34 This Mortal Warp Coil
Reaching out to it, he watches his hand demolecularize.
Atoms eroding, scattering toward the raging cosmic maelstrom.
He is drawn into the gravitic turbulence of Slipstream: a living thread skeined in time and space, matter and antimatter.
Fire. And ice.
Losing himself in momentum, he falls through the vast, churning spectral rupture with a soundless scream.
He disintegrates into particle and wave. Propelling faster than his atoms, faster than his light. Melding into the fabric of the universe, he rides the living wheel of light.
He is become speed.
Particle and wave.
Fire and ice.
We are Slipstream.
He thought he heard something:
A breath, a voice
No, a force.
Whispering to him from gravimetric shear.
You can't outrun yourself, she said.
He rages across the galaxy.
The galaxy swarms with spectroscopic complexity. He sees the entire electromagnetic band every star, every sacred nuclei and understands so much more, so much less.
The galaxy gazes into him: a luminous, all-seeing eye.
Gravity impels him, presses hard into phantom flesh and bone, and he is tunneling into a brilliant light. It invades and breaks the seals of his eyes.
Somehow his scorched body is whole again. The light charges through his burnt out husk like an electric current. A blurry figure moves in his field of vision. White...and blue.
Neurons spark, sputter into unfocused recognition: a humanoid. White...and blue. Hovering.
Ice...planet, he rasps.
The radiance burns his eyes.
Antenna retracting, the Andorian looks up at someone. "There goes my private room.
Tom cackles at Ujio Shir, and spirals down...to fire...ice....