Author : Daniel Euphrat

Beginning on August the twentieth, they received a series of twelve and only twelve transmissions, one a day from deep space probe Nocturnum. This was unusual because the probe had been expected to transmit far more reports, perhaps numbering in the hundreds, over the course of its voyage. It was also unusual because the probe hadn’t been launched yet.

Said one scientist of the event, “I believe it is safe to say that either some of our calculations were in error with regards to the transmission time, or we simply had an incomplete understanding of the phenomena at hand when designing the probe’s communication device.”

Said another scientist, off the record, “See, this is the kind of thing that happens when you fuck with faster-than-light speeds.”

For astronaut George Felix, the strangest part was hearing the voice of his future self.

“I somehow thought I’d sound more distinguished after maturing a few thousand years,” he said with a bemused half-grin.

“Yeah, don’t believe what they say, George, people aren’t really like fine wine.” Edward Templeton sat next to Felix in front of a waveform projection on computer monitor, clicking back to the beginning to play the clip yet again.

“Please, for Christ’s sake, would you quit it with that thing? You’re giving me a headache.” Felix stood up and began to pace back and forth behind his chair in the tiny foam-padded sound room.

“Most old people I know aged like warm milk. Particularly my relatives. I’m sorry, is the scientific revelation of the century getting on your nerves, princess?” said Templeton, tossing a pen in Felix’s general direction without looking up from the screen.

“Oh please. We knew from the start that the tachyons were going to go back in time, we just guessed wrong on how far. The only revelation is that those dimwits at the ISA can’t make a half-decent Feynman diagram.”

“Right, right and getting a fucking message from the future is just kind of an arbitrary side-effect.”

Felix chuckled, interlacing his fingers and tapping his thumbs together. The room was quiet now except for the hum of the computer and Templeton’s mouse clicks.

“I’m still going to do it, you know,” said Felix.

Templeton did look back at him now, an eyebrow raised. “Alright, buddy, it’s your funeral.”