Big Bang Theory

"Who the hell knows. Not us."

"Do you think--"

"I don't know what to think!" Peters exploded.

Gerry leaned across and gave him her mouth. This settled Peters in one respect, but excited him in another. Gerry put her hand on his crotch.

"Cut that out," Peters said. "This is business."

"This is business too," Gerry whispered. She wanted his tongue. Fuck that. . .she wanted his cock. "Take me to bed," she moaned, pushing Peters onto his back. They made out for ten luxuriant minutes and then Peters said: "We can't."

Gerry said that she knew.

"We will when we get back to the cabin," Peters said.

Gerry said that she knew that as well.

Peters whispered conspiratorially into her ear and Gerry's eyes opened wide. Then she laughed. Then she giggled.

"Oh, my!" she choked. "You will?"

"You just watch me!"

Gerry looked at the polyhedron. "When can we go?" she demanded.

Ten minutes later, they were back to sitting on their rear ends. Peters had his fingers steepled, tapping them gently against his lips. "You know," he said. "I don't think that's metal at all."

"What is it, then?"

Peters laughed. "It's what it isn't."

Gerry waited.

Peters ticked off his points. "It isn't magnetic. It has no metallic ring. It has not so much as a single scratch upon its surface and what we used should have put one there. When you tap on the side, there's no hollow ring. But it isn't solid. We could never have moved it if it was solid."

They had rolled the thing awkwardly out of the hole and onto flat ground. It weighed almost nothing; Gerry easily could have moved it herself.

Peters continued, "The surface shows no effects of atmospheric reentry. Or entry, in any case. The heat would have left scorch marks on the surface or it would be partially melted. Nothing. And nothing will stick."

Rolling the polyhedron out of the hole, they were amazed to find that--even the section dug out of the ground--that it was spotlessly clean. Examined under magnification, they'd seen no soiling at all.

"Even Teflon sticks to something!" Peters complained.

Gerry didn't correct him.

"Anyway, what I suspect is this is not matter at all, but some kind of materialized force."

Gerry stypticly blinked.

"Energy that's been converted to a matter-like state," Peters explained. "But isn't really matter at all. What physicists call force-crystalization."

Don't try to explain that to me, Gerry's eyes begged, and Peters didn't.

106

"Can we open it?" Gerry said. "Ever?"

Peters shrugged. "If we were God."

Gerry took that to mean it was something man could envision, but never achieve.

Peters stood up. "Let's go back to the cabin. We'll decide what to do later."

Gerry stood up fast that Peters laughed.

What? her grin challenged.

On the way back to the path, Gerry led and Peters followed her out. He kept her in check with a finger in her back pocket--Gerry relished the touch. Even better, Peters occasionally let his hand play over her ass, bring Gerry to a low simmer. She loved her ass rubbed. She loved her ass fucked. Tonight, she hoped, she'd get them both.

By the time they made it back to the turnout, it had grown dark; hers was the only car left. Looking back up the mountain, Gerry remembered the eerie, shimmering glow the object gave off. Suddenly, the idea of materialized energy seemed not so odd.

What if it blew up?

As though reading her thoughts--or at least her face-- Peters said: "Don't worry. Anything capable of maintaining cohesion in such an extreme state, has to be stable. It couldn't exist otherwise."

"Then no one can set it off by kicking its tires?"

Peters laughed. "Remind me not to try."

Back at the cabin, they cleaned up, Peters showering first, then Gerry. Not out of any sense of propriety, or situational decorum, but because the cabin had only a cramped shower stall. And Gerry wanted to shave. She came out of the bathroom feeling clean, freshly vital, and dizzy with anticipation. She tried not to let it show.

The main room with the loft above took up most of the cabin; the kitchen was the size of the bathroom and almost as cramped. With a postage stamp-sized stove and an under the counter fridge--the dishwasher consisted of Gerry's two hands and a dishtowel--it was a place Gerry stayed clear of.

Standing in the middle of the cabin in her white robe and a towel wrapping her hair, Gerry felt the best that she had in a year. She took off the towel and Peters watched thoughtfully as she brushed her hair. It was short now, not shoulder length as when Peters last was here.

"You know that diagram?" she said. "I can't get it out of my head."

107

Peters continued watching her brush. She was brushing now just for him.

"That thing is not something that visits us every day," she said, feeling her robe open slightly. "Probably not ever."

"I agree."

"Then we can assume its not suppose to be here now?"

"Let us presume."

"Then," she said, stopping to open her robe and then cinch it back tight--Peters pupils flared and his hand twitched on his leg, "we can also presume it's been sent by some superior intelligence?"

Peters got to his feet. His mouth had a tentative grin, but his eyes were intent.

Gerry playfully backed away. "Wait," she said.

"For what?"

"Later."

"The future is now."

"I want to cook you some dinner," Gerry protested.

"I'll take it now."

Crossing to where Gerry stood, Peters took her brush and threw it aside. Then he kissed her neck. Then he kissed that place in the shadow of her neck than made Gerry moan. Her heart pounded hard and her chest rose and fell.

I want you so bad, she thought. So very, very bad.

Picking her up and carrying her to the surprisingly large couch, Peters lay Gerry down and lay down upon her. He opened her robe and he opened her legs, and taking her wrists, held her hands up above her.

"Ohhhh, God, " she moaned. She ground her clitoris against his hardened cock. The bulge of it spread her lips, grinding hard against the flesh between. Inflamed by the rush of blood and the outpouring of hormones, her flesh grew molten.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" she choked, sucking in breath. Her orgasm began and began to grow stronger. Peters put his hands in her hands and entwined their fingers, and Gerry raised up, arched like a bow. And still Peters maddened her with his pent up cock.

"Fuck me!" she begged. "Please, Peter! Fuck me!"

Peters removed his cock from his trousers and put it into her vagina. Gerry began to fuck like a maddened dog. Her hands went to where Peters had held them against the armrest and clutched the armrest tight. They dug in like talons. Raising until only her feet and her head touched the couch, she exploded in astounding brilliance as sperm erupted inside her.

Every woman deserves consideration at a moment like this, and Gerry will get it.

It was four hours later. Spent, aching, mentally as well as physically drained, Gerry lay outstretched on the floor. Her chest rose and fell in a smooth, not-quite-effortless rhythm. Her heart beat visibly beneath her chest. Her small breasts, sporting a number of bite marks and bruise-colored hickeys, were tipped with small silver clamps. They ached, but Gerry enjoyed the pain. Just to be in it was enough.

A similar device was between her legs, but instead of a small silver clamp, the nub of her clitoris and the surrounding tissues were encased in a clear plastic hood. This in turn was hooked to a small vacuum pump which, humming softly, had her captured flesh florid with blood. Gerry reacted with a low, continual shudder.

"That's enough," Peters said. He turned off the pump.

Gerry pleaded, "Noooo!"

Peters removed the plastic hood. He marveled at the effect. Gerry had been in continual orgasm since seven o'clock. Or so it seemed.

Gerry moaned again. "Peter!"

"I said, no more. This isn't a healthful thing."

Grinning with her eyes closed, Gerry said, "My life in a nutshell."

Peters examined her over-used and raw-looking pussy. Tomorrow, he knew, she'd have a stiff-legged gait. If she could walk at all. And what he had done to her ass. . .

Rising to a sitting position, Peters removed the clamps from her nipples--she again moaned in protest--and drew Gerry up. She could barely stand.

"My God," she said, putting a hand to her forehead. She stood slightly bent, her rear end pushed out and her knees hobbled like those of a newly born foal. Peters covered her up with her robe.

"Put this on," he said, threading in her arms. He cinched her up in the front and guided her over to the couch. Her movements were uncertain, as though unsure where she even was.

"You okay?" he asked.

She laughed shakily. "No."

"Something to drink?"

She laughed again. "Other than your sperm?"

Going into the kitchen, Peters returned with a Samuel Adams beer for them both. He screwed off both caps. "Here," he said, putting the bottle against her brow.

Gerry moaned thankfully and leaned in against him close. He'd used a cold bottle on her before, but not on her forehead. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Ay-yup."

For a time they just sat, Gerry draped on his shoulder. Her vagina ached and her rectum ached even worse. Tomorrow. . .well, tomorrow would be a challenge.

"Carry me up to bed?" she murmured.

That couldn't be done, of course, not with the loft, but Peters got her drift. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the base of the stairs, and then assisted her up. He then assisted her out of the robe and into her feety-pajamas. Peters loved Gerry in her feety-pajamas.

They slept until seven a.m.

They were halfway down the path when Gerry remembered something Peters had said.

"That diagram. . .you said it corresponded to when the universe was young?"

"Yes," Peters said. His breath came out a fine mist, drifting back over his shoulder. A cold front had moved in overnight, leaving a light frost.

Gerry winced with every step, her gait awkward and slow. Her face that morning had stayed mostly a glowing red, her words a bedeviled, "Stop it!" or an exasperated "No!" or a "Cut it out!" as Peters roasted her over her condition. He had really worked her out.

"You didn't mean the thing was made back then?" she asked. "Did you?"

Peters looked caught by surprise. "No," he said, though a troubling look flicked over his face. "It's just, you know, you couldn't get much detail onto something that size if it was made to scale."

"The universe has expanded then?" Gerry said.

"Well, of course, it's expanded, dummy," Peters said, laughing. "Everyone knows that."

Gerry gave him a crusty look. "That's not what I meant."

Peters apologized and went on: "The other galaxies lie at enormous distances from our own. The nearest one is more than a million light years away--Andromeda--and the others are much farther still. Most, but not all, are moving away. We've been able to determine through spectral shift which ones are receding the fastest, and are therefore the farthest away. It's called spectral Red Shift."

I know what it's called, Gerry wanted to say. I'm not illiterate. "How far is the farthest?"

Peters stopped at Gerry's red hair bob. "About thirteen billion light years," he said. "Hubble just found the most distant one yet. It's rate of recession relative to us--" Peters worked his way gingerly through some briars, "--is almost the speed of light."

Despite herself, Gerry wanted to whistle. "Then, it's just a coincidence," she said, "that the groupings are so close together."

"Like I said," Peters remarked. "If it were set to scale, the thing would have obliterated the Earth."

108

109

Nearing the crash site, Peters suddenly faltered in his step and halted. Gerry, following close behind and intent on the sticker bushes attacking her legs, bumped right up against him. She staggered back.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

Peters rubbed his brow. "I don't know," he muttered slowly, "I just got. . ."

"Got what?"

Peters's eyes were unfocused and his mouth hung dully open, scaring Gerry a little.

"Pete? Ferdinand?" she said, shaking his arm. Gerry only used Peters's given name when agitated or as a tease. "What's the matter?"

"I just had . . .I just had a sudden insight on how that thing would open."

Gerry's looked went from concerned to skeptical. "You did?"

"Yeah, like right out of the blue. Something to do with barium oxide, phosphoric acid, and phosgene gas."

"What are those?" Gerry inquired.

Peters gave her a blank, bewildered stare. "I'm not really sure."

110

Moving on in silence, they emerged into the clearing where the enigmatic polyhedron sat glowing. Suddenly, Peters burst into laughter.

"Of course!" he cried. "I know how to open it! It's simple as hell!"

Gerry stared at him opened mouth. Now she really was sacred. "How can you know that?" she demanded.

"I just do," Peter's answered with brisk confidence. Rubbing his hands together, he said: "I need to order some supplies. Get my note pad out of the bag, will you?" he said, striding off toward the object.

"Yes, sir," Gerry grumbled. She felt like snapping off a salute. But she watched Peter's inspection of the polyhedron's facets with something akin to dread.

He touched that thing, she suddenly thought. The memory was as clear and as hard as a diamond. He touched that thing and he grimaced. She remembered his sudden expression of. . .what? Disgust? Fear?

"Pete," she said, hurrying over and taking his arm. "I want you to do something,"

Peters almost ignored her. He ticked away at one of the groups of dots with his finger. "What?"

"I want you come with me back to the path."

111

"What the hell for?" he demanded. "I want to get this thing figured out and opened."

"I want to get it opened too," Gerry lied. "But this is important. Come with me, will you?"

The look Peters flashed her verged on contempt, but Gerry was too scared to be hurt. "Come on," she urged, taking his hand. "Humor me."

Peters let loose an exaggerated sigh. "Women! Damned fools, every one." But he let her lead him away.

"I'll tell you what," Gerry said, pulling him along behind her into the trees. "If what I'm thinking is wrong, I'll let you come in my mouth."

Peters was momentary shocked, but instantly recovered. "I did that last night," he gibed. "If you don't remember."

Despite her fear, Gerry turned a bright cherry red. An abashed grin took over her face. "I remember," she muttered, remembering also where it been just prior to her mouth. "But I'll do it right there on the path--naked--and this time I'll swallow!"

Peters broke out in a laugh. "Please, God!" he exclaimed, steepling his fingers and looking toward the heavens. "Let her be wrong! Please! Let her be wrong!"

Arriving back at the path, Gerry still bore her glow. She fidgeted from one foot to the other, while Peters just stood there and grinned. Cut it out! her crooked eyebrows said.

Smugly, Peters said: "So, what was it you wanted to show me?"

Gerry said, "Do you still know how to get into the polyhedron?"

"Of course I know how to--" He stopped abruptly and abruptly blinked his eyes. He looked almost panicked. "I don't understand," he mumbled, looking back and forth up the path and then back toward the crash site. "A few minutes ago I was completely damned sure, now I don't even know exactly what I was thinking."

"I thought so," Gerry said softly. A sudden chill ran up her spine. "When you're at or near the polyhedron, you understand a process that's beyond human science. But as soon as you're a distance away, the knowledge goes away. Do you see what that means?"

Peters' face showed reluctant comprehension. "You think that something--something in that thing is telling me how to get it open?"

Gerry slowly bobbed her head. "If something is inside that thing Pete, it's something that can't open it from the inside." She emphasized her next words. "I think it would be a really made mistake to do its bidding, don't you?"

Gerry suddenly remembered an episode of the old Outer Limits television show that she had seen as a child. A space ship carrying banished alien prisoners had crash-landed on Earth, setting free a bunch eight-legged freaks in an isolated stretch of desert. A cross between foot-long ants and Gilligan of Gilligan's Island, the creatures were finally wiped out by their human prey, but not before wrecking havoc. She never forgot the Zanti Misfits, nor their horrible human-like faces.

112

"We'll go back," she said, almost in a whisper. "And if you know how to open than thing up, we'll know we were right."

For a number of seconds they stood silent in the cold morning sunlight, smelling the pine trees around them and the faint smell of burnt grass. Then they walked silently, hesitatingly back toward the site and its cryptic polyhedron. The hair on Gerry's' neck arose and, entering the clearing, she wanted badly to run.

Peters suddenly turned a white facetoward Gerry. "You were right," he said, gulping. "I'm back here and suddenly I know how to open it up again." He turned his white face toward the object. "Something inside there--something that was locked up inside, ages ago--is telling me it wants its freedom."

Gerry felt a sudden alien terror. "We have to get out of here!" she whispered, in a terror-shaken voice. "This thing is absolute evil!"

Four steps they backed away, then suddenly Gerry broke and run. She let out a low keening yell as Peters scrambled to catch up.

"Gerry, wait!"

Nuh-uh! No way! Gerry thought, shaking her head, but she couldn't ignore the sudden, heart-stopping command that exploded in her head:

"WAIT!"

Gerry screeched to a halt and got knocked flat by Peters.

"What the hell was that!" Peters shrilled.

Staring back at the object from the ground, Gerry didn't want to know. All she wanted was to get back on her feet and run.

"Wait!"

The word, a desperate plea, was much softer now, but stronger than any spoken work. Gerry looked at Peters who looked at the polyhedron that had talked to them both.

"This is fucked," Peters whispered.

"Hear me out," the mind-voice begged. "Let me at least explain!"

"Let's get out of here while we still can!" Gerry hissed. "Whatever's in that thing, whatever is talking to our minds, Pete, it isn't human. . .it isn't even from our space." Gerry was sure of this--as sure as she was that her mother and father had brought her kicking and screaming into the world. A world that was now on the verge of disaster.

But Peters was looking fascinatedly back at the object, his face twisted with conflicting emotions. "I'm going to stay," he said, "and listen to what it has to say."

"Pete! No!"

"If you were a scientist you'd understand." Peters said. He walked slowly back toward the object.

"If you weren't a scientist, you would understand," Gerry pleaded. "Now, please! Let's go!"

Peters kept walking forward. Gerry, torn between her terror and her love for the man, slowly got up and brushed herself off. Her short was torn. "This is a big mistake," she muttered. Then she called: "At least don't do anything until we decide what's inside!"

Peter's nodded his agreement.

113

As she neared the glowing polyhedron, feeling as though the ordinary sunlit day were perhaps the last of her life, the thoughts from within the object bore more strongly into Gerry's mind.

"I am thankful that you have stayed. Please come closer to the polyhedron. It is only through immense mental effort that I can penetrate the shield."

Numbly, Gerry followed Peters to the side of the object. She felt like Stephen King's proverbial, "cow in the slaughterhouse chute."