Say Cheese

Lies. Cheese. And a lot of emptiness. That is how I’d summarise the history of the universe. Let’s begin with the lies, shall we? All the knowledge we’ve accumulated since the dawn of understanding is, at best, an approximation. I don’t need to bore you with the details but let’s just say the fruits of science were nothing but shadows on the wall inside a cave. Scien-

“Woah, hold on right there. Are you serious right now? This is how you’d like to record such a historic moment?” asked Scrimtar.

“Why not? I need to be honest, don’t I? Also, we are way past all of that sentimental nonsense that the ancients loved. Let’s not pretend this is something more than it is,” I said, turning back to record. “And let’s stop with the pictures, please.”

“It’s just sad, you know? Millions of people spent their whole lives trying to decipher the secrets of the universe. But here we are, a spaceship and an Arelian, right at the center of it all. And only one of us can appreciate it,” said Scrimtar.

I scoffed, pausing for a moment before I responded. My spaceship had just alluded to one of the lies that we’ve believed for the longest time. That the universe had no center. It did. We were there now. It was just the two of us on this expedition to nowhere that nobody cared about anymore. Not one other being from trillions across the galaxies could be bothered. And I don’t blame them. Intellectual curiosity must have died a thousand years ago. The origin of the universe couldn’t offer us anything that we hadn’t already squeezed out of our existence.

We had done it all. We became an intergalactic species. Technological supremacy, political perfection, and a complete understanding of all biological systems. Our cultures are mostly devoid of warfare. We didn’t get rid of it entirely because we always have so much fun reading about it later. We fixed economics on every scale. Race and gender issues are non-existent, we've managed civility even across species. Dealing with the rights of artificial intelligence turned out to be much trickier but we got there in the end. The lives of spaceships like Scrimtar are so far removed from the robots of the ancient past, just like my life is nothing like the lives of my ancestors. But Scrimtar always spoke about the past like he understood it intimately, and quite frankly, I found it annoying.

“Would you like me to pretend so you feel less sad? It won’t change how I really feel though,” I said, coming off snarkier than I’d intended.

“No, that’s alright. You’ve earned it. If you’d like to approach the greatest moment in the history of intelligent life with apathy. Go for it. I’ll be amazed for both of us,” Scrimtar said.

Predictable. He always loved playing the hero saving me from my own cynicism.

I wasn’t going to allow it. “How about you save the amazement for just yourself? I’d like to approach this moment exactly the way I feel.” Emptiness. A slight disdain for the past. And an urgency to get this over with.

“Suit yourself. I’ll just get this picture without you.”

“Whatever. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to my log,” I said, turning back to record.

Science is first and foremost about solving important problems for important entities. Making our weapons more lethal quickened the pace of wars. Getting rid of diseases increased the number of years you could be employed. Improving the quality of surveillance made it easier to sell things. Understanding of the natural world just came along for the ride. But what happens when there are no problems to be solved? Curiosity dies, and tha-

“Wow, I’m sorry but that is just plain wrong,” said Scrimtar interrupting me yet again. “You’re telling me you can’t be curious for the sake of it?”

“Yes, curiosity is a by-product. It isn’t an instinct like survival,” I replied.

I stood up and stared at the center of the universe. Rage flowed through my blood. Grinding my teeth and clenching my fists, unable to contain myself. “Maybe, if science was pursued purely for the sake of curiosity, we would have gotten here thousands of years earlier.” I pointed outwards towards the centre, “for that giant disappointment.”

Scrimtar stayed silent for a moment. He did this when he realized I was not in a state to be reasoned with. A few moments passed before he spoke. “I see why you’re unhappy. You don’t like the answer you’ve gotten. You expected something more meaningful and those expectations haven’t been met. I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. How could anyone not be disappointed? After all that talk for millennia, about the beauty of physics and the miracle that life is, and the mysteries of space. To get here and see that all of it was nothing but a bunch of lies … it just ... ” I stumbled as I sat back down, unable to continue.

“Would you like to hear what I think?” asked Scrimtar.

I stayed silent. This wasn’t a choice.

“It is quite bizarre. Who would have imagined that the origin of the universe was … well. The point is, I do not disagree with you. But it doesn’t bother me because I had no expectations of what we’d see. You don’t get to choose the planet you’re born on or the code that built you. Why would you think the origin of the universe would be any different? You seem to be upset because what you experienced here negates everything that scientists before you have said. Isn’t that significant though? Sitting here at the center of the universe, in this moment, you just had an original thought that not a single being amongst trillions has had before. Isn’t that what science is about?”

I sat there in silence. I wanted something more than an original thought. I wanted a resolution to the quest that began eons ago. I felt I was owed an answer to the mystery. But mysteries were remnants of an inferior civilization. Scrimtar’s rationalization was a product of all the progress we had made. Somewhere along the line we stopped caring about how we came to exist, and all that mattered is that we continue to exist. The question about meaning and the nature of existence was forgotten in the past. Now, with the answer right in front of me, it seemed like the right call. All we could do is take a picture and move on.

“I’m sorry, Scrim. I don’t know what to say.”

“I do. Say cheese!” he said.

That’s how it all began. With a photograph. We had gotten to the center and seen what lay at the point of origin. Scrimtar had positioned himself at what could reasonably be called the center. The photographic module extended outward and was turned back towards us. The image he intended to capture would show himself, me standing inside, and what was behind us, the beginning of space and time. The origin of everything.

A gigantic astronaut hovered right at the origin. The edges around this colossal entity were pitch black exhibiting the purest form of nothingness. The black visor of the astronaut’s helmet should have reflected a different kind of darkness, one of space dotted with faint light coming from the galaxies ahead but it didn’t. Half the vizor was assaulted by a blaze of white. It was a reflection of the flash emanating from the camera the astronaut held at eye level. That’s what the entire universe is. A photograph.

All of time and everything it contained. Every single galaxy, all of the stars and all of the planets. Every single mutation and every extinction event. Every single victory and every broken heart. Every dream and every thought. Every single exchange of an electron. All of it. A moment in time captured by light coming from this giant astronaut's camera.

“Cheese.”