the way, and now I will definitively demonstrate through proof of concept that concept is proof.”
Finnhil pushed a series of blinking buttons on the Perturbational Complex Engine. The device hummed and the delicate filaments of his gossamer headdress glowed brightly. “Humanity may not be, but I am ready.”
Nothing happened until Finnhil’s face contorted in ecstasy or agony or both. And Grunden grinned a last time. “Nevermore.”
At the site that had been the residence of J. M. Finnhil, a firefighter digging through the largely charred, shredded and unrecognizable remnants of the house, discovered a badly damaged cell phone. No human remains were recovered.
After weeks of working with the shattered phone, all the forensic technicians could extract was a garbled video with only two clear but disjointed words: proof …. nevermore.