I am traveling back to the outer edges of the Milky Way.
As ancient as I had been, the century-old warp speed is no longer working. The real Spock who had the audacity to create such have gone and came back to Vulcan.
And the parallel universe I have come to confused myself with is now on the verge of redefining itself as one.
Instead, with an outdated ion propeller I’m blazing leisurely at turtle speed. Every second in this new journey would come as months, and every day years. But I would rather do this than go light speed.
No, no wormholes today, thank you.
And going back to the great dude’s theory that was famously used to make beers, if I travel closely to the speed of light, the things I would have left behind would age tremendously compared to the ones who actually moved, providing a paradoxically perennial problem with traveling through time and almost on infinite space.
I personally have found that time traveling is a matter of space, not time.
So I got no choice but enjoy this rather unscrupulous pain of intergalactic jetlag. I would have to endure quite a number of gravitational pulls coming from the planets and star formations that I eventually would have to pass through. Imagine your brain passing through several giant magnetic fields at the same time? You would definitely feel a little wobbly.
No, those popcorn popping in between cellphones are a bit off course, it’s a hoax by the way, but close in principle but relatively and proportionally ginormous.
All I wanted was to get to the lunar surface and ensure that the moon rocks I have left behind are still there, for these rocks have outgrown themselves the last time I checked. And I would love to recoup some lost moments with my precious rocks better that what I could get through Hubble’s enormous lenses.
I don’t find the need to recheck the bearings of the lunar reflector. My records are pretty straight-forward. That even with a given time delay, the distance of the moon and I are growing every year. Our combined masses as well as the moon rocks are ineffective as the Nordtvedt Effect.
I still have to avoid those black holes lurking in the center of the galaxies though. For I only had Hawking in my mind as he was describing a man turning into instant spaghetti as soon as he ventures closer and closer to event horizon. Geez, I needed to start thinking of a personal legacy more than just becoming a space noodle turned kaput.
And of course there’s the remnants of the blue star who kept on locking their space guns on me, who can’t wait to finally lay their cosmic hands on me. As if there was this enormous platinum apple sitting on top of my head waiting to turn supernova. Traveling in galactic ruins really had its downside.
I only hope my superhero alter-ego would be there just in time.