“Well I’ll be damned,” the remaining electrical signature of one of the greatest minds of the modern world said to itself as it went screaming out of this solar system at nearly 24 Parsecs a minute. “That’s a full Parsec a minute more than I’d thought would be possible.”
Saying that he wished he had something to write on, but “it doesn’t matter now anyway,” the essence of Stephen Hawking made rapid adjustments to its newly unbound form, and began to systematically tick off the things he’d been right and wrong about.
“Information doesn’t disappear in black holes,” he noted, as he piloted the unleashed dark matter of his deceased human form through the centre of a singularity, was spat out as scattered radiation, and regrouped, all in a single violent nanosecond.
“The universe is expanding at exactly the speed we thought,” he added, slowing his pace to match the expansion of the Milky Way galaxy, before speeding up to head towards the outermost edges of the known macrocosm.
“And yes,” the now completely celestialized essence said to itself as it turned its attention back towards the small blue speck of earth hanging in all of this immensity. “I was right there too: It would not be much of a universe if it wasn’t home to the people you love.”