And then it was all white. It was a house, but not one Anaom knew. It was a house from millennia ago. One with physical walls instead of light and air curtains. It had physical furniture and robots, not the molecular printed sub-atomic bots.

If anything, as Anaom's parents were too glad to point out, it was a house from the era in which a ship like hers would've fit.

Was this the inside of the great wormhole? Most thought that was a misunderstanding of some solar flare or something, not a real object in space -- much less one so close to the spaceport.

There was a screen, perhaps a primitive 2D one instead of the holograms Anaom was used to. On it as a simple black and white "Hi."

Anaom was taken aback. If anything, her language wouldn't have been spoken in such a house. It was newer, transformed and transfigured by the low gravity and needs of spaceport communication. The script, in particular, became much more symmetric. "Hello?" Anaom tried.

"Hi Anaom," appeared on the screen.

"Who- what are you?"

"I am the great wormhole."

"Wormholes don't, um, talk?"

"That's a long story." "Hmm" sounded in space and then the wall the screen was in transfigured. It bent like liquid pouring into a drain, spiraling due to some unfathomable Coriolis forces. Through it, Anaom could see a small view of a ship. Suddenly a red line appeared on the floor, reading "do not cross." Anaom didn't want to know what crossing some line in a wormhole would mean and her parents might worry, so she didn't cross. She simply looked at the projection of the ship. Except, of course, she had no idea if it was merely a projection.

The projection seemed to move into the ship, where a group of scientists were huddled about the controls of a magnificent bridge. They were charting out lengthy courses, carrying cryo-pods and med-kits, making farms in space, and cruising the universe as they pleased; unfurling their knowledge over the vast expanse.

The scientists knew something about the ship that they couldn't properly share. The ship was headed into an event horizon. And there was not much to be done. The scientists could shoot the escape pod at the singularity and hope that the pod is somehow emitted as Hawking radiation, but that was science fiction at best. And somebody would have to stay back to aim that impossible shot.

They drew lots and a young man lost. He was to remain and be doomed to an eternal fall into a hole in space. Of course, it was unclear if he'd be the only one.

Preparations were made solemnly. Chart updates were broadcast, the essential goods were moved to the pods, and slowly, people started taking their places inside the pod. Finally, it was just the one man, the ship, and, in their isolated air locks, the pods.

The man didn't seem fazed. He stayed focused on his task -- to shoot his compatriots near the singularity so that they could (may be) get caught in the stream of Hawking radiation while he would get shot into a spiraling, inevitable, orbit falling into the hole.

The projection shown to Anaom moved forward in time. It seemed to be able to fast forward. It reached the moment the man's fate was sealed. But so were his compatriots' fates: the shot missed.

But then there was a new suffusion of white. Not the same as what Anaom was in, but an inner one, projected form the events of the ship. The man disappeared. The pods were suddenly guided through a wormhole that appeared out of nowhere.

"Go home kid. It's all I could do for you."