Tevun-Krus #92 - MusePunk

Only a Matter of Time - A Short Story by @MattMacBride

Only a Matter of Time

By MattMacBride

It took me several months to track down Larris Caerson.

He was, in my opinion, the greatest artist of the 28th century. The work he'd produced during his generative years was sensational. He invented the subgenre of Space Art known as 'Cosmic Imagery', and the paintings he created were considered modern masterpieces. So it made perfect sense to devote the final thesis for my advanced doctorate to his life and work.

40 years previously, Caerson had been in his late seventies and at the peak of his popularity. His canvases were fetching billions and then he had suddenly dropped off the grid ... and no one knew why. I made it my mission to find out, and to reveal the reason in my dissertation, which turned out to be one essay I would never finish.

***

In case you are not from planet Earth and are unfamiliar with our history, I should first explain that since we achieved the technological singularity in the 22nd century, no human has worked. Hyperintelligent machines took over all mundane tasks formerly performed by people.

This led to the New Renaissance when the arts became the whole purpose of life. Many new and technically advanced art forms were quickly developed and, almost as quickly, discarded when people turned back to the old methods. Writers threw away their computers and picked up fountain pens. Sculptors reverted to hammers and chisels and visual artists replaced pixels with paint brushes.

Painting was my passion, Art History my field of academic study, and the works of Larris Caerson were my inspiration. I found his sweeping vistas of galaxies, nebulas and constellations, both real and imaginary, stunning. The paintings had a three-dimensional quality that drew me in and made me feel as if I was travelling through the cosmos without leaving Earth. And, judging by his renown, most inhabitants of our solar system felt the same.

***

After weeks of probing I had almost come to the conclusion that Caerson must have died, when a chance hit on the university's supercomputer gave me a clue to his whereabouts. I found an ongoing shipping note for an annual delivery of supplies to a Caerson L on a small unnamed protoplanet in the Andromeda Galaxy. After that, things fell into place, and I used an outrageous chunk of my life savings to secure a berth on the next delivery transporter. I wondered how long his billions would last, given the cost of intergalactic shipping, and why he thought it worthwhile.

The robotic transporter had the latest Tachyon Drive and utilized traversable wormholes but it still took seven months to reach the freezing desolate rock that the elderly artist had decided to make his home. As the only human passenger, the cybernetic crew made a big fuss of me. I hoped my idol would be as welcoming, I'd be imposing myself on him uninvited until the next transporter arrived.

***

Caerson's home was a standard terraforming dome as used on dozens of colonized planets. He was standing inside the airlock when I rode in on top of a motorized pallet. I'd seen depictions of early cave-dwelling humans and that's exactly what he looked like. Long grey hair, straggly beard, scrawny body wrapped in a tattered fake fur coat. His deeply lined face reflected every heartbeat of his 120 years.

He pointed at me in horror.

'Who the hell are you?' he yelled.

***

He wouldn't speak to me for two days and I feared for his sanity as he muttered incoherently to himself. He'd been away from civilization and cognitive function preserving drugs for many years. He was irascible and uncommunicative, but, gradually, he began to thaw.