In a world where a human volunteer, smart, yet bold and lacking common sense, journeys into multi-parallel universes in order to save his nation and kind from extinction, takes an unexpected turn of events and enters a different, exotic world where...
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RYAN PILOTED THE RPV through the vortex's passage. In curiosity, he glanced out from his tiny windshield for visual orientation; but all he saw is infinite darkness with eerie light gleaming every fraction of the passage, besides the ghost-like white plasma bursts, coming in waves. No stars, no color, no life, no physical matter that was natural in his world. This truly was space-time, he thought. It was almost if he'd left the boundaries of the entire universe outside this pod, beyond the unknown of space-time. If Ryan had a camera, which he anticipated no luck since it proved absolutely no significant value on his mission, then he would've definitely shot some digital shots of outside, and maybe some selfies of himself with space-time in the background.
He felt the vortex's g-force pressing him like a man diving deeper in a submarine. The force pressed against him from all sides, not missing a single inch; but the pod's enhanced non-corrosive shielding protected him from physical harm. Damage is zero percent on the pod, so journeying the rest of the way would be a piece of cake for Ryan. However, his console was rippling from electromagnetic interference, and anything else electronically sensitive to serve gravitational turbulence and high radiation impulses. But the situation was completely under control. Everything is still green.
Then, suddenly, he thought about Pandora.
"Pandora, do you read?"
"Yes, Ryan, I do...only a little bit, though. Electromagnetic interference is distorting my digital processes."
"Hang on, Pandora, we'll be outta here in no time," he said. Hopefully, though, he could keep promises while they're still in the tunnel-like passage.
But just as he said that, the navigation and guidance systems, through moderate static, showed a blinking dot and a trajectory path to that dot on his curved console. He knew from that moment the fracture on the other side of space-time was nearby, approximately...well, he didn't have time to calculate the distance. The RPV was closing fast on the target.
However, he had little self-control over himself as the vortex's g-force continued to press against him. This time--it was critical. He clenched his seat, feeling the g-force build all around him, even threatening to implode at any moment. Then he remembered a friend in high school who became a navy Officer of the Deck, or OOD, of a Carolina-class nuclear-powered attack submarine. However, he heard the actual submarine suffered critical to non-reversible damage in the ballast tanks by a Pan-Asian type 056A frigate two hundred and fifty kilometers off from Mogadishu in the Third Somalian Civil War, which, as diving experts examined, seawater flooded the ballast and the submarine plunged deep until it implodes before hitting the seafloor. All hands were reported lost.
Now Ryan wondered whether the anguishing experience he currently felt was the same for his friend and the crew on the Carolina-class submarine. The feeling was dreadful to bear, stuck inside a confined box with no means of getting out, at least, not alive. Ryan was going to face the ultimate penalty for his bold decision-making: the five percent chance of dying on this mission as an idiotic pilot. He knew by chance this moment might come. He anticipated. What reason did he have to complain about?
