for love

Captain Jobe was angry even as he hurled into the emptiness of uncharted space. Who would think such a simple argument over jealousy would have resulted in his losing control of his spacecraft. His speed approached that of a comet, an astounding 300 miles per second. He wasn't fully aware of the mortal danger he'd thrown himself into. He hadn't been able to erase the image of Captain Thelson grabbing Erica by the waist in a swift upward motion of strength. She in her tiny skirt, if you could call it one - just barely below her woman's endowment of triangular apex, sheer and fine as silk - her suit, alluring. Obviously, it had sexually intoxicated Thelson. What was it? An accidental panning of the camera that had transmitted these images to Jobe, or was it, Providence?

    He'd gone into an impulsive rage. He was millions of miles from Earth Station II on Mars. He felt the indebtedness of remorse toward the Space Commission in his having deliberately thrown the jettison switch on the hydrogen peroxide nurse tanks - a move that resulted in an ear-deafening explosion. Stupid retribution for his jealousy.

    He had no means of control. No rockets on his starboard side. None to control pitch and yaw. Essentially he'd spin out of control if he were to attempt corrective steering to reach his destination. His plant production facility was damaged beyond repair. His water reactor was fully operational. At least he wouldn't die of thirst.

    "Jobe, was it worth it? Is what you've done worth the anguish you've caused me?"

    Her voice interrupted his thought.

    He lashed out in madness.

    "Well, did you consummate the marriage - did you f**k him?"

    "F**k you. I should click you off Telecom screen and kiss you goodby! He means nothing to me. He came on to me, just like women have you. They're called parties you know . . . Now, will you please cooperate?"

    Erica had been pursuing her fiancee for millions of miles. She had him targeted on her RadarStrobe. Her computers calculated Jobe's trajectory and velocity. He would drift in space, hurling for eternity until his corpse and spacecraft were caught by gravity into an intergalactic body, or black hole.

    "What do you want me to do, Erica? If I override the computer's navigation, I'll spin myself to maddening psychosis or vomit to death." He was beginning to feel fear. He admitted he needed her help now. He wished she were in the command center of his ship, sitting next to him as before.

    "There's a chance we can rendezvous, but I don't have the coordinates to catch up with you." Her computers were capable of working trillions of calculations per second, but she needed to give them more time. "I've inputted a request to cross over into your space sector using an InterUniverse crossover. It's been done before, but it's dangerous. If the computer doesn't get it right, I'll be stranded myself."

    "You mean, use the wormhole catapult?

    "Yes."

    "Forget it Erica."

    "Wait. I've got, . . . I have the coordinates. I should be able to reach you by 0092/22M hours, Mars time."

    "Don't risk your life for me."

    "Do you know how stupid you sound right now?" I'm authorizing computers to make the WormHole Transition. Don't override your ship's navigational system.

    "It won't matter anyway, Erica. I'm in the pull of dark matter. My computers confirmed it. Heading into a Black Hole. Even if I had full ThermoPlasma's thrust, I'd never escape. You know the drill. It's not theory anymore. Remember what happened to Stroud's Fleet?"

    He heard the buzz of TeleCom's connection loss and knew the RadioPulse Transmission had gone disconnect while Erica was en route. She would travel through various dimensions through intergalactic regions of uncharted territory to reach his Sector of Space. Getting to her rendezvous point with him was possible, but what was the point? She'd be sucked in by strange gravitational forces herself from which there'd be no escape. They would both fall into a lethal course, like the spiral tunnel of a trap door spider. But in this situation, it wouldn't be quick death by poison fangs; it'd be a slow death. There were no diaries in existence of victims' demise. None recoverable anyway. How could anyone prove Einstein's theory correct with no survivors.

    He saw Erica's spaceship on his starboard side, just as she'd said when she radioed him several space sectors ago. His heart leaped. Though he knew their fate, he was glad she'd come. "Pretty macabre for me to admit it, but at least we'll die together."

    Erica docked her ship and entered Jobe's command center.

    "It's good to see you, Jobe!"

    She took quick, passionate strides to cross straight into his arms. He reached out for her even as he saw her face elongate into a thin stretch of spaghetti-like substance. Her eyes bulged then elongated in tandem with her body. Her piercing screams filled the cockpit, even as his own gut wrenching moans of pain and terror mixed with hers. He felt some wicked force pulling, tearing, and stretching his entire being. His screams coalesced with the agonizing realization that there would be no certain death while in this cosmic flux.

    They were banished to a universe where a different reality mocked their previous existence. Space itself become an evil entity, intent upon their prolonged suffering. He perceived his love, twisted as if in tangled balls of living yarn. Her atoms shuffled and spiraled into multicolored sheets of various thickness. He knew she saw it happening to him.

    There was no way to communicate. All Jobe could hear was his own agony being drowned by the screams of his wife's torment. He felt a vortex of intense blackness. It tasted of fire and muck. It exuded an intelligent Chaos that tasted of pure irresistible evil from which he knew not even light could escape.