A Matter
of Scale
Pat Barnett
Our mission was to observe, but a catastrophe so unbelievable took place that those who survived are flawed beyond my power to repair. Below I will outline what happened. Meanwhile, I will spend time with the crew and do my utmost to restore their mental health—but trust me, my friends, a miracle is the only solution, and it must come soon.
We made good progress from our home, finding our route through the cosmos, bypassing elderly systems where stars were imploding, ready to turn themselves into black holes. We monitored their passage, compared them with those we had witnessed earlier in our journey, and made notes for our young to learn from.
On the edge of one universe, we noted signs of another tucked away, as if it were hiding—and as you know from our earlier travels, something so intriguing just had to be investigated. It was smaller than usual; most of its galaxies were compact, as though they too wished to remain unseen. We turned our directional instruments toward the smallest galaxy in this region and prepared to make a friendly visit.
One of these orbital planets was spectacular in that it was many-coloured. Around it floated several craft—some containing specimens of life, others with instruments signalling to each other and to the planet’s surface. While observing this planet, a craft took a wider trajectory. Before we could readjust our equipment, it had vanished into space.
As you know, we are a curious species. I led a small team to follow this strange craft, leaving the captain to continue the quest of learning more about our fellow creatures of the cosmos.
Our pursuit brought us to another small planet—this one coloured red. We waited until the vessel landed, and from a distance we watched as colossal wheeled machines were unloaded by gigantic creatures. It was during this surveillance that news arrived of unfathomable sorrow: all members of the landing crew from the mother ship had been crushed in an instant.
We aborted our mission at the red planet and returned to the mother ship, docked by one of the unmanned satellites. There, we studied the recorded footage. The tragedy appeared to be a complete accident. The team had landed on what translates as an “arena”—a place where sport is performed—and one of the giants brought down his boot and crushed the entire craft.
Our observers reported that the giants didn’t even notice what they had done. In comparison, we were so minute that the grass on the stadium floor towered well above the landed vessel. Everything—crew, craft, instruments—was obliterated into the soil beneath the turf.
The analysis is woefully clear. We underestimated that creatures could grow to such sizes.
It was all a matter of scale.
A lesson that must be remembered in future nature trails.
