Shepherd dropped it back into the jacket and found his phone in another pocket. The countdown was still running, the numbers now almost at zero.
“Not long now,” Kinderman said, glancing at the screen.
Shepherd shook his head, confused all over again. “Not long to what? If the countdown is the thing itself, then what can come after?”
“I already told you,” Kinderman said, “a new beginning. Let me try and frame it a little. We are all effectively made of stardust: same atomic material, same physical properties, all linked by an energy and common origin, whether you call it faith or physics. For nearly fourteen billion years the universe has been expanding, from the Big Bang onward, always heading out, always seeking the new. Everything in the universe has mirrored this inherent nature — stars, planets, even humans. As a species we have spread, conquered, always looking beyond what we already have to what we might attain, even if we risk destroying ourselves in the process: it runs through everything, from an overreaching emperor destroying his empire for the sake of one more conquered land, to the happily married family man risking his happiness for the sake of an affair. Ours is a destructive nature, often a violent one, but it’s not really our fault, we are merely exhibiting the same nature as everything else, the universal urge to expand and ultimately pull ourselves apart.
“In many ways the Hubble project was no different. We have astonishing levels of child poverty on our planet and there are species beneath the deep oceans we have never laid eyes on. Yet rather than look inward so that we might know ourselves we think the answers always lie out there somewhere, past the edge of what we can see. I was as guilty of it as any. Through Hubble I was able to see farther than any man had ever done before. I was gazing upon the ultimate horizon, the one beyond which nothing existed — except maybe God, if that’s the way your beliefs lie — taking measurements of the very first things ever created at the instant of the Big Bang.
“I had been observing radiation and light at the very edge of the universe, taking measurements of its speed and rate of expansion. Then, just over eight months ago, there was a change. I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing, it was so — immense. At first I thought I must have made a mistake so I asked Professor Douglas to check what I was seeing and he concurred. The universe, the constantly expanding universe that has been exploding outward at ever-increasing speeds since the dawn of time, was slowing down.
“We decided to keep our findings to ourselves, partly to prevent unnecessary hysteria and speculation and partly to buy ourselves time to try and work out what was happening. At about the same time we both started getting the postcards, which suggested someone was monitoring our work. This made us play our cards even closer to our chest.
“We classified the data and kept monitoring the farthest edge of the universe as it continued to slow. And the more things slowed down on the farthest edge of space the more we noticed things changing here on earth. All these migrations of people heading home, the birds flying to nesting grounds out of season, this increasing urge to head back to a point of origin, it’s all just an echo of the changing universe. So there is no great conspiracy or alien mind control at work. Nor is it the harbinger of some terrible divine judgment in the shape of God’s wrath or a rogue planet on a collision course with earth. It is merely the linked consciousness and impulses that drive us all, fueled by the energy of the universe, once rushing out to ultimately tear itself apart, now rushing inward, toward where it originally came from. Back home. To some this is the place they were born, to others it is a person rather than a place, and to others it is somewhere much further back, the place we originally came from as a species.” He opened his arms and gestured at the garden. “Eden.”
110
Liv felt she was drowning in pain.
“There’s something wrong. You’re almost ten centimeters dilated already and the head is presenting. This baby should be coming.” Dr. Giambanco looked up from beneath the sheet draped over Liv’s legs. “Try pushing now.”
Liv was lying on the bed, sweat sheening her skin. She bore down, focusing her energy on her pelvic floor like she had once written about. The pain inside was so intense and total that it literally took her breath away. “I can’t,” she said. “It hurts too much.”
She felt the girl’s small hand grip hers, surprisingly strong for such a tiny thing. “Can I see?” she asked.
Liv nodded, not caring who looked so long as they could make the pain go away. Hevva moved to the bottom of the bed, squirting antiseptic gel on her hands as she went. She rubbed it between her fingers and worked it to the tips in a way that spoke of much practice, then she pressed one hand on Liv’s tummy and swept the other around the top of the baby’s head. “It’s a stargazer,” she said. “It’s facing up instead of down. That’s why it’s hard to push out. The head is bending the wrong way, so when you push it just gets stuck.”
Dr. Giambanco peered around Hevva’s narrow shoulders. “I think she’s right. We might have to do an emergency C-section.”
Liv felt sick at the thought, but the pain was so all encompassing she would do almost anything to make it stop.
“I could try and turn it,” Hevva said. “My hands are small. I’ve done it before.”
The doctor shook his head. “I don’t think we should risk—”
“Yes,” Liv cut in. “Let her try.”
Dr. Giambanco nodded and moved aside.
“Could you push against the leg,” Hevva said, her serious face angled up at the doctor. “And you,” she turned to the other medic, “you push against the other, but only when I say.”
She turned back to Liv, squirting more gel on her hands, making them as slippery as she could while she waited for the next contraction. Time stretched and the sounds of the night and rush of the fountain filled it.
Liv breathed. Tried to relax, then the burn of the pain started rising again.
“Now. Push now,” Hevva said and everybody obeyed. Then her hands slid forward and around the crown of the baby’s head.
The numbers on Shepherd’s phone continued their steady tick down. “What do you think will happen when it hits zero?”
“Nothing, at least not immediately. I think the changes we have already felt and witnessed will continue. The stardust in everything will respond in exactly the same way as before, only the effect will be different. I imagine we will no longer seek to conquer and discover, but become more reflective instead, our eyes will turn inward, just as Hubble had turned its gaze toward the earth. I hope that after an entire history blighted by war and violence — manifestations of the destructive imperatives of an expansive universe — we can look forward to an equally long period of peace and calm.
“On a fundamental level, everything is bound to change: human nature, politics, science, even religion. The end of days may be upon us, but only the end of the old days; the new ones will number the same as those that have gone before as the universe contracts — fourteen billion years, the exact same time frame as its expansion.”
The number on Shepherd’s phone got smaller and he could almost feel a calm flowing from it. Smaller was good. Smaller was simpler and much more comforting somehow than the concept of the infinite.
A noise made him look up, the sound of a diesel engine, approaching low and heavy, like a truck. It got louder and the wash of headlights cut through the trees, bouncing up and down as the wheels caught the ruts in the road. It swung directly toward them, the light blinding them, before slowing to a stop behind the parked jeep.