“Hoof Command, this is Escape Reality Mission Control, do you copy?”
“Ready for takeoff, over.”
A stallion with a yearning for the stars, departing on a ship destined for deep space. Guided only by the mysterious Escape Reality Corporation, The Hoof has no Atlas, only a disembodied voice over LDRA for company.
Talia, the voice calls itself. “I’ll be accompanying you on this journey, as well as providing the soundtrack.” There’s a slight accent to the voice, subtle hints of Camargue — a region home to one of the oldest breeds of horse in world. Reassurance for The Hoof. “We’re currently on board theTARANTIA,” says Talia. “A Resistence class cruiser purpose-built for the kind of deep flight we’re about to embark on.”
“FEELS KINDA ROPEY” says The Hoof as the vessel powers up for takeoff.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. There’s a 72% survival rate.”
!WARNING!
**OBJECT DETECTED IN: PROMENADE OBLIQUE_**
“We seem to have an anomaly. Anomaly — identify yourself.”
A new voice over the intercom: “Don’t mind me Talia. There were some checks I needed to make, I wasn’t satisfied with the usual 54% survival rate.”
“Dr Sally, you need to remove yourself immediately, unless of course you’d like to be incinerated?”
“It’s fine Talia. Once these checks have been completed, the TARANTIA will be up to an acceptable 67% survival.”
“And yours will be a round 0%. Assessment: Run, Sally. Run!”
“I’D RATHER NOT SACRIFICE THE DOC—” begins The Hoof, but then everything goes blinding white.
**
Drifting, out in the void of space. The Hoof awakens for a sleep that feels like it last an eternity. There’s a real pain in his neck, and there’s a lot of neck to be in pain. Then he remembers the takeoff.
“Talia?” he asks. “Did, well, y’know…”
“You’re awake! It’s been quite some time, I didn’t know if you’d ever come round. I could have given you a shake, but I don’t know how you’d have responded and best not to provoke a horse. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“What happened to the doc?”
“Look out of the window! Isn’t it marvellous—”
“—yes, it’s nice, but what happened to Sally?—”
“—it’s called the Mouth of God. A Solar System collapsing in on itself; you can see the swirling mass of celestial debris coalescing on the slipstream. Let’s go in closer.”
As the TARANTIA draws nearer, The Hoof sees with a sickening realisation that this Solar System is the one he’d left. The familiar sights of his home system stretched out before as ink descends in water. However long he’d been gone, had been enough time for an apocalypse.“
Can you see the suspended tendrils of planet Earth? We’re on the Edgewater of the Pacific, though it’s more like a river these days. How marvellous to see cities and mountains folded over one another, a wonderful vision of the circularity of existence, a powerful… hey! What are you doing?”
“I’m taking Control. I’ve seen enough to know deep space isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Where do you think you’re going to go?”
“Home.”
As if by some divine providence, our stalwart stallion engages the vessel’s manual override, hoofing it for the centre of the swirling mass before him. Whether by prophetic insight or pure idiocy, our hero heads for the very centre, a blinding mass that looks like it will crush the ship like so many marching ants, when the tiniest of openings reveals itself — a wormhole. Salvation(?)
**
The Tunnel goes on for eternity. Talia has been quiet for nearly as long, but upon emerging on the other side, she emits a gasp.
“The loop, it exists! We’re back at origin, almost as if it were inevitable. Reality is truly an Ouroboros, each existence merely an Oda, a room within the sprawling House of the Gods.”
“Something is different,” The Hoof absorbs. “This isn’t the reality we left. We don’t have all those Small Little Green Cubes where I’m from.”
Talia ponders for a moment. “Assays indicate they are geometrical aberrations incurred as a byproduct of the temporal recursion.”
“Ne Güzel,” mutters The Hoof, momentarily Turkish for some reason.
“Linguistic distortions are also to be expected.”
!WARNING!
**FUEL RESERVES: CRITICAL_**
“I’m afraid we won’t make it back to your homeworld… well, the variation of your homeworld in this existential circle, at least.”
“So something is different then,” says The Hoof, getting a little tired of Talia’s horsehit.
Talia merely gives a response that sounds like whatever a disembodied shrug would sound like. “Materially, they’re not much different, minus the cubes. We came from Circle 12, we’re now in Circle… 14 I believe. Fortunate that we bypassed 13, if my archives are to be believed.”
!WARNING!
**FUEL RESERVES: CRITICAL_**
**DEMISE: IMMINENT_**
“Should we do something about that?”
Talia laughs. “You must forgive the warning system; it’s something of an alarmist. We will be fine. Just steer toward that nebulous Solent to the west there; yes, that’s the one. Aim true now, good stallion — The World Is Watching.”
Guided by something from beyond, The Hoof pilots the vessel along the twisting celestial river, until eventually he sees it.
The Red Planet.
Mars.
As the TARANTIA comes into land on the planet’s desolate surface, Talia says what The Hoof is thinking. “It looks like it’s just me and you for the forseeable future.”
“How nice,” The Hoof mutters for a second time that lifetime.
Talia laughs.
“I suppose I ought to make us some Breakfast then.”
**
Many years later —
“Hoof Command, this is Escape Reality Mission Control, do you copy?”
“Ready for takeoff, over.”
About the Curators
