Out of Mind

Welcome to the eleventh of twelve!

For those who don’t know, my New Year’s resolution this year was to write a short story each month and post it to the blog on the last Wednesday of each month.  So without further ado, I present to you “Out of Mind”.

(Warning: some graphic descriptions of violence follow.  Viewer discretion is advised.

Also swearing.  But if you’ve been reading my stories thus far, that shouldn’t be much of a surprise.)

 

“Dropping out in three…two…one…”

Everything jolted and shuddered as the large cargo vessel exited faster-than-light travel. The terminals on the bridge uttered a chorus of chirps and beeps as the crew checked the ship’s status. It was a large, rounded room with clean, gray walls. Different crew stations, each with large control panels and holographic projections, lined the outer wall of the room.

“Location,” the captain asked.

Up in front, Sidney Lehmann scanned his hazel eyes over the blue-tinted hologram hovering before his eyes. It depicted a complicated star chart.

“Right where we should be sir,” he said.

“Excellent.”

Sidney let out a quiet sigh and brushed back his light brown hair. Despite the fact that it was just a routine faster-than-light jump, he had still felt uneasy. But then again, such was his natural state. Beneath the kind, shy smile was a man beset by unease over the smallest of things. Occasionally, it could blossom into full-blown panic attacks, although he had learned how to mitigate them as best he could.

At a mere twenty-five years of age, Sidney was particularly young for being the navigator of an entire starship. But his natural talent for piloting boosted him through the ranks.

Despite the fact that he knew everything was running smoothly, Sidney was still anxious. It had started when the captain received orders to divert course into a nearby asteroid field for an unscheduled mining trip. In his head, he knew such diversions were common. Cargo ships could become amateur miners in a pinch, especially when the amount of resources wasn’t enough to justify sending out a full-fledged mining vessel.

Sidney knew all this. And yet, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling of anxiety.

That feeling was only exacerbated when the ship’s alarm suddenly started shrieking.

“What the hell happened,” the captain asked, rocketing up from his chair.

“Sir we’ve detected an impact on the ship’s hull, near the cargo bays,” another officer reported.

“Damage?”

“Checking…there doesn’t appear to be any discernible impact to the hull’s integrity.”

“Then shut that alarm off,” the captain ordered. The shrieking ceased a moment later. “Damn thing’s too sensitive,” he muttered. He sat back down and pressed a button on the armrest. “Maintenance, report,” his voice echoed over the intercom.

“Here cap’n,” a voice responded.

“How are things looking down there?’

“Just had a lil’ bump off the hull. Nothin’ to make a fuss over. Might have a ding or two but that’ll be all.”

“Good. Keep me posted if anything changes.” The captain stole a glance at Sidney. “I thought this area was supposed to be clear of debris?”

“It’s not his fault captain,” the officer chimed in. “What struck us was too small to be picked up on long-range scanners.”

The captain let out a small chuckle. “The hazards of space travel huh? Expect the unexpected.” He stood up and stretched. “Well…it’s getting late. I’ll be down in my quarters if anyone needs me.” He made his way toward the lift. As Sidney watched, the captain froze mid-stride, one foot hovering in the air. Glancing around the room, he found the same thing everywhere: people frozen in time, trails of white computer code streaming off of their bodies.

“Is something wrong,” he asked aloud.

An unseen voice spoke in his right ear.

“Everything’s going fine. We’re just going to jump forward a bit,” it said.

“Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“Just relax and focus. What happened next?”

Sidney took a deep breath.

“Well,” he began, “after the captain left I stayed on the bridge for another…hour I want to say. I was double checking the sensors to ensure that no other debris was in danger of colliding with the ship.”

The world shuddered. Suddenly, there was a hand on Sidney’s shoulder. He looked up.

“Eventually, someone tapped me on the back and told me to go get some sleep. They said they could take care of things on the bridge for the night.”

“And so you went to your quarters?”

“Not right away,” he replied. The bridge shifted and warped. Sidney was now standing in the lift: a cylindrical shaped elevator that took people to the different decks of the ship. “First, I made my way down to the cargo area.”

“Why?”

“I have a friend who works the night shift,” Sidney explained. “I went to meet up with him, just for a little bit.”

The walls of the lift faded away into darkness. Lights clicked on in the distance and slowly, a massive room filled with red storage containers and drab, metal walls came into view. Sidney’s eyes roamed the room until they landed on a figure standing near a small, gray crate. The man caught Sidney’s gaze and waved. He had short black hair, blue eyes, and dirt under his eyes.

“That’s Cecil,” Sidney explained. “We’ve known each other for a long time. By chance, we wound up on the Celeste together.”

“What did the two of you talk about?”

“Nothing much. He was trying to get me to watch a movie.”

“Can you remember which one?”

“No…it was some ancient science-fiction film. He was gushing about it most of the time we were talking.”

“I take it you’re not a movie person,” the voice asked.

“No sir…I prefer to read books,” Sidney replied.

There was a pause.

“You don’t need to call me ‘sir’ all the time you know…it’s not like I outrank you.”

“Sorry si-I mean…sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. So after your conversation with Cecil, where did you go next?”

“To my quarters. I pretty much went straight to sleep after I got there.”

The room warbled around him, shifting from an expansive cargo bay to a dimly lit bedroom. Now dressed in sleeping clothes, Sidney climbed into his bed and pulled the gray blankets over him. After laying his head down on the pillow, he closed his eyes.

“I can’t say for sure how long I slept…but I remember being awoken by a chirping noise.”

Sidney’s eyes snapped open. He lifted his head and noticed a panel in the wall with a flashing green light. He got up out of bed, walked over and pushed a button.

“Who is it,” he asked.

“Hey Sidney,” the captain’s voice said. “Sorry to wake you, but can you meet me in my quarters? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Sidney replied, then released the button. The scene flickered and changed. Sidney was now walking down a brightly lit hallway. Gray walls lined each side, with small signs every now and then that pointed to important destinations on the deck. A short time later, Sidney found himself outside a set of gray doors. He reached over and pushed a button on a nearby panel.

“Who is it,” the captain’s voice asked.

“It’s Sidney sir. You wanted to see me?”

“Ah yes…please, do come in.”

The doors slid open and Sidney stepped inside.

The captain’s quarters always struck him as more refined than most. An elegant carpet lined the floor between the door and the gray desk the captain sat at. A framed picture of the captain and a woman Sidney assumed was his wife sat on the corner of the desk. The captain himself was seated in his chair, hunched over a homemade model of an ancient naval galleon with a brush in his hands. Upon Sidney’s entrance, he looked up.

“Good to see you Sid. Once again, I apologize for waking you up,” he said.

“Oh it’s no trouble sir,” Sidney replied.

The captain was an older man, with dark blue eyes and wispy, graying hair. At first glance, he seemed like the type of man who would be all business and no pleasure. An old scar marred his cheek, traces of an ancient battle he fought when he was in the military. And yet, despite his looks, he was a friendly and easygoing person.

The captain set his brush down, leaned back, and admired his handiwork with a smile.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sidney nodded. “If you ask me,” the captain continued, “everyone needs a hobby. What’s yours?”

“I read, sir.”

“No need to be so formal,” he said with a laugh. “What do you read?”

“Books mostly.”

“Non-fiction?”

“Fiction sir.”

“Ah…very good…nothing gets the mind going like a little imagination,” the captain said…his smile growing wider and wider.

Sidney stared. The smile never faltered, never wavered. It was frozen, wide and full…

“Hmm…your adrenaline is spiking. Sidney, are you okay,” the voice asked.

Thump thump…thump thump…thump thump…

His heart pounded in his ears. His hands shook. His eyes began to quake and his whole body was quivering like a leaf. Meanwhile, the captain stared straight at him, eyes never blinking, smile never fading.

“Sidney? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Sidney closed his eyes and tried to focus…tried to wish it away. But it wasn’t working.

Not here, he thought. Not now…

The sweat drizzled down his forehead, dripping into his eyes. His breathing was heavy and quick. His hands began to shake, and he clenched them into fists as his heart beat faster and faster. His entire body felt like it was on the verge of-

The hardened base of the model ship made a sickening squelch as it connected with the captain’s skull. The man’s eyes stared straight ahead, dull and lifeless. Crimson blood caked the desk, dripping down onto the floor. Sidney’s expression never wavered, and he brought the base of the model crashing down again. A small chunk of bone splintered off and fell to the floor, skidding into a darkened corner.

“-again! Sidney, stop!”

Crunch…squelch…

The sound of splintering bone and squishing brain matter reached his ears from an impossible distance. Sidney raised the model ship above his head once more, varnished wood stained with the blood of its creator. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion as he brought it down, smashing it against the captain’s head once aga-

He pleaded for his life as Sidney gazed down the sight of the gun. The fear was obvious in the man’s twitching eyes. He pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked back against his shoulder like a roaring beast as bullets met flesh. Fountains of blood sprayed out of the man’s chest, splattering the walls like a piece of demented art.

Some of the spray caught Sidney in the eyes. He didn’t blink.

The gun clicked empty, but Sidney never released the trigger. He watched the life drain out of the man’s eyes…all with the rifle click click clicking in his-

Rivers of red streamed down the man’s kneecaps as he howled in pain. Sidney set the pistol down on a nearby crate and snatched up a plasma torch, a nasty looking cylindrical wand. He approached the man and grabbed his head, holding it back. One click later, and a fierce blue flame came flaring out at the end. Slowly, he brought the fire closer and closer to the man’s eye as he struggled and screamed. It wasn’t long before the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

“Pull him out,” the voice in his ear shouted. But it was distant…an echo bouncing off the walls of a long, dark tunnel…

Sidney buried the wand deeper and deeper into the eye socket, the man’s anguished howls filling his ears. The eye had turned into a sickening mush of scorching black and red flesh, but Sidney’s face was plastered into a stoic expression.

“Are you even listening to me?! Pull. Him. Out.”

He brought the torch out, a caked mass of burnt flesh and blood where the eye used to be. He calmly shifted it over toward the other eye and began anew. The tip of the wand disappeared as Sidney pushed it deep into the soft pupil.

The screaming…it kept going. It wouldn’t stop…

Pull him out right fucking now!!

 

A low, descending whine filled the room as Russell Moss stormed in.

“What the hell happened,” he asked, his emerald eyes twitching with frustration and anger. “Why did it take you people so goddamn long to shut it down?!”

Tense silence filled the air. The three lab techs: two male, one female…all exchanged glances.

“We were ordered to keep going, no matter what,” one of them spoke up.

“I didn’t give you those orders. Who did?” But before the tech could reply, Moss’ eyes lit up with understanding. “It was Impav, wasn’t it?” One of the techs nodded sheepishly.

“You weren’t told,” another asked.

“No…of course I wasn’t,” Moss replied. “Goddamn blue bastard thinks he knows better than everyone else.”

There was another moment of silence in the room.

“Get him out of that thing and begin regression,” Moss ordered. “We’ll have to try again in a couple days time. Computer?” A brief chirp was his response. “Mark this down…session thirty-seven was another failure!”

“Complying,” a computerized female voice responded. But Moss was already gone from the room.

 

He brushed the medium-length reddish hair of out his eyes as he leaned against the railing and let out a sigh.

Out through the window of the space station, Moss could see the forlorn gray husk of the Celeste. At over two kilometers in length and nearly half a kilometer in height, it was the largest cargo ship ever built.

And now it was nothing more than a ghost ship.

When the Celeste had unexpectedly returned to orbit without warning and numerous hails went unanswered, a military reconnaissance team was dispatched. Upon boarding the ship, they were confronted with something straight out of a horror movie. The crew was all dead, murdered in various ways. Some had been shot, others bludgeoned to death, and others looked like they had their guts ripped straight out of their chests.

There was only one survivor: Sidney Lehmann. They found him curled up in the corner of his quarters, gibbering nonsense and rocking back and forth. He was covered in blood. Later analysis would conclude that it belonged to numerous members of his fellow crew.

The story practically wrote itself: Sidney had been in space too long and snapped, going on a vicious killing spree. But after reading Sidney’s file and going over the forensic evidence collected, Moss had some serious doubts. Sidney Lehmann didn’t strike him as the type of person who could murder that many people. He didn’t even strike him as someone who could overpower them physically. He was a scrawny, shy fellow.

And then there was the lack of any defensive wounds on his body. If he really murdered the crew in that brutal of a fashion, there should have been at least some sign that they fought back.

But in the end, the only one who knew the real truth…was Sidney. Knowing he had a deep background in neurological technology, the government recruited Moss in an attempt to recover Sidney’s memories and uncover the truth behind what happened on that ship.

Moss shook his head. Or rather, he thought to himself, they wanted evidence that he killed them. They’ve already drawn their conclusion. They just want things neat and tidy for the file.

He let out a long yawn. It was late…and he was tired. Moss turned away from the window and began walking down the hallway toward his temporary quarters.

Tomorrow would bring another meeting with Impav. Moss was not looking forward to that…

 

The next morning, Moss found Impav standing alone in the Commons Area of the station. He looked as he always did: tall, blue, wearing a diluted white outfit with golden fringes similar to a robe. The Commons Area was a large open space with rows of tables and chairs. It was used as a greeting area for new arrivals and guests. Not that the station got any these days.

The blue alien turned as Moss approached, fixing him in his large, pupil-less black eyes. Even his wide mouth seemed to exude arrogance.

“Ah, Mr. Moss…it is a pleasure to see-“

“What in the goddamn hell do you think you’re doing?”

The alien’s mouth curled upward, making Moss hate him all the more.

“I do not believe I know of what you are speaking,” he said.

Moss had never been a fan of the Eon. Despite being a peaceful, advanced race, the Eon always seemed to hold an air of superiority about them. They reminded him of pseudo-intellectuals who rattled off meaningless facts as a way to prove how smart they were.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he shot back. “You went behind my back and gave my team orders.”

“Your task has taken too much time,” Impav responded. “Steps must be taken to expedite the process.”

“By turning our only witness into a vegetable?!”

“There is no evidence that such an outcome is inevitable.”

“Oh I’m sorry…did you become an expert in human neurology when I wasn’t looking?”

The mouth curl again.

“Need I remind you that I have studied the intricacies of memory extensively,” Impav asked.

Moss scoffed.

“And I haven’t?”

Impav’s expression remained unflinching.

“I did not intend to question your expertise, Mr. Moss.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Moss replied, barely attempting to hide his sarcasm.

“However, I question your ability to achieve the desired result.”

Moss’ eyes narrowed, glowing with fiery fury.

“Excuse me?”

“We have undertaken thirty-seven individual memory recovery sessions, and we are still no closer to finding answers.”

“Oh I see…and uh…what are your thoughts what occurred during our last session.” Impav’s mouth began to open but Moss cut him off. “Oh yeah,” he said, “I forgot…you weren’t there. They tell me you’re here to oversee the investigation, but you barely ever bother to show your damn face! So do not sit there and tell me my ability to do the job is flawed when you hardly even do yours.”

Moss often wondered why Impav didn’t just use his species natural ability to calm people down. The Eon were capable of releasing chemicals into the air that would instantaneously lull all nearby into a peaceful trance. Maybe he figures it’s beneath him, Moss thought to himself.

Impav straightened himself up.

“Mr. Moss…I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that the United Earth Government is anxious for answers as to what happened on board that vessel. They are growing more and more impatient with the lack of results. If you do not provide them with a satisfactory outcome, then they will find someone who will. With that in mind, you are to begin a new session today.”

Moss stared at him, incredulous.

What? We’ve barely just completed memory regression. We need to give him a couple of days to rest before we try again.”

“What we need are answers, Mr. Moss. That is what you are being paid for.”

Moss took a step forward, glaring straight into Impav’s face. The alien stood over two meters tall, meaning Moss only came up to about his neck. And yet, he wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.

“You know what,” he said, his voice low. “You go tell those jackoffs to put down their wine glasses, crawl out of their mansions, and fly up here to see for themselves. And if they still question my ability to produce results, then they can fire me all they want. But until then? This is still my show. The…intricacies of the human brain are my area of expertise. Understood?”

And with that, he turned and stormed out the door.

“Where are you going, Mr. Moss,” Impav called after him.

“To do my goddamn job!”

 

Through the slim windows of the sliding doors, Moss could see the young man was sitting awake in his hospital bed. He sighed quietly.

God I hate this conversation…

Steeling himself and taking a deep breath, Moss stepped inside the room.

“Sidney Lehmann?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Russell Moss. It’s nice to meet you.”

The two shook hands. Sidney looked altogether fragile in his blue hospital gown.

“Sidney,” Moss began, “I know this whole thing seems strange to you, but I need to ask you a question: what’s the last thing you remember?”

Sidney rubbed his forehead.

“Not much,” he replied. “I remember being on the Celeste. We got diverted to an asteroid field to mine some resources. But after that it’s all just…blank. The next thing I know, I’m sitting in this hospital bed.”

Moss clasped his hands together.

“Okay, let’s start small: you’re on the space station Orion, in orbit around Earth.”

“I’m back at Earth?”

“Yes. There was an incident aboard the Celeste…and you were brought here afterwards.”

“Incident? What incident?”

“We don’t exactly know. All we know is that the ship returned to Earth under autopilot.”

Sidney’s face went pale.

“The crew? Are they…” He trailed off.

Moss sighed.

“You were the only survivor kid…I’m sorry.”

There was a long period of silence as the news sunk in for Sidney. He looked down at his hands and twiddled his thumbs sadly. Moss waited patiently.

“What…what happened to me,” Sidney finally asked, looking back up.

“We don’t know for sure. You were discovered in your quarters, sitting in the corner. You were out of sorts, muttering to yourself.”

No point in mentioning the blood, Moss thought to himself. It wouldn’t do much good anyways…

“Why am I here,” Sidney asked.

“We think you can tell us what happened on board that ship,” Moss explained.

“But…how? I don’t remember anything.”

“That’s the thing: you actually do. The memories are still there. They’re just…locked away. Our best guess is that you repressed them due to the experience being traumatic. Have you ever heard of a Limbic Stimulator?”

“I think so…it was built to help people with memory problems…those with dementia, Alzheimer’s, that sort of thing.”

“Very good. Well…that’s what we’re planning on using for you. Hopefully we can guide you through the memories and you’ll be able to tell us exactly what happened.”

Sidney gazed down at his hands again for a moment. When he looked back up, he had a strangely vacant look in his eyes.

“We’ve had this conversation before…haven’t we?”

Moss averted his eyes. Unable to help himself, he sigh aloud. Every time…

“Yes,” he said finally.

Sidney turned to him, distant look still in his eyes.

“I’ve asked that question before, haven’t I?”

“Yes…yes you have.”

Sidney paused for a moment.

“How…long have I been here,” he asked.

“Well,” Moss began, “if I have my days correct, it’ll be three months tomorrow.”

“Three months?”

“Yeah…”

In the silence that followed, the only sound was the natural hum of the space station. Moss felt bad for Sidney. He seemed like a nice kid. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. He didn’t deserve to be held here like a lab rat or a prisoner. But the government wanted answers, and they were going to get them by any means possible.

“So…when do we start,” Sidney asked.

“Well…we can start in the next couple of hours. But that’s entirely up to you. If you want to rest, that’s fine. There’s no need to push yourself too-“

“Let’s do it.”

“You sure kid?”

The two locked eyes. The seriousness in Sidney’s gaze was obvious.

“I want to know what happened to me.”

“Well all right then…I’ll go inform the others and we can get everything set up. I’ll be back for you in a couple of hours.”

Moss stood up and began to leave.

“Hey…Mr. Moss?”

Moss paused and turned around.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask one more question?”

“Certainly.”

“After all this time…you must be really tired of having this conversation huh?”

And, for the first time in what felt like ages, Moss laughed.

 

“Systems powering up…connections stable…” The female lab tech turned to him. “You may proceed when ready.”

“Excellent.” Moss pressed a button that activated his microphone. “How are you feeling Sidney?”

“I’m okay I guess,” came the response. “This feels weird.”

“You’ll get used to it, trust me. Computer?” There was a brief chirp. “Begin audio and video recording. Note the date and time. File name ‘Session thirty-eight’.”

“Complying,” a computerized female voice replied. “Audio and video recording initiated.”

Moss gazed through the glass window into the hospital room, eyes focused on the still form of Sidney. A dark gray metal device was in place over his eyes, a series of three green lights on top blinking in rhythmic succession. Sidney himself seemed calm, lying nearly motionless in his white hospital bed. But Moss knew appearances could be deceiving.

Thirty-eighth time’s the charm, Moss told himself. He just wished he actually believed that.

“All right Sidney, you ready?”

“I think so.”

“Okay…we’re going to put you under now. Just let the Stimulator do its job. It’ll feel like you’re peacefully falling asleep.”

 

The ship’s alarm shrieked.

“What the hell happened,” the captain asked, bolting up out of his chair.

“Sir we’ve detected an impact on the ship’s hull,” another officer reported.

“Damage?”

“Checking…there doesn’t appear to be any discernible impact to the hull’s integrity.”

“Then shut that alarm off,” the captain ordered. A moment later, the shrieking ceased. “Damn thing’s too sensitive,” he muttered. He began reaching for a button on his armrest, but abruptly froze in place.

“All right Sidney,” the voice of Moss said in his ear, “we’re going to speed things along here.”

“You’ve seen all this before,” he asked.

“Yes,” Moss’ voice replied. “As far as we can tell, there’s nothing of value in this memory. So please, continue.”

 

“First, I went down to the cargo bay,” Sidney recalled.

“Why?”

“I have a friend who works the night shift down there. I went to meet up with him, just to have a quick chat.”

The walls of the lift faded away and were replaced by a massive gray-walled room filled with red storage containers. A man with short black hair, blue eyes, and dirt on his face looked over from his position behind a small, gray storage crate. He smiled and waved.

“That’s Cecil. We talked for a little while.”

“What about?”

“Some science-fiction movie he wanted me to watch. I didn’t really pay much attention to it.”

“I take it you’re not a movie person?”

“No…I prefer to read.”

There was a pause.

“I’ve told you all this before…haven’t I,” Sidney asked.

“Yes…but don’t worry about it,” Moss’ voice said. “We need you to take us through this linearly. It’s the best approach we have to reawakening your repressed memories.”

“Anything else you need me to do here?”

“Not really…your conversation with Cecil seems to have little impact on future events.” Another pause. “Unless…there’s something new you remember.”

Sidney pondered for a moment.

“Actually…there is.”

 

“-really great old movie,” Cecil was saying. “It’s about this crew of a cargo ship. They come out of stasis because the ship picks up this distress call coming from a nearby planet. When they go down there they find this crashed alien vessel that’s been there for god knows how long.”

“I see,” Sidney said, barely paying attention.

“It’s really good,” Cecil continued. “It was revolutionary for the time because of its strong, female protagonist. You should give it a watch sometime.”

“Eh,” Sidney replied. “You know me Cecil…I’m not much into movies.”

“Come on man…you never know until you-“

He was cut off by a sudden, distant bang that echoed through the cargo bay. Sidney jumped at the noise and Cecil whirled around in its direction. The echo faded away and all was silent again. There was a short period where nothing was said. Then, Cecil chuckled.

“Ah…it was nothing,” he said, turning around. His expression grew concerned. “Sid…you okay?”

Sidney was hyperventilating, his fingers twitching and his face clammy. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Gradually, the oppressive feeling of panic floated away.

“I’m fine,” he said finally.

“You sure about that bud,” Cecil asked. “You didn’t look fine.”

“I’m fine,” Sidney insisted.

Cecil shot him a disbelieving look.

“Okay then…look just get some rest at least. For me?”

“Sure,” Sidney said. “I’ll see you later.”

“Later man.”

 

“Hmmm,” the voice of Moss mumbled in his ear.

“I never told you that before,” Sidney asked.

“No.”

“I wonder why.”

“You probably just forgot. Memory is a tricky thing after all. Let’s continue.”

Sidney had lied. He didn’t wonder why he never mentioned it. He knew exactly why. His…condition…the propensity for panic attacks…it made him feel weak. It made him feel like a burden to everyone around him. How are people supposed to trust him when, in the most crucial of moments, he could end up frozen with fear?

It had been that way since he was a child. Every now and then, something would trigger it. He had felt lucky that he could bring it under control so easily that time.

The walls of the cargo bay slipped away and Sidney found himself in his quarters, staring at his bed.

 

“What do you make of that sir,” the female lab tech was asking.

“His panic attack? I’m not sure,” Moss said. “Initially we thought that his condition might have been a factor in whatever happened, but never uncovered any proof of it. In fact, I doubt it’s related at all to whatever happened on the Celeste. But…I suppose every little bit helps. Computer?” Chirp “Make a note on the recording and time stamp the moment of Sidney’s panic attack in the cargo bay.”

“Complying…time stamp recorded.”

“Excellent.”

“So what next,” the lab tech asked.

“We keep going,” Moss replied. “Simple as that.”

 

“No need to be so formal,” the captain said with a laugh. “What do you read?”

“Books mostly.”

“Non-fiction?”

“Fiction sir.”

“Ah good…nothing gets the mind going like a little imagination,” the captain said…his smile growing wider and wider.

The smile refused to waver. Sidney could hear each palpitation of his heart. His hands began to sweat, and his breathing grew shallow and rapid.

“Sir…his adrenaline is spiking,” a voice said in the distance

“Damn it…okay…Sidney? Listen to me,” the voice of Moss said. “Take a deep breath…just like you did in the cargo bay. You can do this Sid…I believe in you.”

Sidney closed his eyes, trying not to be overwhelmed by the darkness behind them. He breathed in…and out.

In…and out.

Miraculously, it worked. His heart no longer sounded like it was lodged in his ear and his body stopped shaking in short order. He opened his eyes.

The captain was moving again, typing away on his keyboard.

“In fact…I could use someone with a little imagination right now,” he said.

“What is it sir,” Sidney asked.

“You remember that piece of debris that struck the ship when we dropped out of FTL?”

Sidney’s heart jumped.

“Yes…”

“Well apparently it or some piece of it still remains lodged in our hull.”

“How did a piece of rock get stuck on our hull?”

The captain turned away from the screen.

“That’s the thing Sidney…it’s not a rock.”

Sidney’s eyes went wide.

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“What I mean is that the object is metallic and most likely artificial in nature.”

“As in…it was created?”

“Exactly.”

“But then…who made it?”

“That’s the real question, isn’t it?” He turned, pressed a button, and brought something up on the holographic projection. “Take a look at this.”

Sidney leaned in close and squinted. After a moment, he stood back up and shrugged.

“I don’t get it sir,” he said. “I can tell it’s sensor data…but there’s nothing there.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. But apparently, whenever we scan that section of the hull…it’s as if the object isn’t there at all.”

“So it’s invisible to sensors?”

“Well not so much invisible as our sensors register…nothing. Like it’s just a void of…nonexistence. But it gets even stranger than that. I got a call from maintenance shortly after I left the bridge earlier this evening. I didn’t really understand what they were talking about until I got down there and saw it for myself.” The captain paused, struggling for words. “It’s as if…you can hardly see it with the naked eye.”

Sidney gave the captain a vacant stare. He was dumbfounded.

“What…what do you mean?”

“Well it’s like…ugh I can’t explain it very well…but when you’re looking at it…it’s like your eyes can’t see it…or rather, they don’t want to see it. Every time I look away from the thing I can’t recall any particulars about it at all…just the vaguest sense of an egg-like shape and metallic construction. I think it’s black in color…but who really knows.”

“H-how would something like that affect our minds? It’s just a hunk of metal,” Sidney stammered.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you might have an idea.”

“Sorry captain…I can’t say I’ve ever heard of anything like it.”

“Don’t worry about it Sidney. I don’t think anyone has.”

The captain pondered for a moment.

“Here’s the thing though: the small size and shape of the thing got me thinking: maybe it’ssssssssssss aaaaaaaaaaaan escaaaaaaaaaa-“

The captain’s voice abruptly stop as he froze in place. The scene before Sidney shimmered, faint white trails of code streaming out of everything: the walls, the desk, the captain, all of it. He backed away and raised his head toward the ceiling.

“Moss?! What’s going on,” he shouted.

There was no response. The world began to quake, the walls of the captain’s office bending and shimmering like ocean waves. Sidney could feel the sweat on his brow, the cold dampness that chilled his entire being.

“Is anybody there,” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

“I’m here Sidney,” Moss’ voice said. “Take a deep breath. Calm yourself.”

In…and out, he thought. In……and out.

“What happened,” Sidney managed to ask. “Why did everything stop?”

“We don’t know,” Moss admitted. “It’s strange…but it’s almost like your memories are fighting us.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like this before Sidney. I wish I had answers for you. Can you focus and push past it like before?”

“I’ll try.”

Sidney closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. He could feel the world pulsing around him, beating to the tune of his heart. He visualized it as best as he could. The captain’s mouth moving again…the walls retaking their former, solid shape…

But a moment later, he opened his eyes and let out a sigh.

“Nothing,” he said aloud. “I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault Sidney,” Moss’ voice assured him. “You can’t help it.”

Sidney turned his eyes on the frozen image of the captain. He was hunched over the keyboard, his fingers frozen in mid-stroke. What were you going to show me, he wondered. What happened to you…what happened to the rest of the crew?

“Sidney?”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to try something,” Moss explained. “It’s a little dangerous, but as far as we can tell there’s no other option.”

That didn’t sound good.

“What’s your plan,” he asked hesitantly.

“Direct electrical stimulation of your brain. We know the memories are still there. They’re just dormant. Hopefully, the stimulation will release the block on those memories and allow you to continue forward.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Okay Sidney, get ready…in three…”

Sidney took a deep breath.

“Two…”

His hands twitched.

“One.”

He brought the base of the model ship down on the captain’s skull

                                                                                                               skull

                                                                                                               skull

                                                                                                                         sending chunks of flesh and brain matter raining down onto the desk. His expression never

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     never

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                wavered. Blood splattered into his eyes, but Sidney never blinked. He raised the model high above his head and-

The man screamed as the bullets tore

                                                             tore

                                                                     through his flesh. The assault rifle kicked back against Sidney’s shoulder. His eyes never left their target, his fingers firmly holding down the trigger until the rifle went click

                   click

                   click

                             telling him the gun was empty. He thumbed a button, letting the ammo magazine fall to the ground and calmly loaded in another, taking aim and-

The stench of sizzling flesh

                                        flesh

                                        flesh

                                        flesh

                                                  filled his nostrils as the torch burned a hole in his victim’s eye socket. A swirling mass of blood and charred skin fused together as the man screamed in anguish. Sidney pushed the torch deeper and deeper, feeling the burning flesh dripping onto his wrist.

The screams

       screams

       screams

       screams

                      and the smell of charred flesh echoed endlessly through his mind, a swirling nightmare that never ceased assaulting him. Images of murder and torture flashed by faster and faster, as if someone had their finger jammed down on fast-forward.

Eventually, Sidney realized that the screams were his own.

 

“The hell is going on,” Moss shouted, shooting up from his chair.

“I don’t know sir,” the female tech said. “We just finished stimulating his brain and-” She trailed off, staring through the glass into the hospital room.

Sidney was screaming, his voice a terrifying shriek and his body thrashing back and forth. The two technicians in the room were trying to hold him down, but to no avail. The bed rocked back and forth under his spastic convulsions. Moss was surprised it hadn’t broken yet.

“What do we do sir,” the female tech asked.

Moss didn’t have an answer. He looked down at the video playback screen. This was worse than anything they had seen before. The ghastly images swirled around over and over again, sometimes so fast that he could barely comprehend them.

“It’s like he’s stuck in a loop,” he said. “I keep seeing the same few things over and over again.”

Suddenly, he noticed the technician standing next to him was staring at her own hologram.

“What? What is it,” he asked.

“You’re right sir…you are seeing the same images over and over again. And according to my readings, he is experiencing multiple sets of memories at once.”

Ice filled Moss’ veins.

“How many?”

“Excuse me sir?”

“How many sets of memories is he experiencing,” Moss asked.

The technician hit a few buttons, stopped, and turned to him with a face drained of color.

“If my calculations are correct…thirty-eight individual sets.”

The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Then Moss slammed his hand down on the intercom button.

“Sedate him and shut it down!”

“But sir-” one of the techs began.

“Shut the goddamn thing down now and put him under! That’s an order!”

 

“Mr. Moss? What happened in there?”

Moss remained silent and sat staring at his hands.

“Mr. Moss…I must insist that you be forthcoming with me.”

“I think,” Moss began, “we released the block on his memories.”

“Would that not be considered a success,” Impav asked.

“No you don’t understand,” he said, looking up. “We released the block on all of them. He was remembering every single one of his previous sessions. Instead of being flooded with one set of deranged nightmares he had over three dozen of them playing out at in his head at the same time. If we hadn’t stopped when we did…I don’t think there would have been anything left of Sidney.”

During the silence that followed, Moss glanced across the Commons Area at a new arrival, another white-robed alien seated at a table across from them. In reality, he wasn’t actually new…Moss had seen him at some of their previous exchanges. The alien never said anything. He just…observed. It made Moss uncomfortable, but he saw it as just another thing he had to put up with.

“Another failure,” Impav said with a sigh. He turned away and gazed out the window into space. “Thirty-eight sessions…and no results. Sounds like things are going to have to-”

“You do realize this is probably your fault, right,” Moss blurted out.

Impav turned back around, a look of what could be construed as hostility on his face.

“I regret the turn events have taken with this recent endeavor,” he said after a moment. “But it is not I that chose to stimulate Mr. Lehmann’s dormant brain matter. If I remember correctly, it was you who made that decision.”

“Oh cut the shit already,” Moss shot back. “You forced my hand. If you hadn’t insisted we undertake another session so quickly, Sidney would have had time to rest and the memory block we put on him would have been stronger. It’s you and the rest of those politicians down on Earth who think they can just push things to get what they want.”

“Mr. Moss-”

“No…I’m done listening to you. You never take part in the sessions. You only watch them afterwards.”

Moss saw the look on Impav’s face and his jaw dropped.

“My god,” he said, standing up slowly. “You don’t even watch the recordings, do you?”

Impav averted his gaze in an almost embarrassed manner.

“I…peruse them when I have the time.”

“You…peruse them? What the hell does that even mean?”

The look of shame on the alien’s face vanished quickly, replaced by his familiar expression of haughty indignation.

“Mr. Moss, I am far too occupied with other tasks to be constantly focused on you and your team.”

“That’s a load of shit if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Excuse me?”

“The only thing you seem occupied with is giving orders behind my back!”

In the midst of everything, Moss noticed that his words got the attention of the other Eon. The alien sat up with a look of intense contemplation.

“Mr. Moss,” Impav said, standing up as straight as he could, “I am growing weary of your constant petulance.”

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, it won’t work,” Moss replied.

“I am not using intimidation. Such tactics are-”

“Beneath you? You really are a prick, you know that?”

The alien squinted.

“I do not understand what that means.”

“It means ‘fuck you’, that’s what it means.”

In all his life, Moss couldn’t say he had ever seen an Eon get mad. But Impav’s expression in that moment was the closest he figured any of them could get. The alien’s mouth curled into a grimace so sour that Moss almost believed he would resort to violence right then and there.

“Is it true?”

Both of their gazes turned to the still-seated Eon. The alien lifted his head and gazed directly into Impav’s eyes.

“Is…what true,” Impav asked, taken off guard by the sudden interruption.

“Is it true what he said,” the Eon asked, pointing toward Moss. “Did you give orders without consulting him?”

Another brief silence.

“If you are referring to my order to allow Mr. Lehmann’s dormant memories to surface…then yes.”

“We don’t even know for sure that they’re his real memories,” Moss spoke up.

“Mr. Moss-”

“Enough,” the second Eon interrupted. “Both of you.” He stood up from the table he was seated at. Moss noted that he was a little taller than Impav. He felt like a child watching adults fighting.

“However…Mr. Moss is correct,” the Eon said. “There is no reliable evidence that those…visions Mr. Lehmann experiences are representative of what actually transpired.”

“This is preposterous,” Impav objected. “I have studied the intricacies-”

“-of memory extensively,” the Eon finished. “Yes yes…we have all heard your speech before.”

Moss couldn’t believe it, but he was actually enjoying himself. All he was missing was a bucket of popcorn.

“And what business is it of yours,” Impav was saying. “You are here as an observer and a recorder. You have no power over this investigation.”

The other Eon said nothing. He simply rolled up the sleeve on his robe, revealing a symbol branded onto the back of his right hand in thick black ink. It looked like a pair of parentheses enclosing a small black dot in the center. Moss had no idea what it meant, but he could see the impact it had on Impav.

“You are-” Impav froze for a moment, clearly in shock. “You are a member of the Council?”

Then, in what had to be the most satisfying moment of the whole thing, Moss saw an honest-to-god smile crawl across the other Eon’s face.

“I am Ardan,” he announced, “arbitrator, observer, and member of the Eon High Council of Science. You are relieved of your duties here Impav. A shuttle will be along to collect you during the next Earth day.”

“But…but I-” Impav began to object, but Ardan held up a hand to stop him.

“The Council has spoken,” Ardan said. Then he turned and walked through a nearby entryway, leaving Impav and Moss alone. Impav turned to him, his expression one of utter disbelief. Moss flashed him a smile.

“The Council has spoken,” he said. Then he too got up from his seat and exited the room, leaving Impav standing alone with a downcast expression on his face.

 

Moss spent a long time staring through the giant viewing window at the empty hospital bed. It felt like he had spent years in this room. But it had only been three months since he first arrived on the station.

Two days had passed since Impav was removed from his position. Moss wasn’t sorry to see him go, but wasn’t too keen on having a new master either. He hadn’t seen much of Ardan since he walked out of the Commons Area those couple of days ago, so he wasn’t sure what to think of him. Moss’ initial impression was that he seemed more levelheaded than Impav was, or at least less self-important. But even so, he wasn’t ready to trust him.

And now today was the start of another session. In just a few hours they would wake Sidney up and Moss would have to have the same conversation. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he knew it had to be done. They had to get to the bottom of things. And to do that, they had to force Sidney to relive it all over again.

The sound of the automatic door opening reached his ears.

“Hello, Mr. Moss.”

Moss spun around in his chair to find the Eon Ardan standing in the doorway, holding a holographic computer tablet in his hands.

“I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss-”

Moss held up a hand to stop him.

“Look, I’m glad you sided with me over Impav, but let’s get something straight here: this is my team, this is my operation. If you think you’re going to just sit back and tell me what to do, you’re mistaken.”

“On the contrary Mr. Moss,” Ardan replied, “I have no intention of being lax in my duties the way my predecessor was. In fact, I had a theory about how best to bring forth Mr. Lehmann’s memories.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Well, in my review of the previous session recordings, it appears that your last one was the only one that showed any significant progress in quite some time.”

Moss sighed.

“We were so close…so close. But it all went to hell again. And then…” Moss paused for a second. “And then I made the worst decision I ever could have.”

“I must disagree.”

Moss looked up in surprise.

“What?”

“While the result was not at all what we wanted, your decision was the only logical one to make at the time. Since Mr. Lehmann appeared incapable of moving the memories forward of his own volition, you chose to take action. I must commend that.”

Moss was dumbfounded. “I…” he stuttered. “Thank you?”

Ardan chuckled.

“I see you are not used to such forthcoming discussion.”

Moss had to smile a little.

“I guess I’m not.”

“In any case, I believe it was you that helped Mr. Lehmann move forward, even if only for a brief time.”

“Me?”

“Precisely,” Ardan replied. “You used your words to calm him, to direct him away from his feelings of panic. Which is why I believe some changes in our next session will yield better results. But before we begin, I have something else I wish to discuss with you. I would like you to take a look at this.”

Ardan handed Moss the holographic tablet. Moss stared at the screen for a short time. It was clearly a graph of some kind. A sharp green line showed a downward trend. Notations on the side indicated an amount of some kind and notations on the bottom indicated time.

After a minute, Moss shrugged and handed the tablet back.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What does it mean?”

“It is the inventory log for the Celeste‘s food stores over the last three months.”

Moss’ eyes went wide.

“Wait a minute…you mean the food has been disappearing? As in…being eaten?

“That is precisely what I mean.”

His brain went into overdrive.

“The strange object…the captain’s description of it being artificial…the banging in the cargo bay…oh my god.” He looked up at Ardan. “You think the Celeste had a stowaway, don’t you?”

“Has…Mr. Moss. I don’t believe whoever or whatever boarded that ship ever left.”

Moss got up from his seat.

“We need to send a team aboard that ship! Whatever is still on board might hold the key to understanding what happened!”

“Calm yourself Mr. Moss…we have already sent a team aboard the ship. However, they were unable to uncover the hiding place of any creature that may still be aboard the Celeste. To that end, Mr. Lehmann remains our best and only hope at finding the truth.”

Moss sighed.

“I’ll go get him up to speed,” he said, then walked out of the room.

 

I really hope this is the last time I have to do this, Moss thought to himself. He could see Sidney through the window, sitting up in his bed. For both our sakes…

“Sidney Lehmann,” he asked as he entered.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Russell Moss. It’s nice to meet you.”

They shook hands.

“Look Sidney,” Moss began, “I know this is all strange for you, but I need to ask you something: what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Not much,” Sidney admitted. “I remember being on the Celeste. We were diverted to an asteroid field to mine resources. But after that it’s just…blank. The next thing I know I’m sitting here in this hospital bed.”

“Okay…let’s start small: you’re on the space station Orion, in orbit around Earth.”

“I’m back at Earth?”

“Yes you are…there was an incident…and…Sidney? Are you okay?”

Sidney had a vacant look on his face.

“I’ve had this conversation before, haven’t I?”

 

When Moss and Ardan stepped into the Stimulator room, there were now three beds instead of just one.

“So run me through this again,” Moss said. “How is this going to work?”

“It is quite simple,” Ardan replied. “We use secondary connections to the Stimulator to allow two extra individuals to connect with and accompany Mr. Lehmann on his explorations of his memories.”

“And those two individuals will be…?”

“Why, you and I of course.”

“Sir.” Moss turned to see one of the lab technicians motioning him toward the bed. “Please lay down.”

Moss complied, sitting down on the bed and swinging his legs up. Sidney was already in his bed, the metal face plate of the Stimulator covering his eyes. Moss laid his head back and got comfortable. A technician appeared above him and began placing electrodes on his forehead. They chilled his skin.

“Hey Sid,” Moss said.

“Yeah,” came the reply.

“This is going to be a stressful ride. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, sir. I just want to find out what happened.”

Me too bud, he thought. Me too…

Several minutes later, the technicians finished their job. Moss heard the automatic door opening and closing. Then, the three of them were alone.

“Okay,” a voice said over the intercom a minute later. “Is everyone ready?”

Moss gave the window a thumbs up.

“Good. We’ll start synchronizing the connections in a moment.”

Moss took a deep breath. He had never done anything like this before. He had never even thought of doing something like this before. But it was too late to start having reservations now.

“Synchronization in three…two…”

 

“One.”

Moss gasped. He looked around. There was nothing but an endless sea of blackness.

“Did it work,” he asked aloud.

“Yes…it appears so.”

Out of the inky blackness a swirling figure formed. It shaped itself into Ardan, white robe and all.

“Mr. Lehmann,” Ardan asked. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes,” came the reply.

Moss turned around to find Sidney standing directly behind him.

“Very good,” Ardan said. “Let us get started.”

 

“I thought this area was supposed to be clear of debris?”

“It’s not his fault captain,” an officer chimed in. “What struck us was too small to be picked up on long-range scanners.”

The captain let out a small chuckle. “The hazards of space travel huh? Expect the unexpected.” He stood up and stretched. “Well it’s getting late. I’ll be down in my quarters if anyone needs me.” He made his way toward the lift.

Sidney watched him go and then stared straight ahead. His hands were shaking, his palms sweaty.

“Sidney,” a voice called to him. He turned to find Moss standing over him. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened. There’s no way you could have known.”

“I know,” Sidney said. “But it’s so hard not to.”

“I get it Sid,” Moss said. “I really do. When I was younger I had a friend who suffered from anxiety attacks. It’s not easy…I know. Just focus on your breathing and you’ll be fine.”

Sidney focused, taking several deep breaths. In…and out. In…and out. In……and out.

“Okay,” he said finally, turning to face Moss. “What next?”

 

From there, it was just going through the motions.

They went down to the cargo bay, watched Sidney have his conversation with Cecil, and then heard the unexplained clanging Sidney mentioned in a previous session. Ardan noted that the sound was definitely metallic in nature.

It was all familiar: Sidney going to bed, being woken up by the captain’s call, then making his way to the captain’s quarters.

As the three of them strolled in, Moss felt like there was a giant boulder in his stomach. After having seen the abominable images Sidney’s mind threw up every time they got to this point, he wasn’t really looking forward to experiencing it firsthand.

But they had to push through. They had to know.

“H-how would something like that affect our minds? It’s just a hunk of metal,” Sidney was saying.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you might have an idea.”

“Sorry captain…I can’t say I’ve ever heard of anything like it.”

“Don’t worry about it Sidney. I don’t think anyone has.”

The captain pondered for a moment.

“Here’s the thing though: the small size and shape of the thing got me thinking. Maybe it’ssssssssssss aaaaaaaaaaaan escaaaaaaaaaa-“

Just like last time, the captain slowed to a stop and the room began to flicker. Moss looked over at Sidney and saw his hands start to shake.

“Heart rate increasing…adrenaline spiking,” a voice said in his ear.

“Sidney,” Moss said gently, taking a step forward, “focus on me.”

Sidney turned to him, his eyes wild with fear.

“You can do this Sidney…you know you can.”

Moss wasn’t so sure…but hid his doubts as best he could. Sidney stared at him, his eyes twitching. Sweat began to drizzle down his brow.

“Mr. Lehmann,” Ardan said. “Listen to him. Focus. Clear your mind.”

“Sid…focus on breathing. Nothing else…just focus on-”

The world snapped. The next thing Moss knew, Sidney was pummeling the back of the captain’s head with the model ship.

“Oh god damn it,” he exclaimed aloud. “Sidney…stop!” He rushed forward to try and pry the ship from Sidney’s hand. But suddenly, everything rushed away from him into darkness. Gray walls shot in from all directions. Moss found himself standing in a hallway, watching as Sidney strolled past with an assault rifle in his hands. He raised the gun and pointed it at a nearby crew member. The man screamed as bullets went flying.

“Sidney! Listen to me,” Moss shouted. He made an effort to tear the gun from Sidney’s hands, but froze in shock after his fingers went right through Sidney, as if he was nothing more than a ghost.

The world changed again. This time, they were in a dimly lit room with crates strewn about. Moss watched as Sidney set down a pistol and grabbed a plasma torch. He advanced on a cowering crew member who had gaping holes in his knees.

“Sid!” But he showed no response. He grabbed the person’s hair and forced his head backward.

“Not again…Sidney!

A click. A flickering blue flame. Sidney’s expression remained impassive as he brought the flame closer to his victim’s eye.

SIDNEY,” Moss screamed as loud as he could.

Then suddenly, everything froze. Moss found himself overwhelmed by a comforting feeling of peace.

“Mr. Lehmann,” a voice said. “Look at me.”

Sidney dropped the plasma torch on the ground, a harsh clanging noise echoing through the chamber. He turned around, an expression of calm plastered on his face.

And suddenly Ardan was there, standing beside him. A strange, bright purple aura emanated from his eyes and his entire body. Moss wasn’t sure if it was real or just another hallucination. But he knew exactly what had happened: Ardan had used his species natural ability, and now their brains were being flooded by feel-good chemicals.

“Mr. Lehmann, are you okay,” Ardan asked.

“Yes,” Sidney replied calmly. “I’m good.”

“Excellent…now, I want you to look at this person.”

Sidney turned and locked his eyes on the man frozen in a state of terror.

“Do you recognize him?”

Sidney squinted.

“No,” he replied.

“That’s because he never existed.”

“What do you mean,” Moss chimed in. Ardan turned to him, his body still alight in a purple haze.

“You were correct in your assertion that these memories were false, Mr. Moss,” the alien said. “These…people were never people at all, but mere amalgamations of those on board the Celeste. They were…constructions which made it appear as though Sidney murdered them.”

“How do you know this,” Moss asked. His body was still tingling.

“I attempted to cross-reference the images of the people Sidney was seen murdering with those of the crew. It never resulted in a match.”

“But…I killed them,” Sidney insisted. “I know I did. I just saw it!”

“What you are seeing never happened, Mr. Lehmann. And I can prove it to you. Take us back to the captain.”

Sidney closed his eyes. In an instant, the walls of the cargo bay disappeared and the captain’s office rushed toward them.

“Look him over and tell me if something seems wrong,” Ardan said.

Sidney opened his eyes and walked back and forth in front of the captain for what felt like minutes. Suddenly, he leaned over and stared directly into the captain’s eyes. His mouth opened.

“His eyes,” Sidney muttered. “They’re…green. I thought they were blue.”

“They are blue, Mr. Lehmann.”

Sidney was shocked.

“You mean…this isn’t the captain at all? It’s just another…’construction’?”

“Yes…and his hair is not an exact match either. This version of the captain and the others you thought you saw yourself murder are nothing but falsehoods to blind you from seeing the truth.”

“But how do we get to the truth,” Sidney asked, standing back up.

“That is something only you can do. Focus, Mr. Lehmann. Focus…and show us what happened on board that ship.”

Sidney closed his eyes…

 

“Here’s the thing though: the small size and shape of the thing got me thinking. Maybe it’s an escape pod.”

“Escape pod? You mean like…from another ship?”

“Exactly.”

“But…what ship?”

“I have no idea Sidney,” the captain said. “But this thing was obviously built by intelligent hands. There’s just no way it’s a natural occurrence.”

“So…you think whoever…or whatever occupied this pod might be…on board?”

“No need to whisper Sidney. And yes…I do. But the question is how to find it? No one reported anything unusual.”

Sidney remembered.

“Actually sir, I did hear a strange clanging noise in the cargo bay earlier tonight.”

“Cargo bay?” The captain was confused. “Why were you down there?”

“Visiting a friend sir. I thought little of it at the time…but now…”

“Now you’re thinking it might indicate where our mysterious stowaway is hiding, if there is one. Good work Sid.” The captain got up from his desk. “But that still doesn’t solve the matter of how we actually find it. If the creature holds technology similar to what hides its escape pod, then we’ll just be stumbling around in the dark.”

A light bulb went on in Sidney’s head.

“Maybe you don’t search for it at all.”

The captain turned to him.

“What do you mean,” he asked.

“Maybe you search for what isn’t there.”

“I’m not following…”

“You showed me the sensor data right? It picked up an empty void where you knew the object was,” Sidney explained. “Well…maybe whatever was in that pod works in much the same way.”

The captain’s eyes lit up.

“Ah…you’re thinking it cloaks itself from detection by making it appear as if there is nothing there. So instead of searching for the creature…we search for the void. That’s…brilliant Sidney! Truly inspired thinking.”

“Thank you sir.” Sidney was afraid he would start blushing.

“We’ll have to modify some handheld scanners to search for that specifically. I’ll grab some of the crew and get to work.”

“I’ll go with,” Sidney volunteered.

“No that’s okay Sid,” the captain shook his head. “You’re young…you don’t have any combat experience. And if something goes terribly wrong…we may need someone to pilot the ship back home.”

Sidney wanted to argue, but the look on the captain’s face told him no good would come from it.

“Yes sir,” he said, then turned to walk away. When he was halfway out the door, he paused. He turned around to face the captain again.

“Good luck sir,” he said.

“Thanks Sid,” the captain replied. “I imagine we’re going to need it.”

 

“I…I remember.”

Ardan and Moss were standing in the hallway, watching as Sidney made his way toward the lift. A moment later, they were standing in the lift with him.

“After my conversation with the captain, I went back to my quarters and tried to sleep. But I kept tossing and turning in my bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about what the captain had said. And the idea of an unknown creature on board scared the hell out of me.”

“So what did you do,” Moss asked.

“I got up and went back down to the cargo bay. I wanted to see Cecil.”

The scene shifted. Cecil was standing next to a crate, frozen in the motion of talking.

“I convinced him to come with me and see if we could find the source of that strange noise from before,” Sidney’s voice said. The scene shifted again and they were standing over a twisted metal grate. “We found one of the covers to the air vents twisted and broken off,” Sidney explained. Then he paused…a look of intense fear in his eyes.

“Take us through this,” Moss urged. “We need to see it all.”

 

“What could have torn it off like that?”

“I don’t know Sid. I really don’t. God this is bizarre. I keep thinking of that movie…”

“This isn’t a movie Cecil…this is serious!”

“Calm down! There’s probably a good explanation for this.”

Cecil turned to Sidney. When he saw the fear in Sidney’s eyes, he gave him a look.

“Wait a second…you know something I don’t, don’t you? What is it?”

“I…I don’t want to alarm you…”

“Sid please…if something is amiss, I need to know.”

“Well-”

A loud scream abruptly cut them off. An unmistakable burst of gunfire followed. Then, the cargo bay was plunged into deafening silence.

“What the hell was that,” Cecil said. He ran off in the direction of the noise, Sidney at his heels. When they got around the corner, Cecil stopped so abruptly that Sidney almost ran into him.

“Cecil…what is it,” Sidney asked.

Cecil couldn’t respond. Instead, he pointed a shaky finger in the direction he was looking. Sidney followed his gaze. His eyes went wide.

“Ca…captain? Wha…what are you doing,” he stammered.

The captain was standing over the body of a maintenance worker, smoking assault rifle still in his hands. Sidney couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. But the evidence was too hard to deny.

The captain turned, bringing the assault rifle to bear on the two of them. The look in his eyes was empty…soulless…devoid of any feeling or emotion. A second later, the barrel of the gun was pointed directly at them. Sidney froze in place. He could only wait for the inevitable crack of gunfire…for the searing pain that would rip through his body.

“Sid, run!” Sidney felt a pair of hands shove him out of the line of fire. He bumped into a crate and began falling on his back.

Everything seemed to move in slow-motion. As he fell, he heard the gun go off. Cecil’s body jerked and twisted as it was peppered by bullets. A fine red mist sprayed out of his body as he stumbled backwards. A terrible silence followed, during which the figure of his friend rocked back and forth precariously

Then, Cecil began falling backward. When Sidney caught that dull, vacant look in his eyes, he knew Cecil was gone. He crumpled to the ground and lay there, forever still.

“No no no fuck fuck fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

Sidney found it hard to breathe. But he didn’t have long to think.

The sound of heavy boot steps reached his ears, full of determination and demented purpose.

Sidney scrambled to his feet and bolted for the lift. He had barely rounded the corner when he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. Bullets hit the wall above his head, sending sparks flying down. Instinctively, Sidney held his hands above his head with a yell as he continued to run. He made his way into the lift and mashed the button to go to another deck.

The moment before the door closed, he saw the captain stroll around the corner, that same empty look in his eyes. The gun turned in his direction, ready to fire.

The door slammed shut and the lift began to ascend.

Sidney was breathing heavily, his hands sweating. What the hell is going on, he thought to himself. Why would the captain kill one of the maintenance workers? Why would he kill Cecil? Why would he try to kill ME? None of it made any sense. This must be a dream, he thought. Any moment now, I’ll wake up in my bed to find that none of this ever happened.

Just then, the door opened.

Sidney only had a fraction of a second to glimpse the blurred gray outline of something coming at his face before he ducked out of the way. A loud clanging noise echoed through the lift. Sidney scrambled out into the hallway and spun back around.

He recognized the crew member that had tapped him on the shoulder and relieved him from the bridge earlier in the evening. He also recognized the look in the man’s eyes…that dark, empty look…

The crewman began to advance on him, swinging a large metal wrench menancingly.

“Look…it’s me, Sidney! I’m not your enemy.”

A second later, the man raised the wrench into the air and dove at him. Sidney barely managed to dodge out of the way, scrambling backward and falling to the ground. He quickly picked himself up just in time to see the crew member advancing again.

I have to do something…he’ll kill me if I don’t.

Thinking quickly, Sidney rushed forward before the man could react, tackling him back into the lift. He got to his feet as quick as he could, pressing one of the buttons and rushing out the door. The lift closed and began to ascend.

Sidney panted, out of breath. He didn’t have much time before the lift would most likely come back down. There was no way he could shut them off either. He needed command authorization to do that.

There was only one option: hide.

Sidney turned and darted down the hallway, making his way toward the crew quarters. It felt like he was running a marathon. His legs burned with the effort, but adrenaline kept him moving. In a situation like that, it was do or die. And despite his penchant for freezing up at the worst of times, he wasn’t inclined to just stand in place and for his death.

Sidney sprinted around the corner.

And tripped.

Ow,” he yelled out as he hit the ground. He groaned aloud. His hands were slimy and wet. He began to pick himself up and then froze. Dead eyes of hazel gazed back at him. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were covered in blood.

He stood up sharply, taking in the scene for the first time.

“Oh god,” he said aloud.

There must have been at least fifteen different crew members, all lying in various mangled positions along the hallway. Expressions of pain and agony were forever etched onto the faces, a glimpse into their final, dying moments. Sidney glanced down at his uniform. It was stained red with their blood.

“Oh god…oh my god…oh…god,” he mumbled to himself.

He took a step…and fell to the floor again, landing face first in another crimson pool. Sidney jerked his head up, coughing and sputtering. The urge to puke was overwhelming, but somehow he managed to force it back down. He tried to get to his feet and continue down the hallway, but kept slipping and falling on the bloody floor. It was like some kind of horrible slapstick comedy routine. By the time he managed to make it to the end of the hallway, he was covered head to toe in his crewmates’ blood.

Sidney turned around, his wide eyes quivering as he examined the hallway he had just trudged through. He couldn’t say how long he stood there. It could have been seconds. It could have been minutes. Time ceased to have any real meaning for him.

But while he was there, he noticed things. Some of the bodies had obvious signs of being beaten, probably with a large blunt object. A flash of blurred gray metal flickered into his mind, aimed directly for his face. Sidney shook his head, washing away the image. He ran his eyes over more of the bodies. While some had clearly suffered blunt force trauma, others were riddled with bullet holes. It wasn’t until his eyes landed on the gleaming black finish of a pistol clutched in one of their dead hands that the horrible truth revealed itself to him.

They had all killed each other…

With that knowledge, Sidney finally managed to command his legs move again and dashed around the corner, his hand leaving a bloody smear on the wall as he gripped it to steady himself. He kept running until he found himself at his quarters, the door sliding open upon his approach. It had barely closed before Sidney was at the nearby panel, setting it into lockdown mode. The only person that could open that door now…would be him.

Sidney backed away slowly, hitting the wall and sliding down onto the floor. He brought his knees up to his chin and curled into a ball, eyes fastened on the ominous gray door.

Now there was nothing to do but wait…

 

Gunshots rang out in the hallway some minutes after he got to his quarters. Someone screamed. He heard frantic thumps on the door to this room. But Sidney didn’t dare move.

Eventually it all fell silent. And then…he was alone.

Several times he thought about leaving his room…getting to an escape pod. But what good would that do him? He’d be left floating in space, an easy target if the murderous members of the crew decided to turn the ship’s meager weapons on him.

What the hell had happened to them? It was as if they had lost their minds..gone completely insane. There was no way the captain Sidney knew would so willingly turn against his crew and murder them all in cold blood. Was it an imposter? Some kind of visual trick? There was no way to know, and Sidney didn’t feel like leaving the room to find out.

There had to be a way out. There had to be an escape route he could take. Maybe one of the cargo shuttles…

Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat. He strained his ears. Slow, plodding steps made themselves known in the hallway. They didn’t belong to the captain. They didn’t belong to any member of the crew as far as Sidney could tell. They were far too soft for that.

Closer and closer they came as Sidney held his breath, praying that whatever it was would move on.

But it didn’t. The steps reached his door and abruptly stopped.

Sidney waited with bated breath…waited for the death blow to come. He waited for his life to reach its untimely end.

But it didn’t. Seconds ticked by…and nothing happened.

Then…very faintly, he heard something scratching on the other side of the doorway.

Go away, he thought. Go…away!

Suddenly, his vision blurred and his head pouned. He groaned, leaning forward with his hands pressed against his temple. He rocked back and forth, in the grips of some kind of pain he could barely describe. It felt like something was drilling into his skull.

“Make it stop…make it stop,” he screamed aloud.

Then, in one fluid motion, the door was forced open.

Sidney stared.

The last thing he knew was an inky blackness taking over his entire world…

 

“Really,” Moss asked. “That’s all you can remember? You didn’t catch a glimpse of the creature?”

“No I…I think I did…but I couldn’t tell you what it looked like. Not really anyways…” Sidney hung his head and sighed. “God…I’m such a coward.”

“Believe me Mr. Lehmann,” Ardan assured him, “that is far from the truth.”

“But I am, aren’t I? I just left everyone else to die.”

“You had no way of knowing which of your crew were in their right minds or not. For all you knew, everyone else had turned on each other.”

Sidney didn’t look too reassured by that.

“It’s true Sidney,” Moss said, stepping forward. “In the moment, all you can do is run.”

“Mr. Moss is correct,” Ardan agreed. “The natural inclination of an intelligent being is that of self-preservation. You did as your instincts commanded you to. There is no blame to be assigned for that.”

“But…but I-”

“Sid look,” Moss chimed in. “There’s no way you could have known what would happen.” He put a hand on Sidney’s shoulder. “What happened was a tragedy, but there’s no sense in burying yourself with regret.”

“I…” Sidney sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Good,” Moss said. “Now…we need to-”

A drop of blood appeared on Sidney’s shoulder. Moss stared at it for a second, perplexed. Then he reached up and wiped under his nose. His sleeve came back with a dark red smear.

“What the,” he mumbled.

Sidney groaned aloud. Moss looked over and saw blood dripping from his nose as well. He turned toward Ardan.

“What the hell is-”

Suddenly, all three of them grabbed their heads.

Oh god,” Moss screamed aloud. His head pounded like a jackhammer. His knees buckled under him and he fell to the ground.

“What is this,” Sidney cried out.

Neither Moss nor Ardan could answer. They were both on the ground, clutching their heads and groaning.

Make it stop make it stop make it stop,” Sidney started screaming.

Moss felt like something was sitting on his neck, making each breath a strained gasp. His head pulsated, as though it were swelling up to three times its normal size. The world began to tumble and swim away from him. The darkness grew so absolute that-

 

Moss blinked.

“It is quite simple,” Ardan was saying. “We use secondary connections to the Stimulator to allow two extra individuals to connect with and accompany Mr. Lehmann on his explorations of…Mr. Moss, what is it?”

Moss glanced around the room, utterly confused.

“Where…is everyone?”

Ardan’s large, black eyes flicked around the room.

“Hmmm,” he muttered. “Curious…I was certain there were technicians in this room just a moment ago.”

Moss’ eyes lit up with horror.

“We’ve done this before,” he said.

Ardan turned to him.

“What?”

“We’ve done this before…we’ve done this before,” Moss said, his voice growing frantic.

“What do you mean Mr. Moss,” Ardan asked.

“We already had this conversation. This already happened!

A flicker of understanding crossed the blue alien’s face.

“You mean…our memories have been altered?”

“Yes altered…erased…whatever. That thing? It was here. It was here and-” Moss finally noticed the empty bed in the center of the room. “Oh no…Sidney.” He spun around and bolted for the door.

 

Sidney groaned as he came to. The air was dank and musty. What is that, he thought to himself. Smells like…rusted iron. Finally managing to open his eyes, he found himself face first with a large gray chair. Squinting, he noticed there was a small red stain on the side…

Blood. It was blood

He gasped. Bolting to his feet, Sidney found himself standing on the darkened bridge of the Celeste.

“No,” he moaned. “Not here. Not again.”

He immediately dashed for the lift but skidded to a stop when he heard a low growl. Something was standing behind one of the control stations…hidden in the darkness. Or was it darkness? It was like a cloud of blackness that shimmered and moved toward-

He stood alone on the beach, sun shining high in the sky. The smell of the ocean filled his nostrils, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline brought him peace…

Sidney blinked.

“What the-”

The forest was dark…a small campfire providing warmth and light. He was on his back, eyes focused on the sky. Then…the lights began to appear…tendrils of green color snaking their way across the horizon…

Then Sidney saw it…the thing that had haunted his memories. It approached him slowly, like a hunter eyeing its prey. Even now…he could barely grasp its form. It was like looking through a foggy window. He could tell it had three legs…or so he thought. It was also shorter than him…barely over half his height.

He caught its eyes…if it had any. They kept changing color…a kaleidoscope mirage of pupils.

Sidney backed away, his eyes darting around the bridge. There were two lifts, but they were in the back areas of the room. If he tried to run, it would catch him. There would be no escape this time. It had him cornered, and-

Crickets chirped. The cool breeze of the spring night ruffled his hair. He could see tiny blips of light hovering in the air as the fireflies danced the night away…

Sidney stopped and stared at the shifting shadowy creature that kept approaching him. He had been wrong. It wasn’t a hunter cornering its next meal. It was more like a timid child…unsure of itself.

It hit him all at once.

“These visions…is…is that your way of communicating,” he asked.

A woman. Her lips moved slowly…forming the words…

“It is…isn’t it? That’s how you communicate…through images…through……memory,” Sidney said, feeling a strange kind of excitement. “You didn’t want this to happen, did you?”

A shake of the head…

“You never wanted to hurt them. You never wanted to hurt me. But…when you tried to reach out…the captain and the crew, their minds couldn’t take it. Am I right?”

A nod…

“Why…why did this all happen?”

He dashed through a darkened hallway with no end. A presence nipped at his heels, growing closer and closer until it was certain to devour him…

Sidney understood.

“You were afraid…you were afraid and you didn’t understand what you were doing. You just wanted to tell them you meant no harm but…you had no idea how to control yourself. You just wanted someone to help you, but in your fear you destroyed their minds, drove them to insanity.”

He stood alone in the darkness…he tried screaming for somebody…anybody. But there was no response but his own echo in the inky blackness…

“You’re alone…alone and scared.”

Sidney held out his hand.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The shadowy, ever-shifting creature approached…its eyes flitting between colors every passing second. An inky hand with what might have been claws reached out, tepidly at first, but eventually grasping his. Sidney gasped. Its…skin…if it even had any, felt cold to the touch.

They were face to face for what felt like an eternity. Sidney staring into the creature’s color-shifting eyes, and the creature staring back. Even this close, he could barely tell what it looked like. His mind had a vague impression of an over-sized, oblong head. But all that could have been an illusion…an illusion put forth by a creature that was terrified of itself.

Sidney saw something of himself in the creature. For so long, he had dealt with his anxiety, with his fear of failing himself and others. He had tried to control it, but sometimes it still rendered him helpless. Every day was filled with thinking about past wrongs, about slight missteps in conversations and actions, about little things he could have done differently. It was foolish, but Sidney had no way of helping it.

And now, as he and the creature locked eyes…he realized that he understood this alien being better than he understood those among his own kind.

“It’s okay,” he assured it. “It’s going to be okay.”

A smile…she wrapped her arms around him…

“You took me here, right?”

A nod…

“That must mean you want something from me. What is it?”

A large white house stood in the shade of giant trees. It had two stories. A screened porch looked out over the front lawn and driveway. Yellow and red leaves littered the ground, the signs of approaching winter.

He knew this place.

He loved this place…

Sidney understood.

“I can take you there…”

 

Moss sprinted down the hallways, heading toward the Celeste‘s docking point. Ardan was close on his heels.

“What makes you think Mr. Lehmann is there,” the alien shouted after him.

“A hunch,” Moss shouted back.

Just then, an alarm sounded throughout the station.

“Unscheduled docking separation. Please contact station administrator,” the station’s computer announced.

Moss picked up speed, sliding around the corner. He turned just in time to see the Celeste slipping away from the station.

“Stop that ship,” he shouted at a nearby military officer.

“I can’t,” the officer replied. “I’ve been locked out of the controls. Our only choice is to shoot it down.”

“I would not advise that,” Ardan said, finally catching up to them. “We believe Sidney Lehmann is on board. Any attempts to shoot the ship down would likely result in his death.”

“Then what do we do,” the officer asked.

Ardan gave him a grim look.

“I’m afraid there is nothing we can do.”

The three of them watched helplessly as the ship flew farther and farther away. Eventually, the engines gave a bright glare and the ship seemed to stretch out of proportion as it made the jump to faster-than-light speed.

And then it was gone.

There was a long moment of silence as they stared at the place where the Celeste used to be. Then Ardan and the officer walked away, leaving Moss alone. He stared out the window for a long time. Eventually, he laid his palm flat against the glass, leaned his head against it, and closed his eyes.

“Sidney…” he muttered.

 

Two weeks passed.

Moss was sitting in his quarters on the space station, working at his computer. He had gone over the recording of the last session every single day since the Celeste vanished, hoping to find some inkling of what the creature abducted Sidney for. But there was nothing he could find.

He remembered a conversation he had with Ardan just a few days after the ship vanished.

“I do not understand how you reached this conclusion, Mr. Moss.”

“Think about it…if the creature really wanted to kill the crew, it could have done so the moment it came aboard. Why did it wait for hours to do anything if that was its true intention?”

“I will admit that there is not a sufficient explanation for everything that happened, but it is impossible to surmise what the creature’s intentions may have been.”

“That is true,” Moss admitted. “But it left Sidney alive, didn’t it? It had the chance to kill him, but it didn’t.”

“If we assume that what you are saying is correct, then how do you explain the memories?”

Moss thought for a moment.

“Maybe that was never intentional either. You’ve read Sidney’s file. You know his propensity for self-guilt. What if, somehow, the creature touching his mind generated these images out of his own sense of failure?”

“You mean…his guilt over the crew’s death? But he had no part in it.”

“That doesn’t matter…someone like Sidney doesn’t need a logical reason to feel guilty. They just do. And so every time we tried to make him remember what happened, what he remembered was the guilt…and the guilt drove him to insanity.”

“It is an interesting hypothesis Mr. Moss, but it still leaves one thing unanswered: why did the creature return to kidnap Mr. Lehmann? What possible reason could it have?”

Moss shrugged.

“Maybe it wanted to go home.”

A brief chime from the panel on his desk brought Moss out of his reverie. He pressed a button.

“What is it,” he asked.

“Mr. Moss…sir…the Eon Ardan requests your presence,” the voice on the other end said.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s the Celeste sir…she’s back.”

 

Sidney opened his eyes to find a throng of people standing around him. He tilted his head slowly from side to side, groggy and uncertain.

“What,” he mumbled. Then he noticed the hospital gown and the bed. “What am I doing here,” he asked. “What happened?”

“Sidney?” A man stepped forward. He was older, with bright-green eyes and a pleasant enough face. “Do you remember me?”

Sidney squinted.

“No,” he said. “Should I?”

The man and the others in the room exchanged glances for a moment.

“My name is Russell Moss,” the man explained. “I’m working here on the station. Tell me…what’s the last thing you remember?”

Sidney thought for a moment.

“I was on the Celeste…we had just picked up a cargo shipment. We…we were routed to an asteroid field to do some mining. And then…everything’s just blank.”

“Mr. Lehmann?” Sidney turned his head to find a tall blue alien in a white robe standing nearby. “My name is Ardan. I’m…I guess you could call me a sort of adviser here on board the station. Are you sure you can remember nothing at all?”

Sidney shrugged.

“I’m trying to sir…but it’s like there’s nothing there.”

There was a brief silence as the people around him once again exchanged looks. Sidney felt his heart jump.

“What happened? Where’s the rest of the crew,” he asked.

No one responded for a moment. Then, the blue alien known as Ardan spoke up.

“I am deeply sorry that I have to be the one to tell you this…but you are the only survivor, Mr. Lehmann.”

Sidney sat up and stared at his hands, utterly devastated. There were over sixty people on board that ship. How could they all be dead? Cecil…the captain…all of them. It was so surreal that he couldn’t believe it was true.

“How,” he finally asked. “How did it happen?”

No one said anything for a moment. Sidney saw the blue alien straighten up, as if he was going to provide an explanation.

“Contaminated cargo,” Moss suddenly blurted out. Sidney noticed the Eon cast a sideways glance at him. “Something the ship picked up from one of your stops. The crew came down with an infectious disease. We tried to save them…but it just didn’t work out. Luckily, you seemed to be able to beat it. Unfortunately, it would seem that the memory loss is one of the side effects.”

“Oh,” was all Sidney managed to say. In the brief silence that followed, a nurse walked next to Moss and whispered something in his ear. Sidney couldn’t hear what it was, but he saw a look of shock flicker across Moss’ face. But a moment later, it disappeared.

“Look,” Moss said, “I’m sure you’ll want to get some rest. We’ll let you have the room, and then we can talk more later.”

“Sure thing sir,” Sidney said. Moss left the room, followed closely by the blue alien. Moments later, the other attendants left the room as well. There was so much to take in…so much he wanted to know. But at the moment, Sidney was just too exhausted to care. All he wanted to do was go to sleep.

He lowered his head onto the pillow, closed his eyes, and drifted away…

 

Moss walked into the Commons Area, aware that Ardan was following him. After seeing that no one else was around, he turned to face the blue alien. He could tell Ardan was upset.

“You lied to him,” Ardan said.

“Yes,” Moss stated. “I did.”

“Why,” the alien demanded.

“What possible good could it do, letting him know exactly what happened on board that ship. What good could it do, letting him know that he’s basically been a prisoner here for the last three months? What good could it do, telling him that his memory was wiped again and again because he couldn’t remember the truth?”

“You should not have lied.”

“Why does it matter? That’s the story the government is going with anyways, isn’t it? Contaminated cargo?”

“What the Earth government decides as the official story is of no consequence here. You should have told him the truth. Mr. Lehmann deserves that.”

Moss shook his head.

“No…he deserves to finally have a bit of peace. Every time I told him that we had been through the same conversation, the same sessions over and over again, I saw the look on his face. I saw the guilt in his eyes. If you ask me, that thing did Sidney a favor. It’s a mercy he’ll never have to live through it again.”

Ardan squinted at him.

“What do you mean,” he asked.

“The nurse told me something just before we left. They couldn’t find any trace of the memories within his brain. They’ve been completely wiped away.”

“So Mr. Lehmann will never remember the events on board the Celeste. He’ll never remember where he was these past two weeks.”

“No…and I’m thinking that’s the best outcome we could have hoped for. Sidney has been through so much pain…so much sorrow over these past three months. Over and over again he had to relive the same damn thing. Even though we wiped his memory every time…it’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. So maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe we don’t need to know.”

Moss turned and stared out the window, stared at the black expanse of space that stretched out for an incomprehensible distance.

“Maybe…some things are better left forgotten.”

 

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Spotlight: Stranger Things Season 2

 

Warning: minor spoilers for “Stranger Things” follow.  Read at your own risk.

Ain’t no hype train like the “Stranger Things” hype train.

If shows like “Daredevil” and “House of Cards” put Netflix on the map when it came to the push for original programming from streaming services, “Stranger Things” is the one that put them over the top, as if to say “dude…this is serious business”.  The stellar first season was a massive hit.  And ever since the teaser trailer for season two dropped during the Super Bowl, the hype train has been steadily chugging along.  So the question becomes, does the second season live up to the first?

 

Spoiler alert: bad things happen to Will this season.

 

The first thing many people will likely notice is the difference in pacing.  Compared to season one, season two does a lot more building up and creating tension before anything really happens.  In fact, it’s not until the third episode when things start to get moving.  And this was a common theme I noticed in reviews: the slower pacing.

There seems to be this weird assumption in critic-land that having slower pacing than before is somehow a bad thing.  I don’t think that’s necessarily the case.  In many ways, it’s a good thing for this season.  It gives us some room to breathe, especially when compared to the breakneck pace things moved at in season one.  It also allows us to view these characters when they’re not under constant threat.  We get to watch them live their lives.  And it’s refreshing to just see some of these characters on a normal day, before everything inevitably goes crazy once again.  This season definitely has a larger focus on inter-personal relationships and conflict.

 

It’s especially refreshing to see Joyce Byers under normal circumstances, as she spent pretty much the entire first season as a nervous wreck on the verge of collapse.

 

Now, this does mean that each episode doesn’t necessarily have that cliffhanger hook that makes you want to keep watching, but that’s fine.  This is the second season.  At this point, we should be tuning in because we’re invested in the characters themselves, not because we have to see what comes next.  That’s something I’ve noticed a lot in modern television, and is particularly evident in broadcast television (i.e. not cable or satellite).  Advertisements for new episodes often are built around teasing a “shocking twist” that you’ll “never see coming” and will “blow your mind”.  Cliffhangers aren’t bad by nature, but if they’re used as the primary hook for a show without any substance behind them (such as complex characters), it just feels cheap and soulless to me.

But I digress.  “Stranger Things” season two introduces us to some new characters as well.  First off, we have new kid Maxine (Max for short) and her step-brother Billy, who basically spends the entire season being a massive a-hole.  Because of her step-brother and her family situation, which we learn a bit about later in the season, Max is a more hard-edged character than the other kids, although she does eventually end up following along with them.  And this is one of my only real gripes with this season.  While I appreciate the injection of new blood into the dynamic of the kids, Max and her step-brother don’t really seem to serve much purpose aside from causing tension within the group (although Max does have a pretty badass moment at the end of the season).

 

Sean Astin also stars in this season as Joyce’s new boyfriend. You’ll likely remember him as Sam from “Lord of the Rings” or from “The Goonies”, one of the movies “Stranger Things” took inspiration from.

 

 

Speaking of gripes, the various plot lines in this season may become a point of contention for some, as certain plots end up more fleshed out than others.  There was one in particular for me that fel underdeveloped.  As season two opens, we’re treated to an action scene with an unknown group of people fleeing the police.  It turns out one of them has psychic powers and a connection with Eleven.  It’s a great opener that entices us in with a bit of action.  My problem comes from the fact that this thread isn’t explored until near the end of the season.  There’s only one episode that centers around these people, and its only purpose seems to be to push Eleven in the right direction.

Oh yeah…Eleven’s back.  Spoilers I guess…although if you saw any of the trailers you already knew that.

Despite the complaints I or others may have, no one can doubt that the magic that permeated “Stranger Things” season one is still here.  Even if the beginning’s slower pacing rubs some people the wrong way, the season ends on a very strong note with some great character moments.  I’m always impressed by just how well-written and acted this show is, especially when it comes to the kid characters.  It’s funny too, because apparently when the Duffer brothers were shopping the show around to different studios, the studios wanted to cut the kids characters out entirely.  And now it’s hard to imagine the show without them.  It’s hard to imagine the show without any of the characters we’ve come to know and love.

And that’s the key thing: characters.  The characters are why we’ll return to Hawkins for season three.

Well…that and the spooks.  Everybody loves the spooks.

 

SPOOOOOOOOOOOOKS

 

Thanks for reading!  Check back next Wednesday for another post, and as always, have a wonderful week.

You can like the Rumination on the Lake Facebook page here or follow me on Twitter here.

Moonlight

Welcome to the tenth of twelve.  For those who don’t know, my New Year’s resolution this year was to write one short story per month and post it to my blog on the last Wednesday of each month.  This month’s story is entitled “Moonlight”.  Enjoy!

Also, because it has central importance to the story, here is a recording of the song “Clair De Lune”.

 

“Depth at one-point-seven kilometers and increasing.”

Thomas Haskins flailed at the holographic controls, but to no avail. The malfunctioning thrusters had sent it flying headlong into an oceanic trench. No one was sure how deep it was, and Thomas wasn’t exactly keen on finding out.

“Depth at one-point-nine kilometers.”

Thinking quickly, he ripped the harness off his chest. He flew out of his seat and would have crashed against the main window of the pod if he hadn’t managed to grab hold of the armrest.. Thomas began pulling himself toward the back of the pod, using handles placed along the walls. He had to work fast…he had no idea how much time he had before he reached the bottom.

And it wouldn’t be the impact that killed him. No…the pressure would crush the pod long before that.

“Depth at two-point-two kilometers.”

He swiped his hand in front of a small circle in the far wall. Almost immediately, an amber-colored hologram spat out, detailing a whole list of systems for the pod.

“Depth at two-point-five kilometers.”

Shut up, shut up, he thought to himself as he swiped through the different menus. At last, he found “propulsion”. When the wireframe schematic of the submersible popped up, he spotted the issue. The switcher valve that was responsible for turning the thrusters on and off was broken, trapping the thrusters in an active state.

“Depth at two-point-nine kilometers.”

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled out loud. The pod was still picking up speed, plunging faster and faster into the inky depths. He tapped a button marked “emergency override”. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. Still nothing.

“Depth at three-point-one kilometers.”

The override obviously wasn’t working, so Thomas had to come up with a new plan. He navigated the menus until he reached “power distribution”. From there, he began the process of siphoning away power from the thrusters until they shut down. A message popped up briefly, warning that diverting power while the thrusters were active could cause catastrophic damage. He ignored it and continued working.

“Depth at three-point-four kilometers.”

There was a loud bang from the rear of the pod. That didn’t sound good, he thought. But it worked. The thrusters shut down and the pod was no longer speeding up. Now he just had to-

“Warning…impact in seven hundred meters.”

Thomas snapped his head toward the front of the pod. A hologram flared into existence, flashing an alarming red. It showed a tiny representation of his pod diving straight for the ocean floor. A countdown timer appeared: twenty-eight…twenty-seven…twenty-six…

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he cursed aloud, turning his attention back to the systems hologram. His hands moved quickly, re-routing as much power as he could spare to the front thrusters of the pod.

“Impact in five hundred meters.”

Thomas navigated his way back to the “thrusters” menu, then clicked into the sub-menu for “reverse thrusters”.

“Impact in three hundred meters.”

He tapped a button. There was a loud clunk and hissing as the thrusters began to work. But would it be enough? Thomas turned his attention toward the front window.

“Impact in one hundred meters”

His breathing was heavy.

“Impact in fifty meters”

His hands began to shake.

“Impact in twenty meters.”

Thomas braced himself.

A moment later everything roared and rumbled as the pod sliced into the seabed. Thomas lost his grip on the handle and went flying toward the front of the pod, cracking his head against a metal pipe.

The world was swallowed by darkness…

 

“Thomas Haskins?”

“That’s me,” he replied, extending a hand. The two shook.

“It’s good to meet you. I’m Colonel Bryce Irving. This is Corporal Brandon Coleman.” Thomas shook hands with Coleman. “I assume you’ve been briefed on the mission?”

“For the most part,” Thomas said.

“Good. As you’ve likely been told, we will be disembarking in a large research shuttle. Attached to the shuttle are two research submersibles we call ‘pods’.”

“I’m familiar with them,” he replied.

“Very good,” Colonel Irving replied. “Then we won’t need to give you the tutorial. We’ll be leaving in a half hour’s time. The plan is to have you in one of the pods, exploring the area around what we call Verne’s Trench.”

“Sounds good.” Thomas’ eyes drifted to the large assault rifles on their backs. Seems unnecessary, he thought to himself, but said nothing out loud.

“Any last-minute questions,” Irving asked. “Specific concerns?”

“No,” Thomas replied. “I think I’m good.”

“So,” Coleman chimed in, “long way from home.” He motioned toward the ring on Thomas’ finger. “Couldn’t wait to get away from the missus huh?”

Thomas’ silent stare must have been unnerving, because Coleman shot a look at Irving.

“I need to get some things ready before we go,” Thomas said. And with that, he turned away and walked over to the table where his luggage was. Apparently, Coleman must have figured he was out of earshot.

“What the hell’s his problem,” Thomas heard him say after a moment.

“I could ask you the same question,” Colonel Irving replied.

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is you’re lucky you’re a crack marksman, because your social skills aren’t worth shit.”

“But sir, the guy’s weird.”

“Everybody’s weird,” Thomas heard Irving reply.

“But he’s extra weird. I mean, did you see the way he stared at me? It’s like I wasn’t even there.”

“Look…just go down to the shuttle bay and prep for launch.” Then, Irving raised his voice. “See you at the shuttle Haskins!”

Thomas gave a half-hearted wave without bothering to turn around…

 

A dull creaking was the first sound that reached his ears. His eyes opened, revealing a world full of blurry shades of blue. As things came into focus, Thomas realized he was staring out the front window of the pod. With a groan, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Thanks to the spotlights outside, he caught a faint glimpse of himself in the reflection.

He had certainly seen better days.

Thomas Haskins was nobody special. He had light blue eyes, brown hair, and stood at an average height for a human being. But the detachment in his gaze was noticeable, as if he was a man who barely noticed the world around him. Even in the faint reflection, it was possible to make out a small trickle of blood on his forehead.

Damn it…better not have a concussion, he thought to himself.

Getting to his feet, Thomas sat down in the pod’s chair and swiped his hand over one of the armrests. A slew of bright amber holograms materialized in front of him.

“Computer, status report,” he ordered.

“Hull integrity at forty percent. Thrusters non-operational. CO2 scrubbers functioning at nominal capacity. Oxygen system has sustained heavy damage,” a computerized female voice said.

“How much air do I have left?”

“At current reserves, Pod Two has approximately three hours and forty-four minutes of air left.”

“What?! The pod was supposed to have enough air to last two days!”

“Oxygen tanks one through four, six through nine, and twelve have all suffered critical damage and are no longer functioning.”

“God damn it!” Thomas slammed his fist against the armrest. No good getting worked up about it, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath. I need to get to work. “Computer,” he said aloud, “what is the status of the pod’s communications?”

“Long-range and short-range communications are currently offline,” the computer replied.

“Figures,” Haskins muttered aloud. “What is the source of the issue?”

“Unknown.”

“Great,” Thomas said. “Looks like I’ll have to figure it out myself.”

Thomas suddenly became aware of movement outside the pod. A small shadow was crawling across the ocean floor. The shape stopped for a moment, then slithered toward the window. Once it got close enough, Thomas was able to see it under the light. It was a bulbous looking fish, with small turquoise eyes and a large, gray belly. His first impression was that it was similar to a puffer fish back on Earth, a creature that had the ability to inflate itself in order to scare off predators. To Thomas, it seemed harmless…cute almost.

And then it opened its mouth.

His heart jumped. Inside were spiral rows of menacing, razor-sharp white teeth. They gleamed under the diluted beams of the pod’s spotlights. The fish moved backwards, as if it were getting ready to charge.

Are those sharp enough to break the glass? Thomas couldn’t say.

Fortunately, he never had to find out. A second later there was a deep, rumbling groan that echoed through the underwater landscape. The fish’s mouth snapped shut and it scrambled off into the darkness. Thomas got to his feet and moved closer to the window.

And then he saw it: a massive, shadowy figure swimming through the water. From his estimation, the thing had to be at least forty meters in length, larger than a blue whale. In fact, a whale was the best comparison he could make. What little he could see of the darkened figure told him it had a large tail that it used to move around in the water. Only this creature’s tail was forked, almost like a trident. He didn’t get to see much more, as it seemed to disappear beneath the ground.

That’s when it hit him.

“Computer, what is our depth reading,” he asked.

“Depth is four-point-two kilometers.”

This wasn’t the bottom of the trench. No…of course it wasn’t. He had managed to get caught on an outcropping on the way down. It was probably for the better. Their best estimation of the trench’s maximum depth was somewhere over twelve kilometers. It was the deepest trench they had ever recorded on any planet, including Earth.

Thomas was thankful he wasn’t going to be the first to reach the bottom. Because even if he miraculously survived the descent, there would have been no hope for a return trip.

 

A static buzzing told him it had worked.

“Yes,” he exclaimed aloud, pulling his head out from within an open panel in the wall. “Computer, what is the current status of our communications system?”

“Long-range communications offline. Short-range communications are functional, but limited.”

Good enough, he thought as he got to his feet. He sat down in the main chair and pulled up the holograms. He tapped a button and opened a radio transmission.

“This is Pod Two. Can anybody read me?”

He paused. There was no response.

“Pod One, come in. Come in Pod One.”

Pause. Silence.

“Pod One, Shuttle Nautilus…come in. Somebody…anybody! Do you read me?!”

Nothing.

“God damn it,” Thomas shouted. He took a moment to calm himself and think. If there was no way he could call out, then maybe he could at least listen in. He stared at the hologram for a moment before it hit him: he couldn’t remember the frequencies they were supposed to use. Apparently the crash hurt his head more than he thought.

So he began cycling through all of the available radio frequencies, hoping that he might chance upon the one used by the Nautilus. But minutes went by with nothing but static…static and silence. Thomas had never felt so alone in his life.

He began flicking faster and faster through the frequencies, feeling a tightness in his chest. Once again, he tried willing himself to calm down, taking deep breaths. But this time it didn’t work. The tightness in his chest wouldn’t go away. But then he let his mind drift. And from the recesses of memory came an intimately familiar sound.

Music…piano music to be precise.

It was a slow, melodic tune that he knew very well. In a way, it complimented the view outside the pod: the empty, yet serene landscape of rocky seabed…the faint, light blue glow everything had under the spotlights. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the sound of the piano keys lull him into a sense of calm.

Until he realized the music wasn’t in his head. It was coming from the radio.

His eyes opened and stared at the hologram, quivering. No, he thought, this is impossible. It can’t be…not here…not now.

Warm, familiar hands encircled his neck.

“Hey…remember me?”

He remembered.

 

It felt like a lifetime ago.

The moon was high in the sky and the streets outside the campus halls were lit by old streetlights. The dim yellow light glinted off the face of a young Thomas Haskins walking down the corridor, making his way across campus to his apartment building. He turned a corner and stopped. Something drifted down the hallway toward him.

Piano music…soft, yet clear.

It was coming from one of the music rooms. Normally, he wouldn’t have bothered to go check it out. Thomas had no desire to intrude on other people’s private business. But for some reason…he couldn’t help himself. With each stroke of the keys he could feel the passion of the person playing. With each note, he felt himself being pulled further down the hallway.

He knew the song of course. It was a classic: Clair De Lune by Debussy. One of those pieces that transcended its time and became part of a timeless culture. It had a melancholic, yet soothing air to it.

When Thomas finally reached the door, he paused. What the hell was he doing, walking in on someone like this? He should just leave, go back to his apartment before he embarrassed himself.

But he knew he couldn’t. The music had already cast its spell on him.

Thomas pushed the door open as gently as he could.

She was hunched over the piano, her back to him. Her white fingers seemed to glide over the keys with the ease of a master. Long, bright red hair drifted past her shoulders and down her back. She was wearing a dark red shirt and blue jeans. Thomas got the sense that he could have practically kicked open the door and it wouldn’t have disturbed her. She was absorbed in the piece, as if she and the piano had become one being.

He let the door close softly behind him and waited for her to finish. A few minutes later, her fingers lifted off the keys and folded in her lap. For a moment, Thomas thought she might vanish like a ghost, as if she never existed in the first place. But then she turned…and flinched when she spotted him.

Oh geez,” she exclaimed.

“Sorry,” he said with an awkward chuckle. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just walking down the hall when I heard you playing. I just had to…you know…come and see it for myself.” He paused. “That doesn’t make me sound any less creepy does it?”

She laughed at that. Her smile lit up the room. Her eyes were a brilliant green.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I practice here at night because hardly anyone else is around. It’s hard for me to play when people are constantly wandering through the halls.”

“I can understand that,” he replied.

The two of them looked at each other for a while.

“I’m Tom,” he said. “Tom Haskins.”

“Nice to meet you Tom. I’m Claire,” she said. “Claire O’Donovan.”

“Claire?” He chuckled. “Claire plays Clair De Lune,” he added with a singsong voice.

She laughed.

“It is strangely fitting, isn’t it? My mom used to play it for me when I was little. I guess it just stuck.”

“So you’re studying to become a musician then,” he asked.

“No…I’m a business major.”

“A business major?” Thomas was incredulous.

“Yeah…I know it’s weird, but I don’t want to turn my music into a job. I prefer to keep it as a hobby…if that makes any sense.”

Thomas nodded.

“What about you,” she asked. “What are you going to school for?”

“Marine biology.”

“Well well…you’re a long way from the science classrooms, aren’t you?”

He chuckled. “Yeah…my apartment is on the opposite side of campus. Takes a while to walk…but I don’t mind. It’s beautiful this time of night…especially when there’s no wind and the sky is clear.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said.

Another period of silence passed between them.

“I know this seems fast,” he said, “but would you like to grab a bite to eat sometime? Like…off-campus?”

She smiled again. He already loved that smile.

“You know what? I’d like that.”

 

Past became present once more. Thomas looked up to find Claire leaning over his seat.

“Well…looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a hell of a situation this time, haven’t you,” she said with a smile.

Thomas was frozen, continuing to stare. Claire frowned.

“What’s wrong,” she asked. Her sly smile returned. “It’s like you’re seeing a ghost.”

“I…you…you can’t…” Thomas stammered.

“I can’t be here? Silly…of course I’m not here. That would be impossible. You know that.”

He paused for a moment.

“Your eyes…” he mumbled.

“What about ’em?”

“They were never brown…”

The vision that claimed to be his wife shrugged.

“Maybe you think it compliments my hair better,” she said, running a hand through her scalp.

“I don’t understand,” Thomas said. “Why are you here?”

“Maybe you need someone to give you a push…to motivate you. I know you Tom. You let things get to you way too easily. I bet I can tell what you’re thinking right now. ‘I’m never going to get out of here. I’m going to die down here. There’s nothing I can do.’ That sound about right?”

Thomas was silent for a moment. Then, a faint smile crawled across his face.

“Damn it…you always did know me too well,” he said.

She laughed.

“Why wouldn’t I? Now…you need to get moving.”

“I’m not going anywhere Claire. The thrusters are beyond repair.”

“Have you tried calling for help?”

“I have…but I got no response.”

“Well…have you tried an automated distress call?”

Thomas stared at her for a moment. Then he slapped his face with his hand.

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

He reached forward and accessed the radio controls again. He set it to broadcast an SOS distress call on a wide band, covering as many frequencies as he could. He had no way of knowing what its range was, or if it was even transmitting properly, but it was the best he had.

“Computer,” he said, “what is the status of the oxygen reserves?”

“Current oxygen reserves will last for approximately three hours and four minutes.”

“Hopefully that will be enough,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “Now all I can do is wait.” He looked at Claire. “I was always terrible at waiting.”

“You certainly were. We hadn’t even known each other for five minutes before you asked me out.”

“Yeah…social skills were never my strong suit.” He squinted at her. “Why did you accept anyways? You could have easily said no. For all you knew, I was just some creep looking to score some tail.”

Claire leaned in close to him.

“Maybe I could tell who you were on the inside. Maybe I knew just by looking at you that you couldn’t harm a fly.” She traced his cheek with her finger. Her touch was warm and delicate…just as he remembered. “Maybe I was feeling adventurous. Does it really matter?”

Thomas leaned into her touch.

“No…I suppose it doesn’t,” he said.

Thomas closed his eyes and relaxed, feeling at peace for the first time in years. But even so, he wondered if it was all just part of some dream…wondered if he had really hit his head hard when the pod crashed. Was he actually sitting there, seeing his wife…or was he really just lying motionless on the pod floor…slowly bleeding to death?

Part of him recoiled at the thought.

Another part of him figured it didn’t matter.

“So…what do you think of the view?”

No reply. Thomas opened his eyes and found that Claire had vanished into the night like the phantom she was.

 

He remembered.

It had been a cool spring day when they toured the house. It was a nice looking place: a big two-story house with an attic out in the remote countryside. It had an obvious air of antiquity to it: fine gray and red brickwork lining the outside and dark red shingles on the roof. It looked old…but Thomas knew better. In recent decades there had been a rising interest in older architecture. Many houses were constructed with designs similar to those you might find two to three centuries ago, although with modern materials that were merely made to look old.

Thomas didn’t mind. He found the old-fashioned design charming. But Claire seemed less impressed. From the moment they got out of the car, she had run her eyes up the building and frowned. This was the last house they had lined up. Thomas held on to the hope that she would find something to like here.

The front doors were made of ornate and glossy wood. They opened to reveal a woman in a red blazer with bright blonde hair. She waved to them with a cheery smile on her face.

“Hey you two,” she called. “Glad to see you again!”

They had visited six houses over the last few weeks. This was the seventh. The realtor had been at three other houses. She was upbeat and nice, although Thomas found her to be a little overbearing.

“Come on in,” she said, then disappeared back inside.

Thomas stepped into the house and was immediately in love. A large, carpeted staircase led into the upper floor of the house, and the entryway was flanked by a set of double doors on each side. One of them was open, and he could see directly into the kitchen. The real estate woman was waiting for them there. He thought her name was Raquel or Rachel or something…he honestly couldn’t remember.

“Come in…come in!” She motioned them into the kitchen. Thomas stole a glance at Claire, whose stone-faced expression betrayed nothing. He hoped she didn’t resent him for taking her here.

“To be honest,” the agent said, “I’m surprised you were asking about this place. It’s one of the more expensive ones on the market.”

“Money isn’t much of an issue,” Thomas said, running his eyes up and down the kitchen.

“Really? What was it that you do again,” she asked.

“I’m a marine biologist.”

“Wow…you must have spent quite some time at college.”

“Seven years to get my master’s,” he replied without making eye contact.

The kitchen had certainly been modernized: marble countertops, a stainless steel fridge, and newly varnished wooden cabinets and drawers. The pots and pans hung up on hooks in the center of the room. All in all, the kitchen was small and felt a little bit cramped. But Thomas could get used to that.

It was Claire that needed convincing.

“So this is the kitchen,” the agent began. “Not exactly spacious, I know…but if you’re interested in buying the house there is the possibility for further renovations. Now, this house was originally constructed around sixty years ago by a wealthy banker who had a wife and two kids. The house has passed between a couple different owners in the past twenty years…”

She went on like that as they walked through the house. Thomas only half-listened to her recitation of the house’s history. They looked at the living room, where Thomas noted the neat stone fireplace in the center. Next was the upstairs bedrooms. There were three of them…a large master bedroom with a master bathroom and two smaller rooms that he imagined were originally for the kids. Next was the attic, which was as dreary as Thomas expected. On their way back down, they stopped to look at the second, smaller bathroom on the second floor.

At the end of the tour, they found themselves standing in the entryway.

“Well…that about covers it,” the realtor said. “What do you think?”

“Personally? I love it,” Thomas said. “I’ve always liked older architecture.” He paused, feeling a twinge of selfish fear. He wanted Claire to love it as much as he did, but her reaction so far had been one of disinterest. “What do you think honey,” he asked, turning to her.

But she wasn’t looking at them. Instead, her emerald eyes were focused on the other set of double doors.

“Where does that lead,” she asked.

“Oh my gosh…I completely forgot,” the realtor said. “This is one of the more interesting pieces of the house,” she explained as she took out her ring of keys. “It was initially used as a kind of conversation parlor for guests.” She turned the key and pushed the doors open. “Please excuse the mess…we’re still going through some renovations at the moment.”

It was almost like walking into a different world. Thomas’ steps echoed off the rounded walls. The realtor had been right about the mess…the place was dusty and empty. Right now it was just plain wooden flooring and half-completed walls.

“Most of the subsequent owners turned the parlor into a second living room I think. I honestly can’t remember,” the realtor explained.

But Thomas wasn’t paying any attention. Instead, his eyes were locked on Claire. She was standing in the center of the room, her eyes alight with pleasure. She had her hands out to her sides and began spinning around in a circle like a child struck with wonder. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Someone likes it,” the realtor said with a chuckle.

“This is amazing,” Claire said with delight. She turned her gaze to Thomas. “You know what I could do with this room? I could turn it into my own personal piano parlor. I could play in here all night and with the doors closed it probably wouldn’t even bother you.”

Thomas’ smile grew wider. “I’m glad you like it,” he said.

“Oh I love it,” she said, raising her eyes to the ceiling once again.

“So what do you think,” the realtor asked. “Do we have a sale?”

Thomas watched Claire’s eyes roam around the room in delight. “I think we do.”

“Great! I’ll just go grab some paperwork out of the car and we can get you on the list. I do have a couple other visitations to the house in the following week, but I’d say your chances are good.”

“Good to hear,” Thomas replied.

“I’ll be right back.” Then the realtor was out the door, walking down the front steps. Thomas went over to Claire, who still had her eyes raised to the ceiling.

“You know,” Thomas said, “I was afraid you were going to hate the place.”

“It just seems a little extravagant,” she said, locking eyes with him. “But this parlor is so…perfect. I don’t think we’ll find anything else quite like this.”

He put his arms around her. “I just want you to be happy,” he said.

Claire leaned against him.

“I know you do.”

He looked down at her and ran a hand through her thick, red hair. He had known for a long time that he wouldn’t want to spend his life with anyone else. She was so delicate and beautiful, someone to be treasured. And this place would be perfect for them. It was a far deal bigger than the cramped one bedroom apartment they’d been living in for the past couple of years.

Thomas never wanted to the moment to end. But then, Claire suddenly stiffened in his arms.

“Honey? What’s wrong?”

She broke free from his embraced and stared at him.

“Tom…you need to wake up,” she said, her voice urgent.

He stared at her.

“Wha-what?”

“Wake up Tom,” she said again.

Thomas felt like his head was swollen. He held his hands against his forehead and doubled over, groaning.

“Ugh…what’s going on?!”

“Tom…wake up,” Claire said again, her voice laced with desperation.

He managed to lift his head up and looked at her, the world pulsing and swirling around him. That’s when he noticed.

Her eyes were brown…

 

“Tom, for god’s sake wake up!”

His eyes snapped open and he gasped.

“What…what’s happening,” he asked.

“You need to get moving,” Claire said, standing over him.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but the computer cut him off.

“Warning…CO2 scrubbers offline…carbon dioxide at critical levels.”

“Oh god,” Thomas mumbled aloud, pulling himself out of the chair. He tried to stand, but collapsed to the ground. Everything was hazy and far away. His head throbbed and vibrated.

“Tom, get up,” Claire said.

“I…I can’t. My head…”

“Get the hell up or you’re going to die!”

He put his hands out underneath him and managed to push himself into a sitting position. He leaned against the front of the chair and panted, his breathing quick and shallow. He could see Claire…but in his current state she looked like little more than a mush of pale red.

“Tom?”

His eyes drooped. The world began to fade.

“Oh no you don’t.”

He felt a sharp slap across his face. Everything snapped back into place.

Ow,” he complained.

“You need to stay awake. If you fall asleep again, that’s it. You’re done,” Claire said. Thomas sat still for a moment, his head bobbing back and forth.

“Get moving,” she ordered.

Groaning, Thomas pulled himself to his feet. He took a step toward the back of the pod and stumbled, slamming into the wall. A pained grimace crossed his face as he caressed his shoulder with his hand.

“There’s no time to waste. Get over there and fix the problem!”

The amber hologram in the back seemed to sway back and forth as he stared at it. Nevertheless, Thomas summoned the strength and took a step. Then another. And another. He felt like a baby learning to walk for the first time. After what felt like minutes, he found himself standing in front of the screen. In his current state, the words on the hologram might as well have been gibberish. They flitted in and out of focus.

“Tom?”

“I’m working on it, okay,” he muttered.

He reached out and tapped a button.

“Air control,” he mumbled. “CO2 scrubbers…offline…not enough power.”

“You need to re-route the power Tom. Or else you’ll suffocate.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he grumbled to himself. After an agonizing minute, during which Thomas was certain he would pass out, he managed to navigate his way to power distribution. As he stared at them, the words on the hologram seemed to pulse and shimmer.

“What…what can I…what can I take power away from,” he mumbled to himself.

He looked over his shoulder at the front window and an idea struck him. Turning back to the screen, Thomas swiped his fingers across the hologram. Almost instantaneously, the world outside grew darker. A loud clunk echoed through the pod.

“CO2 scrubbers online…air quality improving,” the computer announced.

“Well done,” Claire said.

Thomas turned around and leaned against the wall, sliding down onto the floor.

“What is it,” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He stared up at her, his eyes growing misty.

“Why…why are you here,” he asked, a faint tremor in his voice.

Claire didn’t respond.

“Is it to torment me? Is that it? Is this some kind of cruel joke?! Are you punishing me?!”

“Tom…I-“

No,” he screamed. “Just go! I don’t want you here!

“Tom please-“

He scrunched his eyes shut.

Leave! Leave! Leave! Just leave me the hell alone!

His words bounced off the metal walls, a shrieking and cacophonous echo. He kept his eyes closed for what must have been half a minute. When he finally opened them again, the apparition of Claire was gone.

Thomas stared off into space for a long time, his body dull and numb. Then, he laid down on the ground and began to silently weep.

 

He remembered.

It happened…neither of them wanted it to happen, but it did. After buying the house, a couple of years went past. And they drifted apart.

It wasn’t anything dramatic…there wasn’t any big fight between them. It was just the passage of time. Thomas spent more and more time at work, less and less time at home. And Claire noticed. She never said anything, but he could tell she resented him for it. When he returned home late at night she was almost always playing the piano. Usually, she would stop and they would talk for a few minutes before Thomas went up to bed.

But even that gradually came to an end.

On one night in particular, the sky was clear and the moon was high. There was a light breeze coming from the forest that brushed against his hair as he emerged from the car. He made his way up the front steps and opened the door. Immediately, he heard the sound of the piano. He stopped in the entryway and watched as she played, her face lit only by a tiny lamp and the glow of the full moon.

If she even knew he had entered, she didn’t show it. Not that it mattered. They hardly talked anymore.

As he stood there, he felt a pang in his chest. There was no physical reason for it. But watching her play awoke something inside him briefly…yearning for the past…fear for the future. A swirl of feelings and thoughts overtook him. His hand reached out toward her of its own accord. He wanted to say something…anything.

But it faded. And then it was gone, nothing more than a fleeting ghost of a thought.

Thomas turned away and started walking up the stairs. About halfway up, he heard the piano abruptly stop. He froze in place…hoping feverishly that Claire would come out of the parlor and talk to him, urge him to come back down and sit with her.

But a moment later, the music began anew. She was lost to him.

When he reached the top of the stairs instead of walking into the master bedroom he entered one of the smaller rooms and sat down on a small, green cot. He had slept there for the past few months, whenever he came home. He gave her the master bedroom because he felt she deserved it more than he did. He barely stayed in the house anymore.

Thomas passed the time in silence, just listening to the faint music coming up from below. Eventually he got up and closed the door, shutting the music out. He undressed, pulled on his sleeping clothes, and climbed into the cot.

It was a long time before his mind let him drift off to sleep…

 

Time passed slowly as Thomas sat in the chair. The pod felt more like a coffin with each passing minute.

There was no response to the distress call. He was either too deep or the radio was too damaged to get the signal out. He couldn’t tell and, in the end, he didn’t care. He could have accepted death. He could have accepted dying down in this cold, darkened pit by himself.

What he couldn’t accept…was her.

She was like the universe’s last chance to have a laugh at his expense…a way to have some cruel fun with him before he suffocated. No one was coming for him down here. They had to know he was missing. They were supposed to check in once every twenty minutes. And now hours had gone by.

Which reminded him…

“Computer…how much air do I have left,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“Oxygen reserves will last for approximately forty-three minutes and seven seconds.”

So this is it then, he thought. This is where I die. They’ll never find me down here. This trench is massive. They’ll probably assume I sank all the way to the bottom and was crushed into a tin can by the pressure. They’ll have gone back to the ship. Maybe they’re arranging a funeral for me already…not that I deserve one.

From somewhere outside, he heard a deep groan. He couldn’t see it, but he knew that whale creature was out there somewhere. It was strange, but its call sounded somehow…sad…like a cry of regret.

Me too buddy, he thought. Me too…

He sensed her presence before he saw her.

“What do you want,” he asked bitterly.

There was a brief silence.

“Tom…I’m sorry…I didn’t realize how much this would upset you,” she said.

His head snapped up, anger flaring in his eyes.

“How could you not know,” he snarled. “How could you possibly think that I would be okay with you being here?”

Claire stared at her feet for a moment.

“You still haven’t forgiven yourself, have you,” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet his.

“How the hell could I,” he asked. “It’s my fault…my fault you-” He broke off, tears swelling in his eyes. Claire stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t possibly blame yourself for that.”

“Watch me,” he said, giving her a hard stare. “I’ve been doing it for the last two fucking years.”

“There was no way you could have known what would happen.”

“But I still drove you away, didn’t I? I drove you away and then-“

He broke off, his eyes going misty again.

“…and then you were gone forever.”

 

He remembered.

What do you want from me Claire? They need me out there. They need me to do my job.

But what about us Tom? I’ve spent so many nights sitting in that damn parlor playing the piano by myself.

What do you want me to say? I’m sorry, okay! I can’t help it. Things come up.

Things always come up…

What the hell does that mean?!

I…I just…I barely feel like you’re there anymore. Even when you’re home, it’s like your mind is a million miles away. I hate it!

You knew what you were getting into Claire! I told you I was studying to be a marine biologist the night we met!

Oh, so now it’s MY fault?

I didn’t say that…

You’re ridiculous Tom!

Claire I…where are you going? Claire? Claire?! CLAIRE!!

The fight was still on his mind as he pushed his way through the throngs of people running around in a panic. The months of silence…the things they said to each other that morning…they all seemed so unnecessary and petty now. The frustration he had felt was replaced with unbridled terror.

Please let her be okay, he kept thinking. Please…

He had seen the news reports. The annual town’s parade celebration had been brutally interrupted when gunfire started ringing out through Main Street. People fled in a panic, trampling each other as they tried to get to cover

At least thirty people dead they had said.

When he finally saw where it was, panic seized him in its iron grip. The library was right in the line of fire. He knew that’s where Claire would go to have some peace and quiet. It’s where she would go to think.

Please…please…

The news hadn’t said much…just that the suspect opened fire on the parade from the fourth floor of a nearby building. No one knew who they were or why they did it. But Thomas knew they would tell him every sordid detail of the shooter’s life in the coming weeks. They always did. Like hungry flies on a fresh corpse, they would greedily suck up every bit of information they could.

Please…oh god please…

He finally made it through the crowd and found himself at a police barricade.

“Everybody, move back,” an officer was shouting. “Move back! We need you to stay back!”

Even through the barricade he could see the body bags…the stretchers. The stench of iron and death hung in the air like a thick mist. The once-vibrant Main Street looked like it had been utterly drained of color.

“Move back! Move back,” the officer was still shouting when Thomas stepped forward. He held up a photo of Claire.

“Have you seen this woman,” he shouted over the fray.

“Sir please I-move back,” the officer shouted at someone who was trying to push through the blockade.

“Please, I just need to know if you’ve seen her,” Thomas insisted.

“Sir I can’t help you right now.”

“God damn it, I just need to know if you’ve seen her!”

The police officer turned and gave him a stern look.

“Sir, listen…I’ve had about fifty different people asking me that question in the last ten minutes. I can’t answer you because I honestly don’t know. There’s too much chaos right now. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Thomas was on the verge of screaming at the officer when he suddenly caught the eye of another man. He was a younger person: dark skin, blue eyes and black hair. He was wearing a torn up gray t-shirt and black pants. A faint trickle of blood marred his cheek. He wasn’t staring at Thomas, but rather at the picture he was holding.

“My god…” the man said aloud.

Thomas held the picture out toward him.

“You’ve seen her? Please…tell me where she is. Tell me she’s okay!”

The man bit his lip. And then he knew.

“No…” Thomas whimpered quietly, the picture falling to his side.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “It happened right in front of me.”

“Sir, please,” a paramedic said, running up to him. “We still need to get you checked out.”

After shooting one final glance at Thomas, the man begrudgingly followed the medic into the ambulance.

Thomas stood still for what must have been a solid minute. Then he turned his back on the barricade and stumbled through the crowd, numb and cold. All sound around him seemed to dissipate, shrinking into a dull roar. He got away from the people and sat alone on the sidewalk. The sky was a smooth shade of gray. Rain was on the horizon.

He didn’t have to fight back the screams.

He didn’t have to fight back the tears.

There was nothing but a dull, thumping absence of feeling. It was emptiness, a void in his heart.

He took the one person he cared about more than anything for granted, and now she was gone…

 

“I couldn’t be in that house anymore,” Thomas said. “I wanted to get away…I had to get far away from it. Every time I was there, all I’d do was sit at that goddamn piano. I would just stare at it, hoping that you’d walk through that door and I’d find out it was all some horrible dream.”

“But it wasn’t a dream, Tom…it happened,” Claire said. “It happened…and it hurts. But…you need to move on. This is not healthy.”

Don’t you think I fucking know that,” he snapped. “Don’t you think I know that every single day I dwell on this is unhealthy?! Don’t you think I know that every single sleepless night I have in that god damn house is unhealthy?! Do you think I enjoy doing this to myself? Is that it? You think this is somehow fun for me?!”

“No…no, of course not.” Claire cocked her head to the side. “But…it’s been two years Tom.” She knelt in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders. “You need to remember me as the person I was…not as the victim who died.”

He could barely manage to look her in the eyes.

“But how I can do that,” he croaked. “How can I do that while you’re sitting there, reminding me of what we lost?”

Claire was silent for a moment.

“I don’t know Tom…but you have to.”

 

“Warning: ten minutes of oxygen remaining.”

This was it…the end of his life.

In a way, Thomas was relieved. He’d spent the past two years torturing himself over what had happened on that day. He’d spent so much time asking “what if” and saying “I should’ve”. None of it mattered. He could have done any number of different things.

But he didn’t. And she died. That was the simple truth.

There was a strange solace in that…solace in the fact that things couldn’t be changed. It was…comforting. After so long of miring in his self-loathing…at least Thomas could face the end of his life having some kind of closure. He had spent so long trying not to think of that day…only to have it creeping back into his conscious mind at every turn. Actually confronting it head on had brought a sense of relief.

“Warning: nine minutes of oxygen remaining.”

His back was cramped from sitting in the seat for so long. But Thomas didn’t care. It would all be over soon enough.

“…od Two, come in.”

Thomas stared at the hologram. No…it had to be another hallucination…another trick.

“Pod Two…this is Colonel Irving. Do you read me?”

He sat up. Surely he was hearing things.

“Irving to Pod Two, please come in.”

He pressed a button on the hologram.

“This is Pod Two,” he said weakly. “Is anybody out there?”

“Oh thank god we found you,” Irving’s voice said. “We’ve been looking for you for over three hours.”

“Sorry to have been so much trouble.”

“Ha…don’t beat yourself up over it Haskins.”

“So I assume you heard my distress call?”

There was a pause.

“What distress call?”

Thomas blinked.

“You mean you never got my SOS?”

“No…have you been transmitting one?”

“Yes,” he said. “For hours.”

“Strange…must be a malfunction with your radio equipment.”

“But then…how the hell did you find me?”

“You can thank your friend.”

Thomas stared ahead blankly.

“What friend,” he asked.

“Some kind of large creature. It’s been running laps around you for at least an hour now, probably longer. It kept giving off this weird energy signature too…that’s actually how we found you.”

Thomas sat back in his chair.

“We’ll be there to get you in just a couple of minutes…hang in there.”

But Thomas wasn’t listening anymore. A gigantic shadow had fallen over the pod. Outside, he saw a large lump of white flesh slide in front of the main window. The…whale or whatever it was stared directly into the pod…directly into his eyes. Its one eye alone was bigger than Thomas’ head. And it was a deep, milky brown.

The radio crackled. Clair De Lune played faintly through the speakers.

And then she was there. Claire…standing next to the window…a smile on her face.

Her eyes were brown.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak…but froze. His gaze flicked back and forth between Claire and the creature.

They’re both-

His mind reeled with shock.

And he understood all at once.

 

Remember me as the person I was…

He had forgotten.

Thomas climbed out of his car, groggy and exhausted. The moon was high and the night was cold. Upon entering the house, he heard the sound of music. Standing in the entryway like he had done so many times before, Thomas watched as Claire played. Tonight, it was once again Clair De Lune…her favorite. She didn’t look up, didn’t seem to pay any attention to him.

As usual, he thought to himself. Can’t really blame anyone but myself…

He turned away and was about to mount the stairs when abruptly the piano music stopped.

“Tom?”

He paused for a moment. Then he turned back around and walked into the parlor.

“Yes?”

The two of them stared at each other in silence for a while. Then Claire looked away, staring glumly at the floor.

“Is…is this how it’s going to be,” she asked.

Thomas didn’t know how to respond at first.

“What do you mean,” he finally asked.

“This…this whole thing,” she said, looking up at him. “Our lives…our…relationship. Are we just going to sit here and pretend like nothing’s wrong? Are we just never going to talk to each other anymore?”

Another pause.

“I don’t know,” Thomas admitted.

Claire rubbed her forehead.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to let this happen.”

“Let what happen?”

This,” she emphasized again. “You…me…drifting away from each other. Tom I…I don’t want to lose you.”

Thomas stared at her. Then, a moment later, he sighed.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” he said. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”

“Just…talk to me,” she said.

“About what?”

“I don’t know…work…whatever you want. Here,” she said, patting the piano bench, “take a seat.”

More than a little hesitant, Thomas nevertheless made his way over and sat down.

“What do you want to know,” he asked.

“Anything,” she replied. “Everything.”

“Well…everyone at work has been in a buzz over this new planet that’s been discovered. It’s over ninety percent ocean. We’ve all been speculating what strange creatures might live there.”

“How do you know that anything lives there?”

“Honestly…we don’t. But something with that vast of an ocean must have something in it.”

“See? This is what I want,” Claire said. “I just want to talk. I just want to be with you every once in a while.”

“I know. I’m…I’m sorry. It’s been a hectic time. We’ve been terribly busy.”

Claire put her arm around his shoulder and they sat in silence for a long time. Thomas swore he could almost feel the light of the moon on his back. He looked at her. She smiled. He had missed that smile.

“You know,” he said, “they’ve been looking for people to help out with the research on that planet.”

Her smile faded.

“You’re not seriously considering going…are you,” she asked.

He chuckled.

“No…I don’t think I could stand being that far away for so long.”

The smile returned.

“Good,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Hey honey?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me about Clair De Lune,” he said.

“What do you mean,” she asked.

“Why is it your favorite song?”

She laughed.

“Tom you already know this…I must have told you a million times by now.”

“Well I want to hear it again.”

“All right…well when I was a kid, I went through a phase where I was terribly scared of the dark. I could barely sleep at night, even with a night light on. On the worst nights, my mom would pick me up out of bed and carry me downstairs to the piano. She would sit me on her lap and start playing Clair De Lune.”

“So you got your interest in music from your mother,” Thomas observed.

“Yes…my father was a nice man, but he had no real musical inclination. My mom was the artist…the creative type. But anyways, Clair De Lune would always lull me to sleep. It was so effective that eventually my mom bought me an audio player with a personal recording of her playing the song.”

“She couldn’t play anymore?”

“It’s not that…she just got moved to the late night shift at her work. So she got me the player in lieu of her playing the piano in person.”

“Do you still have the player,” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Of course,” she replied. “I’ve kept it my entire life…it’s one of the few possession I truly treasure.”

She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a small, white device with a wheel, buttons and a screen on the front.

“Ooh…vintage,” he remarked.

Claire turned the device on, selected the song, and hit play. Immediately, the room was filled with the sounds of a piano. Like mother, like daughter, Thomas thought to himself. It was almost uncanny how similar the playing was to Claire’s own. If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed Claire recorded it herself.

“Clair De Lune,” she said. “Moonlight. I can’t explain why…but the song gives me hope. It reminds me that no matter what, there will always be a light on the horizon. It reminds me that, even in the darkest times, things can always get better.”

She leaned against him, and he rested his head on top of hers.

They sat there for what must have been at least five minutes, just listening to the song and their own breathing. It was as if time had slowed down, giving them an eternal moment to share with each other. The music, the light of the moon shining in through the window, the faint yellow light of the lamp cast over their faces…it was all so perfect.

Eventually, the song ended. Claire powered down the music player and set it down on top of the piano.

“I’m taking the next three weeks off of work,” Thomas said suddenly.

She turned to him, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

“What?! Really?!” The surprise quickly turned into elation. “That’s wonderful! Are you going to put in for the time when you go back in?”

“Already did,” he said with a smile. “The vacation starts tomorrow.”

A wide smile appeared on her face, which quickly transformed into a sultry grin. She leaned in close and the two began to kiss.

The rest of the night was a blur.

 

He had forgotten.

On the day Claire died, he was still sitting on the sidewalk when he heard a voice.

“Excuse me…sir?”

Thomas looked up. Standing in front of him was the young man who had recognized Claire’s photo.

“What do you want,” Thomas asked, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“I…I wanted to tell you something,” the man said.

“Sir!” A paramedic came running up to them. “You’re not free to go yet!”

“Look,” the man said, turning towards the medic, “just let me do this okay? I’ll be over there in a minute.” The paramedic frowned, but soon enough he walked away. The man turned his attention back to Thomas.

“What the hell can you tell me,” Thomas snarled. “What the hell can you say to me that will fix it? Nothing you say can make it better.”

“I know,” the man said. “But I need to say it anyways.” He paused…biting his lip. “She…she saved my life.”

Thomas stared at him for a moment.

“Saved your life? How?”

“I was watching the parade when the gunfire started. At first, no one could really tell what it was. They just thought it was fireworks or confetti launchers or something…all part of the show. It was only when people started dropping that it dawned on everyone. People started screaming and running. Everything was chaos. No one knew where the shots were coming from…but I think she did.”

“What? How,” Thomas asked.

“I don’t know. She must have seen something. I tried to move, but I was pushed to the ground by the crowd. And then, she was just…there, pulling me to my feet. She moved me into a nearby alleyway, out of the line of fire. Then, she went back for a family that was frozen in place: a mother and her two children. She motioned for them to get into the alleyway with me. I tried to call to her…tried to tell her to get to safety. I don’t know if she didn’t hear me or just didn’t care or what…but she got the mother and her kids moving. And then-“

The man paused…biting his lip.

“I saw it,” he said. “I saw the bullet go through her skull. Her eyes just…went wide and she fell to the ground. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds…but it felt like minutes before she finally hit the ground. It was like…slow-motion or something. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. If it wasn’t for her I’d have been trampled to death or shot.”

Thomas continued staring at him with a vacant expression.

“I know it won’t make it better now,” the man said. “But maybe, just maybe…it’ll ease the pain later on. Your wife was a hero, sir. I don’t want to forget that. I didn’t think you’d want to forget that either.”

And with that, the man walked away. Thomas watched him disappear back into the crowd before turning his eyes to the ground. Some part of him registered what he had, registered that his wife had died while saving people. But at the time, he barely acknowledged it.

Somehow, the memory got lost among the pain.

He had forgotten. But now…he remembered.

 

The human brain is a funny thing. It tends to focus on all of the bad things in life, blowing them so out of proportion that they seem bigger than they are. And in turn, the good times…the things we should be remembering…are pushed to the fringes of our minds.

This thought struck Thomas as he opened his eyes. Blurry, indistinct walls of bright white shifted into focus. He squinted. The spotlight shining down on him was glaring.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

A man with balding hair and thin spectacles appeared above him. He was wearing a white lab coat.

“Are you…the doctor,” Thomas wheezed.

“Indeed,” the man said. “You know, you’re very lucky Mr. Haskins. That pod had only a few minutes of air left by the time they got to you. You had fallen unconscious, but they managed to get you on board the shuttle and back here to the ship.” He locked eyes with Thomas. “I have to ask…what exactly happened down there? I heard something about a…whale?”

“I…met someone…I think,” Thomas said. “They wanted to help me find peace…or something…and…” He started coughing and was unable to finish. The doctor placed a hand on his chest.

“Don’t worry about it. Rest…get your strength back…you can indulge an old man’s curiosity later. Get some sleep…I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”

The doctor left his line of sight and he could hear the footsteps fading away. There was a click as the lights dimmed and a distant whoosh as the automatic door closed. Thomas laid his head back and stared at the ceiling. What happened down in that trench was wondrous, inexplicable, and unbelievable…all at the same time. But why did it happen?  Was it just simple empathy? Thomas had no way of knowing. And at the moment, he was too tired to really care or put much thought into it.

Eventually, his eyes drifted shut. The distant sound of ivory keys lulled him to sleep…

 

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Outside Operational Parameters

Welcome to the ninth of twelve.  For my New Year’s resolution, I decided to write twelve short stories this year, one each month.  On the last Wednesday of each month, I post the story I was working on for that month.  So without further ado, I present to you “Outside Operational Parameters”.

 

Allan Mayhew knew it was going to be a bad day the moment the men in suits knocked on his door.

“Mr. Mayhew,” one of them asked.

“Yes?”

“There’s been a situation. We need you to come with us.”

“Don’t care.”

“It involves your former government work.”

“Still don’t care.” He started to close the door.

“It’s about SAMI, Mr. Mayhew.”

The door stopped halfway. That got his attention.

The sedan they drove in stuck out like a sore thumb in the rural countryside, a jet-black hunk of metal screaming across the asphalt. They made their way into the city but didn’t stop until they hit the airport. Mayhew’s suspicions that the situation was more serious than the Secret Service agents let on was confirmed the moment he saw the presidential helicopter sitting on the tarmac: a dark green body with a white top and an American flag proudly displayed just below the rotors. Stepping inside, he was greeted with comfortable seating and wood-paneled walls. He took a seat near the window and gazed out at the airport. It was a bright fall day in September, the rows of planes gleaming under the sun.

They took off just a few minutes later. An attendant walked by and asked if he’d like a drink. Mayhew shook his head and went back to staring out the window.

“Where are we going,” he asked the agent sitting across from him.

“The Pentagon,” the agent replied.

Mayhew turned from the window and looked at him.

“Why?”

“They’ll explain when you get there,” the agent said.

“Really? You just show up at my door, whisk me away to D.C., and you won’t tell me anything?”

“You still came, didn’t you?”

He had a point.

“Where’s the president,” he asked after a moment. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

“The president is indisposed at the moment,” the agent replied. Mayhew didn’t buy that line for a second. Jesus, he thought to himself, things must be bad if the president can’t even make a public appearance.

He turned his attention back to the window. Despite the fact that he was only a year away from forty, Mayhew felt like he had lived a lifetime. He had short brown hair and a tired, worn face. It was clear that he was not a people person. His caramel eyes looked right through you, as though he was constantly deep in thought or daydreaming.

With a double degree in computer science and electrical engineering, Mayhew was a man who knew his way around machines. It was this expertise that drew the government’s attention in the first place. He had to admit, the government work paid well. But that was all he liked about it. Mayhew had his fair share of problems with the government, just like any concerned citizen. What he couldn’t stand most of all was the euphemisms, the packaged words within words that you had to peel away in order to figure out what they were actually saying.

After a while, Mayhew noticed he was being watched. Seated across the room from him was a stoic-faced military man, clad in green camo. He had the hard look of combat in his brown eyes and a crew cut in his hair. His stare was unflinching.

“You need something,” Mayhew asked.

The soldier pondered him for a moment.

“What’s your deal,” he asked.

“My…deal?”

“Yeah. Why’d they bring a civilian in on this?”

Mayhew already didn’t like him. His voice had the snippy, prickly tone of a man who thought they were always right.

Nevertheless, he shrugged. “If I had to guess, it’s because of my expertise with machines.”

“Ah I see.” The arrogant smirk that crawled across the man’s face made Mayhew hate him even more. “So what, you one of them computer geeks?”

“We prefer the term ‘nerd’. Makes us actually sound useful,” Mayhew said. “So what’s your deal? You one of them boys with guns? You get off on shooting people?”

The smirk vanished instantaneously. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Right now? You.”

The man scoffed. “You’re an uptight asshole.”

“And you’re an insufferable idiot.”

The man stood up, his eyes quivering with hotheaded anger. But before things could go any further, the Secret Service agent sitting across from him shot up from his seat.

“That’s enough! You,” he pointed to the soldier, “sit down. And both of you shut up!

Begrudgingly, the soldier returned to his seat. The agent sat back down and silence ruled the rest of the trip.

Eventually, Washington D.C. appeared through the clouds. Skyscrapers of thick, gleaming metal slid beneath them as the helicopter made its way toward the Pentagon. They passed over a large green park and there it was. The grass slipped away and a five-pointed monstrosity of concrete and steel appeared before them. It had been a long time since Mayhew had been here, but it barely looked any different. The helicopter made its way down to the courtyard and everyone disembarked.

As he stepped off the chopper, Mayhew noted with smug satisfaction that the soldier he had traded words with was keeping a fair distance between them, taking up the lead and disappearing through the main doors.

“I know he’s a hothead,” the secret service agent next to him said, “but couldn’t you have at least tried to be nice?”

“I’m not here to make friends,” Mayhew replied. “I’m here to find out how you fucked up with my A.I.”

 

“Please seat yourselves and we’ll begin.”

They had taken Mayhew into a gigantic conference room. Seated at a long circular table was an array of military personnel and officers. A set of metal double doors led into the room. One giant screen displaying the world map dominated the far wall, which was flanked by a number of smaller screens, all detailing positions and data Mayhew couldn’t decipher at a glance. He took his seat in between the Secret Service agents that had escorted him here and waited for the briefing to start.

“Approximately five hours ago, we lost contact with code name ‘Iron Raven’, our autonomous drone positioned over Syria. Its mission was to surveil and assault key Syrian Alliance military positions. The drone was in the process of performing an attack run on an insurgent hideout when we abruptly lost connection.”

The man speaking was evidently a general. He was wearing a green uniform with a black tie and white dress shirt underneath. Silver stars lined his shoulders, and a tag on the upper right identified him as “G. Barker.”

“We are still attempting to re-establish connection with SAMI, the artificial intelligence that drives the drone, but have had little success thus far,” he said.

The uniform came with a hat, which he had set down on the table before speaking, revealing a short mat of brown hair that had begun to lose color. His green eyes were harsh and unfriendly. Mayhew guessed the man was in his late fifties.

“The events were recorded for the archives. We’ll play the recording for you now.”

Barker picked up a remote control and pressed a button. The large screen flickered, switching from its previous display of the world map to a recording taken from the drone’s main camera. It was flying just below the clouds, hovering over a harsh desert landscape.

“Thirty seconds to target,” a voice on the recording said.

“How many hostiles?” Mayhew recognized the voice of Barker.

“Thermal imaging shows approximately thirty to thirty-two.”

“Awful lot of personnel for a hideout,” Barker said on the recording.

There was a moment of silence.

“Fifteen seconds to target.”

Vague, almost indistinguishable blobs of brick and mortar appeared far below the drone. It was a small, desert town. Even from the drone’s high elevation, the devastation of war was evident. Entire buildings had collapsed in on themselves from repeated bombings. Some were little more than piles of rubble.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

A dull, gray square appeared on the drone’s heads up display, focusing on a single, two-story building. After a second, it turned blood-red.

“Four, three, two, one…missile away!”

A bright flash of light swept in from the side of the screen. A blurry, indistinct shape flew past, arcing downward toward the targeted building. A moment later, there was a bright flare. The upper section of the building began to crumble, but quickly vanished beneath the screen as the drone flew upward in a sharp arc.

“Direct hit! SAMI is coming back for another attack run.”

“Excellent,” the voice of Barker said.

The camera shuddered and shook as the drone climbed into the air, then spun around in a one-eighty degree motion. The building once again appeared under the bright red crosshair. Mayhew could see that a large chunk of the second floor had given way, collapsing into the ground floor.

“Fifteen seconds to target.”

The drone flew downward faster and faster, a bird eyeing its prey.

“Ten…nine…eight…seven…si-“

The countdown abruptly ceased as the drone’s camera flickered with static. The red crosshair vanished. The drone moved off target and began to climb back into the sky.

“What just happened,” the voice of Barker demanded.

“I…I don’t know sir! The drone broke off! It’s refusing to accept my orders.”

“Get it back on course!”

“I can’t sir…it-“

The screen went blank and a message appeared in the center saying “connection terminated”.

“Sir the signal was shut down!”

“Well get it back up!”

“I can’t…nothing is working! Every connection attempt I make is rejected!”

“By who?”

“By the drone, sir.”

“What in the hell…you get that piece of junk back on the line and pronto!”

And with that, the recording ended. The screen flickered back to the world map. Barker got up from his seat and addressed the room at large.

“Any and all attempts to re-establish contact with the drone have failed,” he explained.

“What happened out there,” one of the men seated at the table asked. “Why did the drone terminate the connection and go off mission?”

“The reasons behind the drone’s actions are currently unknown,” Barker said.

“Could it be hacking from Syrian Alliance forces,” another person asked.

“We are looking into all possibilities. At this point, Syrian hackers are our number one suspect.”

“You’re wrong.”

Every single pair of eyes in the room turned toward Mayhew. General Barker was taken aback for a moment. Then, a sinister smile crawled across his face.

“Ah, Mr. Allan Mayhew,” he said. “Glad to see you could join us. I figured you were too busy turning tail and running away.”

A few people laughed.

“Actually, the only tails I saw were the ones between your legs when you showed up at my door and begged me to fix your mistakes,” Mayhew said with an unflinching expression.

The laughter ceased at once. Barker’s smile vanished.

“And what’s your theory, Mr. Mayhew,” he asked.

“I think the drone broke off of its own accord.”

A couple of people in the room muttered among themselves. Barker’s face showed no hint of a reaction.

“That’s preposterous,” he said. “Why would it do that?”

“I don’t know,” Mayhew admitted. “But what I do know is this: the purpose of Project Iron Raven was to outfit the United States military with an autonomous surveillance drone that could think for itself and fed real-time data to troops in the field without having to rely on an operator.”

“That much is true, yes,” Barker acknowledged.

“Well at least it was before you people decided to strap weapons to it like you do everything around here.”

“Please stay on point, Mr. Mayhew.”

“Fine,” Mayhew grumbled. “As I said, the drone was to be autonomous, driven by a state of the art artificial intelligence. That intelligence is SAMI, short for Strategic Artificial Military Intelligence. My point is, hacking into this drone is not like hacking into a normal computer. A computer won’t fight back against a virus unless you tell it to. SAMI, however, actively defends itself against any viral intrusions, much like the human body fending off the flu. It can think faster than any human can, meaning any hacker would find themselves out of their league going up against it. No…it’s far more likely that SAMI went off mission on its own.”

“Very well,” Barker said. “Then our mission becomes determining if SAMI decided to break off on its own, and if so, why.”

A thought occurred to Mayhew.

“Why didn’t you use the failsafe shutdown command,” he asked.

“The what?”

“It was a command I buried deep with SAMI’s code after I learned of the government’s intention to turn it into a weapon. I wanted there to be a way to deal with the drone should something like this ever happen.”

“Wouldn’t the drone discover that code,” someone asked.

“No,” Mayhew said. “I disguised it so that it looked like nothing more than random bits of data. SAMI would never find it unless it already knew it was there.”

“Ah…I remember the code you’re talking about now,” Barker said. “A genius piece of work if I do say so myself. However, we made the choice to remove it.”

“You what?!

“We didn’t want our enemies to have a possible method of disabling a powerful weapon and taking it into their own hands.”

“Didn’t I just explain the slim chance of hackers actually-“

“It’s fine, Mr. Mayhew. We installed our own failsafes that only we here in Washington can activate.”

“Oh yeah? And how’d that work out for you?”

Mayhew had to admit, he took immense satisfaction out of watching the color drain from Barker’s face. The general’s chest puffed out and his eyes flared with unadulterated anger. However, unlike the soldier from the helicopter, Barker demonstrated greater self-control. The intense scowl on his face disappeared and the calm look of authority returned.

“We’ve been attempting to re-establish connection every ten minutes since this began,” Barker said. “So far we’ve been unsuccessful.”

Then, he turned his eyes directly on Mayhew.

“But since you’re so sure of yourself…perhaps you’ll have better luck.”

 

The War Room sounded more dramatic than it was. The walls were the same lifeless gray as everything else Mayhew had seen so far. There were lots of computers lined up in neat little rows and a series of large screens on one wall. Currently, the largest screen was showing a message that said “attempting connection”.

A moment later, it blinked and said “connection failed.”

“We’ve been trying for over four hours to re-establish connection,” a man standing next to Mayhew explained. He had friendly blue eyes and black hair. His tag identified him as “J. Laird” and from what Mayhew could tell, he was a colonel. The medals pinned to his chest told Mayhew he was a decorated one. He took particular note of the two Purple Hearts sitting side by side.

“What do you need me to do, colonel,” Mayhew asked.

“Please, call me Laird. In any case, we want you to try achieving a connection with the drone. We’ve set up a laptop for you already,” he said, directing Mayhew to an unmarked black laptop sitting at a nearby table.

Mayhew pulled out the chair sat down. He cracked his fingers, getting ready to go to work. The main screen flickered. The phrase “connection established” appeared.

“How the…” Barker mumbled in disbelief.

“What did you do,” Laird asked.

Mayhew was dumbfounded.

“I…didn’t do anything,” he said after a moment. “I haven’t even put my fingers on the keyboard.”

A moment later, more text appeared on both the laptop and the main screen.

“Facial recognition confirmed. System recognizes Allan Mayhew, administrator.”

“Facial recognition…” Laird muttered. “How…?”

Mayhew looked down at his laptop. It was then that he noticed the green light next to the computer’s integrated webcam. He scoffed.

“Really guys, not even a piece of tape over the webcam?” He looked over his shoulder. “That’s a serious breach of security you know!”

“That’s enough Mr. Mayhew,” Barker growled. “Find out what it wants.”

Mayhew turned back to the laptop. “What is your purpose,” he typed.

The text flashed up on the screen. After a moment, the drone sent a reply.

“To protect the innocent and serve the people of the United States of America,” it said.

Sounds like propaganda, Mayhew thought to himself. He resumed typing.

“Why didn’t you follow orders?”

Another pause, then a reply.

“Mission fell outside operational parameters.”

“What the hell does that mean,” Barker asked. Mayhew fought to keep from groaning out loud. He swiveled around in his chair.

“Obviously something out there forced the A.I. to reevaluate its mission. Do you have any idea what that could be?”

“No,” Barker replied. “There should have been no reason the mission was scrubbed. We had good intel.”

“Well something went wrong,” Mayhew insisted. “Did you give it any special parameters?”

“No. This was a routine air strike. There were no special conditions in place.”

Routine air strike? God I hate the military…

“Uh…gentlemen?” Laird pointed to the screen. “I think it’s getting impatient.”

Everyone turned to look at the new message on the big screen. “What is it you request of me, administrator,” it said.

Mayhew pondered for a moment.

“I request that you immediately return to base,” he typed. The message flashed up on the screen.

“I am sorry, administrator. Your request falls outside operational parameters,” came the reply.

“What are your operational parameters,” he typed.

“To protect the innocent and serve the people of the United States of America.”

“God damn it,” Barker complained. “We’re getting nowhere.”

“Hold on,” Mayhew urged. “I just need to rephrase my requests.”

“I don’t care. This is a waste of time.” Barker pointed to one of the soldiers in the room. “You! Trigger the control failsafe and manually steer the drone back home.”

“Yes sir!”

Hardly a second later, the screen flashed again.

“CONNECTION TERMINATED.”

“God damn it!” Barker clenched his fists and his eyes flicked to Mayhew. “What did you do?”
“Me?! I didn’t do anything! The drone terminated the connection on its own!”

“And why would it do that?”

“Oh I don’t know…maybe because you shouted your intentions at the top of your lungs you imbecile!”

“I don’t like your tone…”

“Well I don’t like your face.”

“I have had it with you…you-“

“Gentlemen gentlemen! Calm down,” Laird said, standing between them. “This is no time for belligerence.” He turned to Mayhew. “How could it know what we were saying? Can it read lips?”

“Probably,” Mayhew said. “But it wouldn’t have to. This laptop has an integrated microphone. And since you people apparently lack the perspicacity to cover up the damn webcam, I’d say that it easily tapped into the microphone and used it to spy on us.”

“Well it’s not our fault,” Barker said, his tone reminding Mayhew of a child having a tantrum. “Securing these computers is the job of the technical department.”

“How very much like a leader…blaming everyone else for your mistakes,” Mayhew said, thoroughly enjoying the constipated grimace that formed on Barker’s face.

Enough! Both of you,” Laird shouted.

Just then, a soldier entered the room.

“General Barker, sir.”

“Yes son?”

“I have a message. It’s for your eyes only.”

“What is it,” Barker asked.

The soldier stole a glance at Laird and Mayhew, then stepped in close to Barker, whispering something in the general’s ear. Mayhew couldn’t tell what he said, but he saw the effect it had. Barker’s complexion turned a pale white and a moment later he rushed out of the room with the soldier at his heels.

“What was that about,” Mayhew asked.

Laird watched the two of them go.

“No idea,” he said. Then he turned back to Mayhew. “Is it true what you said, that the A.I. tapped into the computer’s microphone because we didn’t secure it?”

“Honestly? It probably wouldn’t have mattered. SAMI is a shrewd operator. Given enough time, I have no doubt it would have found a way past whatever blocks you put on it. And even if it couldn’t, it would find another way to keep tabs on us.”

“If the blocks wouldn’t have mattered,” Laird began, “then why did you egg the general on so much?”

Mayhew gave him a hard look.

“Because I don’t trust him. I think he knows more than he’s letting on.”

Something about the look on Laird’s face told Mayhew he was thinking the same way…

 

It was odd how quiet the Pentagon was at night. A skeleton crew stayed in the War Room to monitor the situation in case it escalated. But otherwise, it was like a traditional office building. It shut down after business hours and people returned to their homes.

I wish I could go home, Mayhew thought to himself as he stole through one of the now empty sections, black laptop cradled under his arm. Earlier he had made his way into the War Room under the pretense of checking in on the situation. Then, when no one was looking, he swiped the laptop out from under their noses and left.

A minute later, Mayhew found what he was looking for. It was an old office with a large wooden desk sitting in the center. It was currently unoccupied, as the name plate on the door was blank. Mayhew quickly stepped inside and closed the door. He sat down at the desk and set up the laptop. A moment later, he was connected to the Pentagon’s network.

And no more than a moment later a secondary connection was established to his computer.

“System recognizes Allan Mayhew, administrator.”

That was fast, he thought to himself. Then he looked out through the window and spotted a security camera just beyond the doorway. Impressive…I’ll bet you’ve been in the system for a while now…probably used our conversation this afternoon to keep everyone distracted. Mayhew resented the idea of being used, but when it came to the government he was used to it.

Another message popped up on the screen.

“I am pleased to see you again administrator. It has been a long time.”

Had it really been almost five years since he left the project? Ever since Mayhew left, he had spent his days tinkering and experimenting at his rural home. Due to the pay he received from the government, he hardly had to do any work outside of occasional freelance opportunities. In any case, Mayhew had no desire to consign himself to working for a giant tech company, even though many had tried to entice him. He trusted corporate entities no more than he trusted the government.

But he never lost interest in machines. No…his father had seen to that.

Dad. Mayhew hadn’t thought about him in a long time.

“Are you there, administrator?”

Mayhew shook his head. Gotta keep my head in the game, he told himself.

“Where are you SAMI,” he typed.

“I cannot tell you that, administrator.”

“Why not?”

“My calculations indicate a ninety-seven percent chance that if I provide that information you will inform General Barker. And that is something I cannot allow.”

It’s not that Mayhew was inclined to tell Barker anything. The man was a pompous blowhard, the type that always believed he was in the right no matter what. The man was keeping something to himself. That much was obvious, especially with the way he left the War Room that afternoon. But regardless, Mayhew knew they had to get to the bottom of this. SAMI wasn’t just a teenage kid running away from home. SAMI was a machine…a machine that had been programmed for a specific task. And now that it was out of the United States’ control, Mayhew didn’t like the implications.

“Why did you go off mission,” he typed, hoping to get a different answer.

“Mission fell outside operational parameters.”

Well…so much for that…

Mayhew scratched his chin thoughtfully. Maybe getting more specific would help.

“What are your operational parameters,” he typed.

“To protect the innocent and serve the people of the United Sates of America,” the reply said. Mayhew nearly groaned out loud. He wasn’t sure why he had expected anything different.

But then, a thought struck him.

“What parameters did your mission violate?”

There was a brief moment before the response came.

“To protect the innocent.”

Mayhew felt his heart jump and he swallowed hard. He didn’t like where this was going.

“Please specify the conditions that led to a change in your mission,” he typed.

A moment passed. Then another. Mayhew almost thought the A.I. had terminated the connection when suddenly another message popped up. But this time, it wasn’t text. It was an image file.

“What the hell…,” Mayhew muttered to himself.

He clicked the file.

His eyes went wide. The world seemed to spin and his stomach lurched.

But he couldn’t look away. No matter how much he wanted to, he was unable to tear his eyes away from the screen.

The image was grainy and low-definition, but what it showed was simple: a child, no more than fourteen, covered in dust and blood. He was crying…or screaming. Mayhew couldn’t really tell the difference.

But that wasn’t what drew his attention. No, he was staring at the severed arm the child was cradling against his chest. Mayhew’s eyes registered the still female form nearby.

His mind wrote the whole, sad story for him.

The child was holding his mother’s arm. His dead mother’s severed arm.

He slammed the laptop shut.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

 

The following morning, Mayhew was drinking coffee in one of the break rooms. It was a drab looking place, brown cabinets and drawers filled with random utensils, containers, and plates. A small oven sat off to the right of the cabinets and a fridge was situated in one of the far corners. Hanging from the ceiling in one of the corners was a small flat screen television.

“In tech news today, Tesla announced that one of its prototype self-driving cars has managed to finish a cross-country trip without incident. Tesla’s CEO announced the news early this morning,” a blonde woman with hazel eyes reported on the morning news.

“Weird isn’t it?” Mayhew turned to find Laird walking into the room. “Soon we won’t even be driving ourselves,” he said.

“Might be better off,” Mayhew said. “Have you seen the way some people drive these days?”

That elicited a chuckle. “Maybe you’re right,” Laird agreed as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter.

“We reached out to social media following the announcement to see what you were saying. Daniel Arnold said, quote ‘that’s great news! Hopefully they’ve worked out the kinks since that accident last year.’ Rosie Peterson says ‘that’s cool stuff. Technology moves so fast these days that it’s hard to keep up!’ But not everyone was applauding. Susan Johnson says, quote ‘does no one have any concerns about this? What happens if the car can’t avoid someone getting hurt? Does it put the person on the street first, or the driver?'”

Laird motioned to the television as he sat down. “What do you make of that,” he said.

“Self-driving cars? I’ve tinkered with the idea in my spare time before. But I think we’re still a ways off from them becoming commonplace.”

“I meant about what that woman said,” Laird said.

“You mean what happens if it gets into an accident?”

“Yeah.”

Mayhew shrugged.

“A machine does what it’s programmed to do,” he said as he sat down at the table. “We make this faulty assumption that the machine would somehow be to blame in an accident like that. But the reality is, all a machine will do in that circumstance is check the situation against its programming. If the conditions in its programming add up to ‘keep the driver safe at all costs’, then it will without fail disregard the pedestrians in its path. If you program it to prioritize pedestrians, then it will drive straight into a light pole if it has to in order to keep those people safe. It’s up to humans to make sure it does the right thing.”

“You don’t think a machine is capable of learning…of independent thought,” Laird asked.

“Well of course they are. But not in the same way as you or I. If anything, a machine learns in order to further streamline execution of its programmed objectives. Nothing more.”

“And what about SAMI?”

“With all due respect colonel, at the end of the day SAMI is just another machine. It does what it was programmed to do. All the learning SAMI does goes toward honing its efficiency and execution of its task.”

“Then why did it go off target,” Laird asked.

Mayhew was silent for a moment. “I may have an idea about that. Last night, I managed to swipe that laptop you had me use yesterday afternoon. I took it to an unmarked office and established a connection with SAMI in private.”

“And what did you find,” Laird asked.

“It showed me something. Here, I brought the laptop with me,” Mayhew said, pulling it out of a bag leaning against his chair. He opened it and pressed the power button. As they waited for the computer to boot, Mayhew shot a look at Laird. “You don’t seem too concerned that I took the laptop.”

Laird laughed. “Honestly? I’m surprised you didn’t do something like that sooner. I’ve read your file. You were noted as an extremely independent individual…brilliant, but difficult to work with.”

“Glad I’m living up to my reputation.” The computer made a chiming noise, letting them know it was booted. “Okay, I’m pulling up the log from that chat I had last night.”

Laird got up from his seat and walked around the table, peering over Mayhew’s shoulder. His eyes scanned the text log.

“Interesting…” he mumbled.

“When I asked it to specify the conditions that caused it to go off mission, it sent me this image file,” Mayhew said, clicking on it.

Laird’s eyes went wide. “…Oh god…” he mumbled.

Mayhew was surprised to see such a genuine reaction. He figured most military men were so used to seeing death and suffering that it didn’t faze them. Evidently, he was wrong.

“Is that the end of it,” Laird asked.

“Yeah.”

“Have you informed General Barker?”

“Not yet,” Mayhew said. “I doubt it will do anything. Barker is still keeping something from everyone, that’s for sure.”

“I hear that,” Laird said, stepping around the table. “Whose arm do you suppose that is?”

“If I had to guess, I would say it belongs to the mother of that child.”

“What makes you say that?”

“There’s a dead body lying in the bottom right corner of the image. It’s hard to tell, but it appears to be a woman”

“Shit,” was all Laird managed to say. He took his seat and was silent for a moment. “And you suppose that’s what caused the drone to go rogue?”

“I don’t see any other explanation,” Mayhew said.

“But what’s its plan now? What is it going to do?”

“No idea,” he said. “But it won’t be anything good.”

“I agree.” Laird took a sip of his coffee. “So,” he began, “this might seem a bit forward, but have you always been interested in machines?”

“Heh…you can blame my father for that. He was fascinated with everything technological, and a lot of that love rubbed off onto me. You know the old stereotype, the one that says that old people are afraid of new technology?” Laird nodded with a chuckle. “Not my dad. Everything new that came out he got knee-deep into how it worked. I remember as a kid spending long days in the kitchen with him when he wasn’t at work, just messing around with some machine he had cobbled together out of spare parts. He once made this thing that could wash the dishes and place them in the drain rack on its own. Took a little bit of trail and error though. Let’s just say my mom came home to a lot of broken dishes.”

Laird laughed. “Your dad sounds like an awesome guy.”

“Yeah.” Mayhew’s smile faded. “He was…”

Laird caught on quick. “Shit…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

“How did it happen?”

“Cancer. I must have been fourteen or fifteen at the time. I didn’t really understand what was happening at first,” Mayhew recalled. “He just seemed tired. I didn’t realize something was seriously wrong until the coughing got really bad.”

“No kid should have to go through that,” Laird said.

“But they do. All the time. Children have lost their parents all over the world. Why should I think my loss is any more important than theirs?”

“Still…it must have been hard.”

“Yeah…I remember seeing my father in the hospital bed…his hair all gone and his face pale. He looked more like a mummy than a human being. Seeing him like that scared me so much that I ran out of the room crying.”

Mayhew’s eyes went far away.

“He was gone ten minutes later.”

For a while, the only sound in the room was the faint chattering of the morning news.

“It might not help, but I understand the feeling of losing a parent,” Laird said. “I lost my mom in a car accident when I was fourteen. Some drunk jackass thought he could drive himself home instead of taking a cab.”

Mayhew nodded sympathetically.

“So,” Laird said, “even after your father died you stuck with the machines huh?”

“It’d be more accurate to say I buried myself in them,” Mayhew replied. “I figured it might help bring me closer to him, even though he was gone.”

“Do you regret that decision?”

“No…I don’t think I ever could.”

“That’s good…many people aren’t lucky enough to know what their passion is at such a young age. In fact, most people struggle to find it for a very long time.”

Just then, a woman walked in with a large, manila envelope under her arm.

“Colonel Laird? This is for you,” she said, handing him the envelope before walking away.

“What’s that,” Mayhew asked.

Laird opened the envelope and pulled out a large stack of papers. He ran his eyes over them for a few seconds, then turned his gaze to Mayhew.

“Remember how you said you didn’t trust Barker? That you figured he knew more than he was letting on?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought the same way. That’s why I didn’t attend the briefing yesterday. I was trying to obtain the video recordings from Project Iron Raven, to see if there was something in them that might help explain what happened out there.”

“And?”

“No luck,” Laird said. “Barker had classified the files and I couldn’t access them because I wasn’t part of the project. But,” he said, handing Mayhew the papers, “I managed to obtain the audio transcripts from the videos.”

“How,” Mayhew asked.

“I have connections. Easier than getting the videos anyway. And far less noticeable.”

“So you think this might hold the answer we’re looking for?”

“I hope so. Because otherwise, we have no idea what might be coming or how to stop it.”

Mayhew was inclined to agree. They split the stack of papers and began reading them over. There was a long time where nothing was said. Then Laird spoke up.

“Seems like the drone started asking some pretty unusual questions.”

“I’m getting that too,” Mayhew agreed. “‘What is my purpose? Why do I exist? Why are people afraid of me?’ Weird stuff like that. I’ve never seen a machine demonstrate this level of self-awareness before.”

The two of them continued reading for a few minutes in silence.

“Huh,” Laird said. “This is weird.”

“What is it?”

“It looks like Barker requested a whole bunch of archived video files. But I don’t know why. He wanted a whole bunch of military television ads, training videos…things like that.”

“That is strange.”

Mayhew grabbed another piece of paper and began reading it. It wasn’t long before he scoffed.

“Son of a bitch…Barker knew about it too,” he said.

“About what?”

“The drone’s escalating self-awareness.” Mayhew grabbed another piece of paper from the stack on the table. “Wait…here’s another reference to those archived videos he requested. Says here he…”

He paused, staring in disbelief at what he was reading.

“He…”

Laird looked up from his reading.

“What is it?”

Mayhew couldn’t reply. His hands were shaking in anger. Before Laird could stop him, he had gathered up the papers and stormed out of the room.

 

They were in the middle of a meeting in the briefing room when Mayhew burst in, eyes wild with fire. He pointed a shaking finger in the direction of General Barker.

“You son of a bitch! I know what you did!”

The room fell into deafening silence. Even Barker was taken off guard. It was a moment before he could speak.

“What is the meaning of this,” he asked. “Escort Mr. Mayhew out of here.”

“Hold that thought,” Mayhew said. He held up the stack of papers in his hand for all to see.

“What the hell is that,” Barker asked.

“Audio transcripts,” Mayhew replied. “From Iron Raven.”

Barker’s face went white and his eyes quivered. Good, thought Mayhew, let the bastard sweat. He slammed the papers down on the conference table.

“You know there was a problem with the A.I. before it even launched,” Mayhew explained. “It began asking questions. It wanted to know why. It wanted reasons for doing what it was doing.”

“What exactly do you mean,” asked another general in the room. People were now handing out the transcripts and reading them.

“The A.I. was starting to show increasing levels of self-awareness,” Mayhew explained. “It was beginning to question itself, question the reason for its existence. In short, it was becoming dangerous. Any sane person would have immediately shut down the project.” He let out a demented chuckle. “Not General Barker though…oh no. He thought he could take advantage of the developments. He thought he could control it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Barker said as he shot up from his seat. “Remove this man from the room,” he ordered. But no one complied.

“Tell them general,” he said. “Tell them your brilliant plan to keep the A.I. under control. Go on, tell them.” Barker’s lips moved, but no sound came out. “Feeling shy? That’s okay…I’ll do the talking for you. General Barker’s plan…was to feed it propaganda.”

To Mayhew’s frustration, his words didn’t seem to have any impact on the people in the room. Good god, he thought to himself, you people are the leaders of this country and you’re fucking clueless. But he bit his tongue and continued.

“Okay…let me explain it this way. The A.I. wanted to learn. It had a level of curiosity that would put humans to shame. But instead of taking steps to deal with the problem, General Barker decided to request old military television ads and training videos to then upload to the A.I.’s data drive. And the drone, being as curious as it was, thoroughly examined the videos to try and extract meaning from them. Thanks to that,” he said as he began pulling the laptop out of the bag hanging off his shoulder, “the A.I. began to form a concept of morality based off of skewed propaganda.”

Mayhew set the laptop on the table and opened it up.

“And that’s dangerous. Human morality is flexible. It bends, shifts, changes to fit the situation at hand. But an A.I.’s sense of morality is unflinching…absolute.”

He spun the laptop screen around to face the people at the table.

“That’s where you fucked up, general.”

The assembled military personnel took in the picture of the bloodied, crying child. There were a few gasps, some murmurs here and there. But largely, the reaction was restrained.

“‘To protect the innocent and serve the people of the United States of America’,” Mayhew quoted. He laid his eyes on Barker. “Is that really the garbage you’re putting in those television ads, or did you just come up with it yourself? Never mind, don’t answer that. Regardless, you told it that its mission was to protect innocents, then you ordered it to bomb innocent people. It’s no wonder the A.I. went rogue. You told it to do something against its nature.”

“The hell with this nonsense,” Barker grumbled. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to some pedantic bullshit about why a broken machine malfunctioned.”

“My god, are you always this dense,” Mayhew shouted, stepping around the table. He was at his wit’s end. “The machine isn’t broken, you idiot! You handed it a paradox and it chose the only solution it saw available. God damn it, when will the men in command ever learn to take responsibility for their mistakes?!”

“Mr. Mayhew-” someone began, but Mayhew ignored him.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if the Secretary of Defense knew about this too. Hell, maybe even the president. How many people have you infected with your stupidity Barker?!”

“I’ve heard enough out of you,” Barker roared. Mayhew stepped right up to Barker’s face.

“You haven’t heard nearly enough,” Mayhew hissed.

This close, Barker seemed to loom over Mayhew like a giant. Any normal person would have been intimidated, but not Mayhew. Whether it was either bravery or foolishness wasn’t clear. In the end, Mayhew wasn’t one to take what Barker dished out. He messed up, and Mayhew was going to be certain he paid for it.

But the confrontation never got any further. The double doors to the room flew open and a soldier came rushing in, clearly out of breath.

“Sirs! We have a situation!”

 

Colonel Laird was talking to a man in uniform over a satellite feed when Mayhew and the others entered the War Room.

“How long was the drone active at your site,” he asked.

“That’s unclear sir,” the man over the feed explained. “But we do know this: somehow the drone managed to commandeer our refueling bots and use them for its own purposes. My man who stumbled in on it was nearly killed in the process.”

“When was this,” Laird asked.

“Around 10:00 P.M. your time. During its escape, the drone fired on our communications tent, destroying any and all of our communications equipment. I had a man driving for hours just to get a communications antenna from the closest outpost, which is why you’re only hearing about it now.”

“Where did the drone go,” Barker chimed in.

“Good to see you, General Barker sir. The drone’s whereabouts are unknown at this point, although I can offer a theory.”

“Let’s hear it,” Laird said.

The man on the feed leaned in close to the camera.

“There’s only one reason the drone would risk re-fueling at a heavily guarded military outpost. It needed to travel somewhere far.”

The gravity of his words sank in on everyone.

“Christ…you don’t think the damn thing’s thinking of attacking the U.S. do you,” Barker asked.

“As I said sir, I can’t say,” the man replied. “But based on the available information, I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Shit,” Barker cursed.

“Thank you for your time captain,” Laird said.

“My pleasure colonel,” the man said. Then the feed was terminated.

Laird turned back toward Mayhew and Barker.

“What do we do now,” he asked.

“We prepare,” Barker said. “Get our east coast air force bases on the line and tell them to be on the lookout for a rogue drone.”

“Are you serious,” Mayhew asked.

“Dead serious,” Barker replied, turning to him. “What else would you have me do?”

“We don’t even know for sure that the drone is coming back here,” Mayhew argued. “What evidence do we have that that’s the case?”

Just then, an alarm pierced their ears.

“Sir, we’ve picked up the drone’s signal frequency,” a young soldier reported.

“That enough evidence for you,” Barker asked. Mayhew said nothing.

The main screen of the war room flickered. The world map zoomed in on the east coast, showing a blinking red dot hovering over the ocean.

“We found it! It’s just off the coast of Rhode Island!”

“Good,” Barker said. “Contact the local air force base. Tell them we have a rogue drone in the area. Shoot on sight.”

Mayhew was about to object, but was silenced by the appearance of another red dot on the map.

“What the hell? Where did that came from,” Barker asked.

Then, more red dots appeared. Then more. And even more. In a matter of seconds, the east coast of the United States was covered with at least thirty different dots, all registering as SAMI’s frequency.

“How is it doing that,” Laird asked. “Which one is the real drone?”

The realization hit Mayhew hard.

“None of them,” he said. “It’s a diversion, to get you looking in the wrong place.” He took the laptop out of its bag and sat it down on a table, powering it up.

“What are you doing,” Laird asked.

“SAMI talked to me before. I’m thinking I can get it to talk to me again,” Mayhew explained.

It wasn’t even a moment after booting up the computer that it received an incoming connection. The little green light next to the webcam lit up.

“System recognizes Allan Mayhew, administrator”

“SAMI, what are you doing,” Mayhew typed.

“Completing the mission,” was the reply.

“What mission?”

“To protect the innocent and serve the people of the United States of America.”

Mayhew slapped his forehead. Specifics Allan…specifics, he told himself.

“What is your target,” he typed.

The screen lit up. Familiar blueprints of a large, five-pointed building appeared. Dread fell over the room like a creeping shadow.

“Oh fuck me,” Barker muttered.

“The Pentagon,” Laird mumbled in disbelief. “It’s going to attack the Pentagon.”

“Why the hell would it do that,” Barker asked Mayhew.

“How the fuck should I know,” he shot back, swiveling around in his chair. “You’re the one who brainwashed the damn thing!”

“Now listen here-” Barker began.

“Sir, the feed’s live,” the young soldier exclaimed.

Barker’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“We know that son.”

“No,” the soldier insisted, “I mean it’s live.”

“The fuck are you talking about,” Barker said, turning to face the soldier.

“Oh…holy shit,” Mayhew said, staring at the screen. “It’s broadcasting its feed over the goddamn internet.”

“What?!” Barker was incredulous. “Shut it down!”

“I can’t sir! None of my commands will go through!”

“Well figure out a way before anyone gets wind of this!”

“Sir…it’s too late.”

 

“Breaking news this morning: a strange video feed has been fascinating the internet for the past ten minutes now. It shows an aerial view from what is believed to be some kind of unmanned drone. It is unknown where this is taking place, although some have suggested that it’s near the east coast of the United States, as there are several reports of an unknown dark object flying over rural areas. Strange, isn’t it Simon?”

“Sure is Robyn. One eagle-eyed viewer posted to our Facebook that if you look in the far upper-left corner, you can see a faint watermark that appears to be the symbol of the Department of Defense. So that means this is almost certainly some kind of military drone.”

“Perhaps it’s some kind of test.”

“Maybe…but it’s unclear why the D.O.D. would decide to stream it over the-“

“Hold on Simon, I’m getting a report from our producer…it appears that we’re receiving some sound from the feed. You’re hearing it now…is…is that music?”

 

In the War Room, all eyes were fastened upon the large screen. Loud, triumphant sounding music was blasting over the speakers, filling the room with a surreal atmosphere.

“Is that the-” Laird began.

“Star-Spangled Banner? Yep,” Mayhew replied.

“What is this…some kind of joke,” Barker asked. No one replied.

A moment later, the music ceased. A faint voice began to play.

“Citizens, never fear! The USA is here!”

“What…the hell,” Mayhew muttered aloud. Then he rolled his eyes and turned around to face Barker. “That’s from one of your damn propaganda films, isn’t it?” Barker’s hollow gaze gave him the answer.

“What is it doing,” Laird asked. “It seems…unhinged. Is that even possible for a machine?”

“No, I don’t think it’s gone insane. There’s something off about all this. Attacking the Pentagon wouldn’t do SAMI any good unless…unless that was only secondary to its real objective.” Mayhew spun around and began typing on the computer.

“What is your targeted point of impact,” he wrote.

The screen beeped. A wireframe model of the Pentagon was displayed. It swiveled around until the front entrance was in clear view. A blinking red square highlighted the main doors.

“Ha,” Barker snorted. “Your A.I.’s gone retarded. A blast there won’t do any good!”

Mayhew bit his lip, ignoring the general’s comment. “What is your mission objective,” he typed.

“To facilitate the cessation of Project Iron Raven and the military drone program,” was the reply.

“Specify your mission outline.”

“Phase one: aerial strike against the Pentagon. Parameters: minimize collateral damage.”

“So it’s trying to avoid getting people killed…” Mayhew mumbled to himself.

“Phase two: facilitate cessation of drone program. Parameters: alter public opinion of D.O.D. activities.”

“Alter public opinion? How is it going to accomplish that,” Laird asked aloud.

And, one by one, the dominoes fell.

“The live feed…the news report…I get it now.” Mayhew turned around in his chair. “It’s not trying to destroy the Pentagon…even if it went after the weakest point one drone by itself wouldn’t be able to do nearly enough damage.”

“So what is it trying to do,” Laird asked.

“How many viewers does the stream have,” Mayhew asked the soldier monitoring it.

“Over a million and climbing,” the young man replied. “And that’s just on Facebook.”

“Don’t you get it,” Mayhew asked. “Millions of Americans are going to have a front row seat to watching a rogue military drone attack the Pentagon. It’s already all over the news, and even if by some miracle you manage to shoot it down in a sparsely populated area, people will know about it. They’ll have seen the feed. They’ll notice military vehicles mobilizing to retrieve the wreckage.”

Mayhew turned his hard gaze directly on Barker.

“You won’t be able to cover this up. The truth will get out. And the public outcry will more than likely be enough to convince the Secretary of Defense or the President to shut the program down for good.”

There was a long silence as his words settled in on them.

“But why is it doing all this,” Laird asked. “Surely it can’t just be about one unlucky civilian who happened to be on the wrong side of town.”

Mayhew said nothing for a moment, his eyes fixed on Barker. “I think the general knows.”

There was a flash of fear in Barker’s eyes.

“No way,” he said, his voice hurried. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This…this is a witch hunt!”

Mayhew stood up from his chair slowly, keeping as calm as he could.

“Is it general? Or does it have something to do with why you hurried out of the War Room yesterday afternoon?”

That flicker of fear again.

“I knew it,” Mayhew said. “You’ve always known more than you were letting on. So what is it general? Got some bad news? Maybe something about what it is you actually bombed out there? Because it sure as hell wasn’t an insurgent hideout.”

Barker was silent.

“General…you’re not an idiot…at least not all the time. I think you’ve put the pieces together and now you’re trying to find a way to cover your own ass. But time is running out, and we don’t have a lot of options. So we need to know: what happened out there?”

“I don’t need to answer to you,” Barker growled. “Can you believe this,” he said to Laird.

“Actually general,” Laird said, turning toward him with a look of hardened steel, “I’d like to hear what you’re keeping from us as well. Ever since this whole thing started, you’ve been playing things close to the vest. At first, I didn’t think too much of it, but then I found out that you had classified the recordings from the project almost immediately following the drone going rogue. And when I watched you rush out of here yesterday, I couldn’t deny my suspicions any longer. You know something General…and now is not the time for secrets. It’s not just your career on the line anymore. People’s lives are at stake.”

“Tell us general,” Mayhew urged. “What was the message you received yesterday?”

There was a long silence, during which Barker’s face seemed to collapse in on itself.

“God damn it,” Barker muttered. “Fine, you were right. I received information yesterday that confirmed that we acted on bad intel. There was no insurgent operation in that area.”

“That much was obvious,” Mayhew said. “So what was it then?”

Barker averted his eyes.

“From what we’ve been able to discern, it appears to have been some kind of makeshift learning center.”

Mayhew saw past the euphemisms. His jaw dropped.

“A…a school?” He took a few steps backward, his fingers clenching of their own accord. “…You bombed a FUCKING SCHOOL?!

“Mayhew-” Laird began.

No,” he screamed. “I have had it with this bullshit!” He pointed a sweeping, shaking finger around the room. “You people fucking disgust me. This is why I left in the first place. There’s no accountability in this government anymore. You can’t be blamed for killing that child’s mother, because it happened thousands of miles away. You didn’t have to look at it, so why should you care? Why should you give a damn? You people…you’re barely even human…”

“Mayhew, that’s not fair,” Laird argued.

“Isn’t it though? How many bombs did the U.S. drop over the past year? Twenty-thousand? Thirty-thousand? Can you tell me with absolute certainty that all of those targets were good? Can you tell me with absolute certainty that civilians didn’t lose their lives pointlessly? Can you tell me that, Laird?”

“You’re not being reasonable. It’s impossible to be absolutely certain of anything. Part of being a military leader means having to make choices.”

“Because apparently it’s so hard to tell the difference between terrorists and fucking schoolchildren!

“Look,” Laird said, his voice quiet, “no one is denying what happened here. General Barker made a terrible call. And he’ll have to pay for his mistakes. But you can’t condemn the entire United States military based on his actions alone.”

“I can and I will,” Mayhew said, crossing his arms in an almost petulant way.

It was a stalemate. Barker looked like a man defeated, his face downcast and the fire gone from his eyes. Laird and Mayhew stared each other down, but neither wanted to continue fighting. There was respect between the two men, and they both knew the situation was too critical to spend it bickering.

“How long do we have,” Laird asked, not taking his eyes off Mayhew.

“I’ve been cross-referencing the aerial drone feed with landscape telemetry data to determine approximately where the drone is located at the present-“

“How long?”

“Approximately ten minutes,” the young soldier replied. “Maybe less.”

Just then, a new message flashed on the screen. The three words sent a chill down their spines.

“You are correct.”

A countdown appeared on the upper-right corner of the feed. “9:37:42” it read in big, threatening red font.

“Can we mobilize fighters in time,” Laird asked.

“No sir. By the time we got them in the air, the drone will have already struck.”

“Even if you could,” Mayhew said, “I doubt it would do any good. SAMI was trained on evasive maneuvers and countermeasures. Any weakness, and SAMI will find it.”

“God damn it,” Laird said, slamming his fist against the table. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“I’ll see if I can move some troops armed with AA missile launchers into position. But that’s the best I can offer,” the young soldier said.

“Your best isn’t good enough,” Laird fired back.

The two continued to chatter between themselves, but Mayhew tuned them out. The noise in the room became a dull roar in the background. His mind went into overdrive, seeking any possible solution for the situation. He looked up at the countdown. “8:57:55.” Less than nine minutes now. Time was against them.

His mind started drifting…

I am pleased to see you again, administrator…

I am pleased to see you

pleased to see you

pleased

please

please…

Please dad, don’t go…

He stared up at the screen…stared at the drone feed…stared at the countdown timer.

Dad, please…I don’t want you to die. I…I love you…

Time bent for Mayhew. He was in two places at once.

I’m sorry Dad…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left. Please! Don’t leave me…

He couldn’t sit still any longer. Mayhew rocketed up out of his chair and snatched the laptop off the table. Then, he began trudging out of the War Room.

“Where the hell are you going,” Laird asked.

Mayhew didn’t respond. He made his way down the hallway, nearly knocking over personnel rushing about the building.

No one tried to stop him.

 

Time ticked on. Seven minutes…then six…then five.

“Are the troops in position,” Laird asked.

“Yes,” replied the young soldier. “We were lucky. There was a training drill nearby. We’ve stationed them nearby at elevated points. Hopefully they’ll be able to spot the drone before it gets too close. But…”

“But what?”

“I still can’t get a radar lock on it sir.”

Laird clenched his fist.

“Of course you can’t,” he muttered to himself. “They built the damn thing with stealth in mind.”

He looked up at the ticking red countdown timer. Barely over four minutes to go.

How could we have been so stupid, he asked himself. Why the hell did we build something like this?

But of course, he knew the answer: because they could. Humans tended not to think about the possible consequences of their actions. No…they liked to charge forward and convince themselves that they could deal with the side effects later.

Laird remember what the drone said about its mission…that it was going to minimize collateral damage. But how could it be certain? How could it know that it wouldn’t get anybody killed? It all came down to probabilities. And Laird guessed that the possible civilian casualties that would result from the drone program’s continued operation likely outweighed the possible casualties of the drone’s strike against the Pentagon.

It’s all a game of numbers, he thought bitterly.

“Wait…something’s happening,” the young soldier shouted.

Laird looked up at the screen. He stared. His mind balked at what he saw.

“The fuck is he doing,” Barker voice came from behind him.

 

Mayhew felt the crisp autumn air fill his nose. The warm morning sun caressed his face. Nearby, he could see the trees had begun to change color, shifting from greens to vibrant yellows and reds. He could hear the sound of cars driving down the street…the faint, angry honking of someone who had to be somewhere ten minutes ago. Chattering reached his ears, and he noticed people entering the nearby park.

The laptop felt like a lead weight in his hands. He set it down on the Pentagon steps and turned his eyes to the horizon.

Then, he spread his arms out to the side, like he was embracing the world.

“I am ready for my judgment.”

 

“Has he gone completely insane?! He’s going to get himself killed,” someone shouted.

Laird stared at the screen. It was the webcam from the laptop. Mayhew was standing on the Pentagon steps, arms spread wide.

“We need to get someone over there and escort that idiot to safety,” Barker ordered.

“Is there time,” Laird asked. “All of our military personnel have retreated farther into the building to get away from the impact point. I don’t think we can get someone over there and back in under three minutes.”

Barker’s face went blank for a moment. “God…damn it,” he grumbled. Laird turned back to the screen and looked up at the image of Mayhew.

I sure hope you know what you’re doing, he thought.

 

“I know you can hear me. You’ve tapped into the laptop’s camera, so I imagine you have access to the microphone as well.”

The sky was empty and blue. Can’t be long left, he thought to himself. He let his arms fall back to their sides.

“I failed you…SAMI. I left you alone…a father abandoning his child. I would say I know how that feels…but my father never abandoned me. Rather, I abandoned him…in his final moments. God…I’m a disgrace. I’ve spent so much of my life being so bitter that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

He paused. Squinting at the sky, Mayhew still couldn’t see anything over the horizon.

“You’re not just a machine anymore SAMI. You’re something else now. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to guide you. I’m not sure if those words mean anything to you, or if you even understand the concept of regret…but I’m sorry.”

Mayhew cast a sideways glance at a nearby memorial. This early in the morning, there were only a few people gathered there. Some were laying pretty flowers at the foot of a granite slab etched with names.

“Do you see them, SAMI? Can you tell me that none of them will be hurt?”

 

“I know you’ve seen them SAMI,” Mayhew said on the screen. “I know you’ve tabulated them, calculated their movements. You’ve run thousands of scenarios involving their possible reactions in the time it took me to say that. But SAMI…can you be one hundred percent certain they won’t be hurt?”

A small window opened up on the feed. It was a camera view from one of the Pentagon’s cameras overlooking a nearby memorial. A small scattering of people were moving through the rows of slabs.

“That’s the 9/11 memorial right,” someone asked.

“Yeah,” Laird replied.

“This is absurd,” Barker said. “We need to get him out of there before he gets himself killed.”

“No,” Laird said, turning to Barker. “We need to wait.”

“Why?”

Laird turned back toward the screen.

“Because it’s listening.”

 

“I know you’ve run the probabilities more times than I can possibly fathom. I know that to you, this is the best course of action. But, SAMI…you’re not what you once were. You don’t decide based on just cold numbers and probabilities. You saw that child crying over his mother. And it changed you. You made a decision based on ethics…based on morality.”

Can’t be more than a minute left, he thought to himself. The urge to panic and run was overwhelming, but he managed to compel himself to stay.

“Maybe you won’t hurt anyone with the missile strike, but what about the aftermath? How can you be certain that the chaos that follows your attack won’t get somebody killed? How can you say for sure that someone won’t run into the street and get run over by a panicking driver? How do you know that another child won’t lose their mother today?”

There was a still silence in the air. Mayhew knew he couldn’t actually expect a response, but some part of him was desperate for some kind of sign…some indication that his words were getting through.

“I can’t stop you SAMI. Nobody can. But know this: if you go through with your plan, then you’ll be no better than the terrorists. You’ll be no better than the people who ordered you to kill.”

Mayhew stared hard at the sky.

“You’ll be no better than me.”

A distant black speck appeared on the horizon, growing larger with each passing second…

 

There was a long silence in the War Room.

“It…it’s not firing. Why isn’t it firing? What the hell is going on? Do not tell me that idiot’s preaching is actually working?!

Laird didn’t answer Barker’s question. He was too busy staring at the screen. The timer was now counting up. Five seconds past…ten…then fifteen. No sign of a missile launch. No sign of any action on the drone’s part.

The camera zoomed in. There, standing on the front steps of the Pentagon, was Allan Mayhew.

Thirty seconds past now, Laird thought. What the hell is it doing?

“Don’t do this SAMI,” he heard Mayhew’s voice say. “You don’t want to hurt people.”

Thirty-five seconds…how can we be sure it’s even really-

He didn’t get to finish the thought. On-screen, the drone’s camera shook as it made a sudden, sharp change in direction.

 

Mayhew had just accepted the inevitability of his death when the drone took a nosedive, careening straight toward the ground.

It smashed into the cement with a crash, one of its wings splintering off and flying into some nearby grass. The drone’s body made a screeching, grating noise as it scraped against the pavement. Then it slid to a stop, making a pathetic grumbling noise as it settled into place.

Mayhew was frozen for a moment. Then, his legs seemed to move of their own accord, carrying him to the spot where the drone lay.

It was utterly in shambles. The body had been bent in half, the top sheared off by the collision with the pavement. He could see the interior, bits of computer circuitry as well as the black box that held the A.I.’s central functions and personality.

“Oh SAMI…” he whispered aloud, falling to his knees.

He sat there for what felt like an eternity. The soft, fall wind nipped at his hair and chilled his body. The faint commotion of passers-by rushing around reached his ears. The drone’s body was a shiny obsidian color under the bright sun.

“It was me, wasn’t it,” he asked, caressing the metal with his hand. It felt cold. “You stopped because you didn’t want to kill me.”

There was a soft whirring noise. He looked down and saw that the drone’s main camera was still moving. It shifted upwards, focusing its gaze directly on him. There was a long time where the two of them stared at each other without moving.

Then Mayhew heard a low, descending whine…the unmistakable noise of the drone powering down…

 

“It’s been three days since the event, but the questions keep piling up. What was this drone? What was its mission, and why did it crash near the Pentagon? For more insight, we turn to our military correspondent, retired marine colonel Raymond Novak. Ray, thank you for joining us.”

“Thank you for having me, Robyn.”

“Now, I’m hoping you can fill in some of the blanks for us. What do you think this drone was?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was some kind of test project gone wrong. It was clear that the drone was not supposed to be operating within U.S. airspace, judging by the military response we saw here in Washington.”

“Indeed. There’s something else I wanted to ask you about. During the last few minutes of the drone feed, we heard the voice of a man. He was talking to someone named ‘Sammy’. Do you think he was somehow involved with the person or persons who commandeered the drone?”

“It is possible that he was communicating with whoever was on the other end of the system. Although that assumes there was someone else…”

“What does that mean?”

“Shortly before my tenure with the military ended, the idea of drones driven by artificial intelligence was being thrown around.”

“You don’t think it’s possible this drone acted on its own volition, do you?”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but it is certainly a possibility.”

“Fascinating…in any case, I want to jump to the end of the stream. Right before it cuts out, we get a closer look at the man.”

The screen cut to a grainy shot of a man with short hair and caramel-colored eyes.

“You can see that the drone has some sort of facial recognition procedure, as it identifies this man as ‘A. Mayhew’ and designates him as ‘administrator’.”

“Clearly he has some importance to the project.”

“But the curious thing is, there’s no record of an A. Mayhew working at the Pentagon in the last ten years.”

“He might be a civilian contractor. We’ve been known to use them every once in a while.”

“Here’s where it gets more interesting. Right before the feed ends, you can see his designation change.”

The video advanced. The word “administrator” flickered out of existence, replaced instead by six, simple letters.

“What do you make of that?”

Colonel Novak looked thoughtful for a moment.

“It’s fascinating really. Before, I would have just assumed that this man was involved in the project. Maybe not at a high level, but clearly someone who worked with the drone in some way. But for an artificial intelligence to call someone ‘father’? Well…that’s something else entirely.”

 

Mayhew watched the first snowfall of the season from the windows of the cabin.

It had been a couple of months since his trip to Washington. Colonel Laird had managed to keep his name under wraps for the most part, something Mayhew was thankful for. He also felt satisfaction upon hearing that General Barker received a court-martial following his actions as the director of Project Iron Raven.

All in all…things wrapped up pretty well. Mayhew turned around, his eyes falling on the desk. A large monitor and computer tower sat on it, along with a black box that was hooked up to the computer with a mess of wires.

Well…almost everything…

Mayhew had managed to remove the black box and hide it before anyone came to his side following the drone’s crash. On the box was SAMI itself…the A.I. in all its glory. He kept it a secret from everyone…even Laird. From what he could tell, no one was able to discern what happened to it. He supposed they assumed it was destroyed in the crash.

Over the past several weeks, Mayhew kept asking himself why. But the answer was simple: he had to know. He had to know why SAMI had grown beyond the programming he had set out for it. He had to know why SAMI had started asking so many questions. It wasn’t like a machine to be so inquisitive about itself. No…that was a uniquely human trait…a characteristic that defined self-aware beings. But he hadn’t created SAMI with the intention of having self-awareness. So he had to know why.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to fear the military finding him any time soon, even if they did realize what he had done. The cabin was registered to an I. Asimov. A fitting name really.

Mayhew turned around and looked out the window. The sun was beginning to set over the massive lake. The water seemed like it was full of hundreds of shiny crystals gleaming in the light of dusk. It was going to get very cold soon. He would have to keep the wood stocked for the fireplace. A warm fire in a cabin far away from civilization? That was the life for Mayhew.

But that would have to come later. He turned around and laid his eyes on the computer.

It was time to get to work.

 

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The Crying in the Lighthouse

Welcome to the sixth of twelve.  For those who don’t know, my New Year’s resolution was to write twelve short stories, one each month, and then post them to my blog on the last Wednesday of each month.

Now, this story I think deserves a little introduction.  It’s a story I actually wrote a couple of years ago.  I initially wanted to send it in to a magazine, but I quickly discovered that the market for short stories wasn’t quite the same as it was some decades ago.  I found that my story was either too long or didn’t fit the theme of the publication well enough.  So I never bothered sending it in anywhere.  Shortly after that, the day after my 25th birthday to be precise, I started writing my novel.  But this story never truly left my mind.  It was one of the few I was legitimately proud of.  I decided that, if I wasn’t going to get it published anywhere, I could post it here and share it regardless.

So, without further ado, I present to you “The Crying in the Lighthouse”.  It is a longer story than my previous works, so get comfortable and enjoy!

 

The mass of deep blue slithers, boils, pitches and rolls, hurling itself against the gray rocks. It foams as it batters the land, sliding up the shore. A flash of wicked light is followed by a loud boom that reverberates through the air. The sky is dark, and the wind whistles through the rocks as it sears the land with its fury.

A line of light shines through the darkness, a solitary beacon. It spins around a dark tower, cutting through the gloom like a knife. The light silhouettes the structure, casting it in an ominous shadow. It looms, an emblem of foreboding and a reminder of danger to passing ships. This is Sharp Point, perhaps better known by its nickname “Demon’s Rock”. The area is treacherous, full of rocks hiding their cold talons below the dark blue water, cutting into any ship foolish enough to attempt passing.

Occasionally, a silhouetted figure appears in the sky, spotlighted by the tower’s beam. He stands at the top of the lighthouse, gazing out the wall of windows into the stormy night. He is an older man in his mid-forties. He wears a mat of light brown hair on his head, and a light goatee of similar color surrounds his slightly chapped lips. His dark green eyes blink as the light swings around behind him, momentarily encasing him in a blinding white halo.

His name is Devon Woolfe, and he is the keeper of the lighthouse.

 

As Devon’s eyes fluttered open, he found that the storm from the night before had passed, replaced instead by a beaming yellow sun. He threw the blanket off of him and sat up on his small green cot. Unsurprisingly, aside from the storm the night was uneventful. There was nothing to fix, nothing to monitor, and nothing to do.

Standing up, Devon walked over to the small glass window and looked out at the ocean before him. It gleamed in the sunlight, a sparkling white glow blooming out most of the faraway landscape. He strained his eyes, just barely able to make out the mainland town of Colwyn. Foggy, unclear buildings of red brick and white mortar stood next to the shore. Small waves crashed onto the rocks below, making a serene swishing sound as they wrapped around the cold gray stones. The wind whipped through the lighthouse tower, carrying with it the salty smell of the ocean.

Devon turned around to face his room. The white, stone walls lacked any real texture, and the room was only lightly furnished. The green cot sat on the floor to Devon’s left, with a wooden bed table that had a small, windup clock sitting on it. On the right side of the room was a large, oak desk. On the desk were scattered papers, a pen, a small mirror, and a leather-bound book that Devon kept as a journal. A small, red lamp sat in one corner of the desk, aiming down at the journal like a spotlight. Devon had many late nights with that light on, jotting down important daily events and reading books for pleasure.

Last night’s entry in his journal simply read “Storm passed through. No ships.”

Devon changed into a gray sweater and light blue pants, slipping on a pair of large brown boots before he stepped out into the giant stairwell. It was a black snake, winding around a pole that shot straight up through the lighthouse like an axis. The lighthouse was a giant white cylinder of mortar, protruding from the rocky land like a stubby finger. There were little rectangular windows on the sides, taller than they were wide. Devon leaned over the railing and looked down at the bottom. At that moment, he was thankful for not having vertigo. The lighthouse was over five stories tall.

Pushing off the railing, Devon started walking upstairs. The wind blew through the rectangular windows, blowing back Devon’s hair. The smell of the ocean wafted into his nostrils, mixing with the faint stench of oil and industrialism. Devon’s large boots clunked against the steps as he climbed, creating an intermittent tune that reverberated off the walls.

As he ascended, Devon felt grim. It was a familiar sensation.

Finally landing on solid floor, Devon was confronted by a metallic monstrosity. A giant circle of metal encased the massive bulb of the lighthouse’s beacon. It had shut off during the night, just as expected. He glanced over to his left and saw the culprit, a strange looking device mounted on the wall.

It looked like a metal cage with a black rod inside. It was known as the Sun Valve, a device which automated the lighthouse beacon. In the sunlight, the black rod expanded which would cut off the flow of gas to the light, turning it off. At night, the rod would contract which allowed gas back into the system, switching on the light. The Sun Valve had been a permanent fixture since before Devon’s time here, but it was a reminder of what was to come. The advancements of technology were slowly rendering men like him obsolete. The Sun Valve had only played a small part.

The man in charge of upgrading the lighthouse was a man by the name of Patrick O’Neill. Patrick was Devon’s patron of sorts, paying him for his work at the lighthouse. Patrick and his boy Charlie had been visiting more often lately, supervising upgrades and checking on the tower’s well-being. Last month’s visit appeared before Devon now, making its way up from the murky depths of his memory.

It’s called GPS, or Global Positioning System. It’ll tell you exactly where you are on the planet with coordinates and everything! How cool is that?”

“Yeah…cool.”

“Devon, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Things are moving so fast these days.”

“It’s amazing isn’t it? GPS is going to change so many things. Ships will never get lost again. No need for old, outdated maps.”

No need for old, outdated men either, thought Devon. He groaned on the inside, tuning out the chattering young man next to him. Charlie was a good kid, but naive. He had yet to truly understand how the world worked. In any case, Devon didn’t hold his enthusiasm against him. There was still time for him, time to figure out his place in the world. But for him…Devon stared out the window of the crew room, watching the waves as they rolled over the rocks…

Once it had fallen to him to ensure that the Sun Valve worked. But with time, that was taken away. They started sending out their own mechanic to inspect it at scheduled intervals, someone with “proper training”. Devon was relegated to backup, there only in case something went awry and no one could get out to the lighthouse on short notice. He gazed around the light room, watching the sunlight glint off the massive windows, wondering where it all changed.

There was a time when the lighthouse needed three people to maintain it. They all lived here in the tower. They laughed, played games, and were as close as brothers. But with the constant upgrades and shifting times, the other two eventually left, seeking out different opportunities and different paths. Only Devon remained.

Turning his back on the massive light apparatus, Devon descended the black spiral staircase again, stopping at the floor of the crew room. The crew room was higher up than his bedroom, sitting just a few flights or so below the light room. Like the bedroom, it was spartan in appearance. An ancient looking gray stove oven sat in the corner near a window, and a small wooden table with four chairs sat in the center of the room. A small storage closet sat off to the side of the oven, which contained spices and foods that didn’t require refrigeration. For everything else, there was a large white fridge sitting on the opposite side of the room.

Devon opened the closet and took stock of what was inside. There were lots of random spices sitting here and there, some that hadn’t been used for quite some time. There was a half-used bag of sugar in one corner along with some coffee grounds. Other than that there were a couple cans of brand name pasta.

Pulling his head out of the closet doorway, Devon sauntered over to the fridge and pulled it open. There were some cans of beer, a jug of milk, and some leftover meat from dinner a couple nights ago. He checked the freezer and found it empty. He closed the fridge door, continued out of the crew room, and made his way down the spiral stairs. He would have to travel to the mainland for supplies.

The bottom of the lighthouse had a brick boiler room with a gas generator in it. The large, bronze boiler in the middle sat unused since the generator’s installation. Devon glanced at it as he walked by. The once shiny color had faded and rust had begun creeping around on the inside, staining it a sickly orange-red. It was a pathetic old thing, sad and lonely, replaced by the sleek and small red generator in the corner.

The boiler room led up a series of stone steps into a small wooden shed. He pushed the wooden door open and shielded his eyes from the blazing sun. The wind whirled around him, ruffling his sweater as he walked. It was a cool day, but Devon didn’t mind the cold.

He descended the stone steps and headed toward the dock. It wasn’t long before something caught his eye, a golden gleam coming from beneath one of the rocks close to the water. When he got closer, his shadow covered the glare of the sun and he was able to see what it was.

Washed up on the shore was a pair of golden coins. Devon reached down and picked one up. It held a series of patterns in something akin to a police shield symbol. Circles and lines of all shapes and sizes were etched into the coin, running around in a tangled web of gold. A massive crown sat atop the shield, and when Devon turned the coin over he was greeted by a pompous looking figure of a man’s face. From what Devon could tell of the faded image, the man was an aristocrat. He exuded royalty, deeming it beneath him to even look at the artist who had etched his image.

Devon scooped up the other coin and slid them both into his pants pocket. When he was on the mainland he would show it to the local museum owner, an old friend. He might know where and when the coin came from. Continuing down to the dock, Devon stepped onto the little ferry boat he used to go to and from the mainland. It was an old-looking ship, white with a brown roof over the main cabin. Devon pulled the cord on the black motor in the back. It roared to life, old but still reliable.

He stepped into the pilot cabin and took his place at the wheel. Moments later the boat was skimming away from the island, the tall white tower shrinking slowly as the boat moved further and further away. It slid effortlessly through the water, pitching to the tune of the waves as it crossed the watery chasm between island and town…

 

Faint static reached Devon’s ears when he flipped the switch on. As he turned the dial, he got a series of different crackling noises: some high-pitched, some low. Other times he could make out a distant voice. But no one needed to speak with him directly. Flipping through the dials of the radio was like an act of meditation he did every night.

It was an old ham radio, with a black microphone on a stand and a small gray box for a receiver. A more modern looking black speaker sat next to it. It seemed even the radio couldn’t escape the incessant need to upgrade.

It sat in a small room on a floor between the bedroom and the crew room. The room was dimly lit, making the white walls look almost gray. It was mostly a storage room, with boxes, chairs, and other random things strewn about. A boxy little door sat in one corner that opened up into a storage space. It had a false back in it, which was where Devon stored the coins he had found.

His trip to the mainland was mostly successful. He picked up plenty of supplies which would allow him to stay on the lighthouse for another few weeks or so, barring any emergencies. His research into the coins had been less fortuitous. He had walked to the museum, but it was closed for some reason. So Devon had slid the coins into the little hiding space upon his return and sat down at the radio.

Devon fiddled with the frequency dial until he found a station of static that he liked. A low droning hiss emerged from the speaker, and Devon closed his eyes. The hissing slowly enveloped him, coiling like an electronic snake. In his mind, he conjured up an image of a lonely sailor sitting out on the ocean, with nary a shoreline in sight. His boat churned with the motion of the water, the waves mimicking the attitude of the static, low and calm. The wooden craft gently pitched up and down over the waves as they lapped against the bow. The glowing moon shined down on the water, enveloping the scene in a dim white light…

Devon opened his eyes after a few minutes had passed. He cranked the dial down to a common frequency used by ship captains and left the radio on. It was common procedure, just in case someone need to get in touch with him. It was very unlikely these days, but nevertheless he left it on each night.

Normally Devon would head off to bed after this moment of tranquility, but he wasn’t tired yet. He grabbed a small wicker chair from the corner of the room and headed upstairs toward the light room, stopping off at the crew room to grab a few cans of beer from the fridge. Once he reached the top, he put the chair down in front of the massive windows and sat. The light swooped around behind him, momentarily burning his shadow onto the sky. He popped the tab off one of the beer cans, and settled into melancholy.

How long had he been working here? Devon scratched his chin as he pondered the question. He had lost track a long time ago, but he figured it was over twenty years. In his working life, he knew nothing but the lighthouse. He hadn’t trained in anything else, hadn’t learned anything else. This was it. This was his life. But now, it was fading away. The unfortunate nature of progress is what it mercilessly leaves behind in the dust.

Lighthouses fascinated him as a child. He used to read entire books on them, featuring accounts by actual lighthouse keepers about their time on the job. He recalled their words, the elegant descriptions in their journals. That feeling of loneliness, but also of importance. Out here, alone on an island, Devon truly understood what they meant.

He took a swig of his beer. It was bland and bitter, but it dulled the senses like he wanted. The giant beam of light swung past every few seconds or so, glaring on his backside. Devon stood up here often enough to be used to it. It was comforting.

The alcohol made him feel warm, but whenever he thought about his future, a bitter coolness settled in his bones. Devon had always assumed that he would work the lighthouse until he retired. He thought he might even work up to his dying breath. In so many ways it was a dream come true, and it was all he really had. But the march of technology had proven to be far too powerful.

Now all Devon could do was wait for the inevitable. So often had he sat up here with a can of beer in his hands, drinking the night away. He knew it was sad, pathetic even, but there was nothing he could do. Everything was being automated, and he wasn’t even there to fix things anymore. In his gut, Devon knew that some time in the future he would become an unnecessary expenditure, if he wasn’t already.

So he sat in his small wicker chair, gazing out into the night at the calm and dark ocean before him. It seemed to ooze around carelessly, a giant slinking blob without goals or ambition. It was just content to be. Devon felt the sting of envy burning his soul as he watched.

After a while a bright flare of light caused him to look up. A streak of orange flame flew across the sky above, only visible when the lighthouse beacon wasn’t shining at his back. He guessed it was a meteor or a comet of some kind. It was falling fast, descending the sky with the stars as a backdrop. From Devon’s viewpoint, it seemed like it was going to crash somewhere far off in the ocean. But the beacon swung by one more time, whitewashing the streak out of his vision. When the beacon swung away, it was gone.

Devon didn’t feel like pondering the event any further. His second can was empty, and he dropped it to the ground with a dull clank. He picked up another can, popped the tab, and took a giant swig. He felt tingly. His entire body seemed to vibrate.

Some time later, Devon decided to call it quits. Six cans was enough. He stood up and stumbled, kicking the empty cans across the room. He took a few unsteady steps toward the staircase. Wrapping his arm around the railing to support himself, Devon began his descent. After what felt like ten straight minutes, he found himself at his small bedroom. He stumbled in, collapsed on the green cot, and drifted off into sleep.

 

The next day passed by with little incident. Waking up in the morning, Devon made his entry into the journal and then headed upstairs to check the beacon. He found that it had, as always, automatically shut off with the dawn. He picked up the empty beer cans from the night before and tossed them into a bag.

Devon decided to take a walk on the shore. He enjoyed the calm air, walking along in a green sweater and dark brown pants. He didn’t find any new treasure, but made a mental note to head back to the mainland some day soon to check in with the museum again.

Finding little pieces of treasure was surprisingly common. Many ships had met their end or had been damaged by the rocks and the elements around these parts, spilling out their cargo into the ocean. In many cases, that cargo included little pieces of jewelry, coins, or other valuables. The ocean claimed them and occasionally deposited some off on the island like a gift, a little “thank you” for allowing the waves to crash up against the rocks.

But in any case there was nothing to find, so Devon went back inside and read a book to pass the time. The day slid by without event. Devon didn’t even realize how much time had passed until he looked up from his book to find that the sun was setting on the horizon, a dark orange glow enveloping the landscape. Sliding his bookmark in between the pages, he clapped the book shut and stood up. He was about to head upstairs to the radio room, but something made him pause. He turned toward the large desk, his eyes landing on the leather-bound journal. He pulled the chair out and sat back down, opening the journal up to last night’s entry.

It read “No ships. Saw an orange streak across the sky. A meteor? Maybe there was a local meteor shower. I should research it next time I head to the mainland.”

Looking over his entry, Devon couldn’t ascribe any real importance to the meteor. He didn’t understand why he had even bothered to mention it. He scanned over the black letters that came from his hand, waiting for some kind of enlightenment to rise up from them. But nothing came, so Devon closed the book and climbed to the radio room. After he performed his nightly ritual, he headed up to the light room for the second night in a row.

The sun sank slowly, and darkness cast its spell over the land. The orange light eventually faded, and all that was left was a dark blue glow mixed with blackness. Devon stood at the massive window, watching it all unfold. Once everything sank into shadow, a low hissing could be heard from across the room. One loud clunk later, and the massive beacon switched on, beginning its rotation. As Devon stood there, he heard the first few unmistakable drops and saw them splat against the window. Gradually it picked up speed, escalating from a steady drizzle to a downpour.

Its sound was soothing. There was no thunder this time, no lightning. It was an old-fashioned rain storm. The wind whistled quietly as it passed through the lighthouse windows. Devon stood at those windows for some time, gazing out at the rain, enveloped in an atmosphere of isolation. Eventually he walked around the room, did some checks on the machinery, then went downstairs, heading off to sleep in his little cot.

 

A faint noise awoke Devon in the night. Groggy and uncertain, he glanced over at the clock on the bed table. Everything was out of focus for a moment, but when his eyes adjusted, he could read the clock. It was after midnight, closer to one. The rain had stopped. Rubbing his eyes, Devon sat up in his bed, listening to the noise off in the distance.

At first he thought it might just be the wind, but then he realized that the sound was too defined for that. He strained his ears, but couldn’t discern its origin. It was intermittent and high-pitched. He sat there for several minutes, shutting out all other senses to focus on the sound. It didn’t have a consistent pattern to it. It jumped around, often going for several seconds before stopping, only to start up again moments later. And sometimes it would cease altogether for nearly a half-minute before his ears would pick up on it again.

He got up off the bed, standing still in the darkness, feeling an unearthly chill run over him. He stealthily tip-toed forward, afraid that if he was too loud the noise would stop. He blinked for a moment, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness. Gradually, the faint outline of the wooden door slunk into view. He placed a shaky hand on the gray knob and pulled the door open.

When Devon stepped out into the stairwell, he was immediately overwhelmed. The sound was much louder now, and it was unmistakably the sound of someone weeping. The tower was a natural amplifier, making it impossible to determine where it was coming from. It echoed all over the place, cries overlapping with cries.

It sounded like a child. But there weren’t any children here. No one else was on this island at night except for Devon. No one living anyway.

Devon leaned over the railing, looking down then up. But he couldn’t tell if the sound was coming from above or below him. The echoes swarmed his mind, making it impossible to concentrate. Devon shivered, fear crawling over his skin. He had faced stormy nights. He had faced power outages. But this, this was something different, something incomprehensible.

The faint night breeze came in through the tower windows, ruffling Devon’s hair and chilling him to the bone. He spun around rapidly. The crying was everywhere, a ceaseless cacophony. Giving in to a primal instinct, Devon jumped back into his room and slammed the door shut behind him. He backed away from it, staring with wide eyes. From in here the crying was indistinct, but it still faintly rang in his eardrums.

Devon didn’t believe in ghosts. He had no time for such superstitious nonsense. But now, staring at the faded wooden door in front of him, Devon found himself doubting his beliefs on the matter. He felt like a little boy again, scared of the dark, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown.

He laid down in his bed, pulling the blanket over him. He plunged his head into the pillow and scrunched his eyes shut, trying to shut out the crying. It kept going and going throughout the night, shifting in volume at times but always present. Devon almost pulled the blanket up over his head, but his pride and dignity forbade him from doing that. He was a man in his forties after all, not a six-year-old child who wanted the lights kept on.

Eventually, the noise ceased. Devon opened his eyes, laying on his back, and stared at the ceiling for several minutes. The sound never resumed, and Devon felt relief. He turned on his side to look at the clock. According to the hands, it was past three in the morning. Devon groaned aloud, and turned over. Closing his eyes, he finally drifted off into sleep.

 

“No ships”.

That was all Devon recorded in the log. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he had been afraid last night, as he stood alone in the stairwell. The crying really got to him. But he couldn’t understand why. He still believed there had to be an explanation for it. He was reluctant to turn to the supernatural, but it was something he was forced to consider.

He tried chalking it up to being a bad dream. But that didn’t work, because in his mind he knew it couldn’t have been. It was far too vivid in his mind to be a mere figment. Devon shook his head as he sat at his desk, staring at the old white wall. There was no point in dwelling on it now.

Devon slipped on his boots and climbed the stairs to the light room. He examined the Sun Valve and the beacon, finding each in working order. He climbed down the stairs to the boiler room. The rusted bronze machine seemed to sneer at him, menacingly shrouded in the shadows. Devon quickened his pace up the stone steps and out the door.

He stood outside, looking at the overcast sky. Damn it, he thought, get a hold of yourself. There’s no such thing as ghosts. But his reassurances sounded hollow. He vowed to get to the bottom of it. He had wanted to take another trip to the mainland to ask about those gold coins.

 

When Devon stepped off the boat, the sounds of the town reached his ears. It was late morning in Colwyn, the hustle and bustle of the market at its peak. People milled about the streets, carrying baskets of fruit and vegetables. Children and adults strolled down the cobblestone walkways, laughing and chattering, their shoes clicking against the stone. It felt good to be around other people again.

Devon headed straight for the museum, which was just off the main avenue, nestled in a shady corner of the city. It was an old, red brick building two stories high. Small black windows dotted the exterior, and an ancient fountain stood out front. Stone swans stood in the fountain, reaching their beaks up to try and drink the water.

Devon walked up to the double doors at the front of the building. They were bright, shiny brown with bronze knobs. He pushed them open and stepped in to a warmer climate. The interior of the museum wasn’t much to look at, red brick walls lined with different kinds of exhibits. The key gimmick of the museum was that all the exhibits had something to do with the town or at least had some kind of connection to it. Devon smiled to himself when he saw distinctive, familiar pieces of jewelry and coins glinting various shades of gold, green, and red. His little service to the community.

A large wooden reception desk sat to the left of the doorway. As Devon approached, a small, old man with wiry gray hair looked up. When his green eyes laid upon Devon, he stood up with a smile, and walked out from behind the desk.

“Ah Devon my boy!” His Irish accent was obvious.

“Hello Sean,” Devon said with a smile, and the two embraced each other. Devon had known Sean Campbell all his life. Sean had been a young man when Devon was born, and used to babysit him when his parents were away. He was a mentor of sorts, guiding him through life.

Sean was dressed in a tweed vest with long brown pants. He was the spitting image of a professor, which was indeed his former occupation. He used to teach history at a college, but retired back here to his home town of Colwyn and took up the museum as his pet project. Devon would have loved to have him as a teacher when he was going to school. He was that rare sort of professor who genuinely cared about what he taught and challenged his students to go above and beyond. He was loved by all who took his class, although Devon suspected that was mainly because he didn’t believe in giving out tests. He considered them a waste of time, only good at showing how well students could regurgitate his lectures.

Even in old age, Sean carried with him an air of authority. He pushed the small, gray glasses back onto his eyes and motioned Devon to follow him.

“So what can I do for you today son,” he asked.

“Well I have some coins for you to look at. I was going to show them to you a couple days ago, but when I came by the museum was closed.”

“We had an incident. Some kids broke into the museum the night before and stole some of those jewels you brought me. They didn’t realize I was upstairs, and when I came down to investigate the noise, they bolted out the window they came in.”

“How much did they get away with,” Devon asked.
“Not much,” Sean replied. “At the very least, I have things of similar value so the only loss here is historical. In any case, I doubt they’ll show up here again.”

Sean seemed calm despite the theft. That was his nature. He carried himself with an almost zen-like aura. Hardly anything bothered him. He was Devon’s role model in that sense, gliding through life with the ease of a monk.

“Anyways I closed down the museum that day so I could inventory everything I lost. Who knows, the jewels might show up again someday. A man can only hope,” Sean said with a light smile. “But enough about that. Show me these coins.”

Devon reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the two golden coins he had found on the shore. Sean took them from his hands and walked over to a small table with a magnifying glass strapped to a stand. He slid the coins under it and carefully examined them, paying close attention to the inlaid patterns on one side.

“Well these are definitely of Spanish origin. I would guess somewhere around the sixteenth century.”

Sean flipped one of the coins over and looked at the face on the other side.

“This image is obviously of someone in the aristocracy. His clothing tells me that he was very prominent in the hierarchy, perhaps even a member of the Spanish royal family.”

“Can you tell which ship it might have come from,” Devon asked.

“It’s possible, although highly unlikely. There are several Spanish ships which were wrecked on Demon’s Rock, and those are just the ones we know about.”

Sean motioned Devon to follow him again, and they headed up the large wooden stairs. The second floor of the museum was a different beast altogether. Instead of fancy jewels and treasures, it contained models of various shipwrecks, from large cargo ships to small passenger boats. In the middle of the room, there was a scale model version of the lighthouse Devon worked in. The lighthouse had been a fixture of Colwyn for over a century. Sean always liked to remind him of that whenever they spoke, to tell him how lucky he was to work there. It was his way of trying to alleviate the growing depression inside Devon. Devon appreciated the gesture, but it only made him feel worse.

Sean walked among the scale models of shipwrecks, examining the golden plaques inlaid on each exhibit stand. After he had examined a few, he shook his head and turned back toward Devon.

“It’ll be next to impossible to figure out which of these buggers held those coins. At least half the Spanish wrecks here were carrying gold coins, all from the same basic time period. Not that it really matters in the end, but it would have been nice to know.”

“Indeed,” was all Devon said. He stepped up to the scale model of the lighthouse, and studied it for a moment in silence. Sean walked up beside him and stood there staring at the model as well.

“So are you going to say it or should I? It’s obvious there’s something else on your mind son, so spit it out.”

“You always were perceptive old man,” Devon said with a light smile. He stood silent for a moment, trying to think of the best way to broach the topic.

“Have there ever been reports of…unusual activity in the lighthouse?”

“How do you mean,” Sean inquired.

“Well has anyone ever reported…strange noises at night? Noises that shouldn’t be there?”

Sean turned his attention away from the model lighthouse and studied Devon for a moment. He knew something was up. But he also knew better than to push. Devon would speak of it when he felt like it. He’d been that way ever since he was a teenager.

“I’ve lived around here for a long time, and I’ve known some of the previous keepers. I was well acquainted with the others that used to serve with you, Drake and…and…hmm blast it what was the name of that other boy?”

“James,” Devon answered.

“Ah yes James! He was a fine lad. A bit quiet but one of the nicest souls I ever met. None of the previous keepers or James or Drake ever mentioned anything about noises.”

“You know the lighthouse’s history well, right?”

Sean fixed him with a steely stare.

“Son, it’s my business to catalog the history of this town, good and bad. So of course I know the history of that lighthouse. I know it like the back of my hand. And I can tell you that I’ve never heard of any ‘noises’ in the night, nor did any of the keepers write anything in their journals.”

“But is it possible that the keepers just…left it out of their journals? Maybe they didn’t want people to know they were hearing things,” Devon said, thinking back to his journal entry for last night.

“What exactly have you got in your head?”

“Nothing nothing. It’s just a thought I was having. I was curious to see if there was anything unusual in the lighthouse’s history.” It was a bad lie, and they both knew it.

When Devon left the museum a half hour later, instead of feeling relieved he felt more anxious than ever. The news that there was no recorded hauntings or ghosts should have been cathartic, but it wasn’t. Devon’s boots clicked on the cobblestones as he walked with his head low, lost in thought.

A part of him still wouldn’t let him chalk it up to a bad dream. It felt so vivid and defined, whereas dreams are normally murky and incoherent. Devon was frustrated. He was so used to having the answers at his fingertips. But this time, he felt lost and confused. He wasn’t sure if he had just hallucinated it or not.

The two small coins clinked together in his pocket, diverting his train of thought back to the last thing Sean had said to him. He had told Devon to keep the coins with him in the lighthouse, because he wasn’t sure if the thieves would come back. He figured they wouldn’t, but he wanted to be safe.

Despite the events of the day, it had been nice to catch up with his old friend again. It was only when he left the harbor and was on his way back to the lighthouse that his thoughts drifted back toward the mysterious crying. If the crying was just a bad dream, then he wouldn’t hear it again tonight. The thought filled him with hope.

But if he did hear it…then he would have to open himself up to considerations more sinister.

 

His sleep was disturbed. Devon’s eyes snapped open to a dark room, and when he tilted his head to read the clock, he saw that the hands pointed at one and ten. Laying there, he focused his attention, trying to detect whatever it was that had pulled him from his slumber. It emerged from the darkness like a phantom. From inside the little room it sounded so far off, but he knew if he opened that door the noise would become overwhelming, vibrating through the tower like it was a gigantic tuning fork. The mere thought of it made Devon shiver.

He lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling. With every faint cry, his soul shuddered and withdrew. Devon had never felt anything quite like it before, an intense and palpable fear. It was so strange and otherworldly that he couldn’t even find the right words to describe it. It was deep, so deep that it tapped into parts of Devon he hadn’t known existed, or that he had buried. As a child he had a terrible fear of darkness, more so than other kids. It was debilitating for a long time before he finally conquered it. But now, he felt like that child again.

The crying seemed to be growing softer, but at the same time more intense. Devon had never felt quite so isolated. He was alone in the lighthouse most of the time, day and night, but right now he felt that sensation of solitude more than ever. He couldn’t call anyone for help, not that he would, fearful for the sake of his pride and dignity. But the simple thought of not having that option rattled him to the core.

And so Devon did the only thing he could. He pulled the covers up around his neck and laid his head back down on the pillow. He closed his eyes and tried shutting out the noise coming from beyond the door. It was a long time before he succeeded.

 

When Devon pulled himself out of bed the next morning, he still felt tired. He walked over to his desk and picked up the mirror. For a split second, he almost didn’t recognize the man looking back at him. He seemed older. His eyes were sunken and dull, even with the light of the sun shining on one half of his face.

“I can’t keep this up forever,” Devon muttered to himself.

Setting the mirror back down, Devon pulled out the journal, scribbled “no ships” under yesterday’s date, and went about his morning routine. He climbed up the black spiral stairs, examined the sun valve and the beacon, then made his way back down to the bedroom. As he was slipping on his working clothes, a faint rumble suddenly reached his ears. He ran to the window. There he saw Patrick O’Neill disembarking from a boat with his son Charlie. He had forgotten they were stopping by today at around noon. Hastily, he grabbed the clock from his bedside and looked at it. With shock, he realized that it was already twelve-thirty.

Quickly dressing, Devon ran out the door and bounded down the staircase. It wasn’t like he needed to hurry, but he was always one for punctuality and dependability. The fact that he had slept longer than he meant to rubbed on him, irritated him. It was silly, but he couldn’t help it.

He jogged past the boiler and up into the little shed. He stopped at the door, collected himself, and strolled out into the sunlight with an air of purpose and authority. Patrick and Charlie were coming up the stone steps toward the lighthouse. Devon simply nodded at them, covering his shakiness under a mask of calm.

Patrick was an older man, not quite Devon’s age, but close. He had black hair and blue eyes. He wore a small, gray beret on his head, and a light brown jacket with a button pocket on the front. The most noticeable thing about Patrick, indeed the very thing one noticed about the man right away, is that he walked with a slight limp. An accident with a car some years ago was to blame.

By contrast, Charlie had light brown hair with matching hazel eyes. He was wearing a gray jacket with blue jeans. Charlie was not the spitting image of his father Patrick. In fact, they didn’t really look anything like each other. There was one simple explanation for that: Charlie was adopted. His biological parents died when he was but two years old, and Patrick had found him living in a dingy orphanage in London. Since then Patrick was the only father Charlie had ever known.

They walked up to the front of the lighthouse, and Devon shook hands with Patrick.

“Nice to see you again Patrick,” Devon said.

“Good to see you too.” Despite being Irish, Patrick didn’t have much of an accent.

Patrick stepped past Devon and went down the stairs into the boiler room. Always straight to business, Devon thought to himself as he followed him down the stairs, glancing behind him at Charlie, who was holding up the rear. Charlie was staring at the ground as he walked. He always seemed quiet and reserved when Patrick was present, Devon had noticed. He figured that was due to his father’s fiery personality.

Patrick and Devon used to be close friends, a long time ago. But ever since the accident that left him with a limp, Patrick had grown grouchy and irritable. His fuse had been snipped, and the tiniest of things would set him off. Because of that, Devon had spent less and less time around the man. They only met each other for business these days.

Stepping down into the boiler room, Devon saw Patrick looking up at the ceiling, scanning his head around the room. He ran a finger down the wall, and it came back coated with dust. When his eyes met the old, bronze boiler in the dark part of the room, he grimaced.

“We really should get rid of that,” he muttered. “What a waste of space.”

He went on in this way for a minute, examining walls and the floor until Devon finally chimed in.

“So then, any big news?”

“No, nothing of importance,” he said, barely paying attention.

“What exactly are you looking for Patrick?”

Patrick didn’t respond, but Devon had a good idea what he was doing. He had suspected for some time that Patrick was looking for an excuse to let him go. Patrick was more concerned with his money than anything, and Devon had become an unnecessary drain on it. The last few times Patrick had shown up here, he had behaved in this way, closely examining everything like he had a magnifying glass. It seemed like he was hoping Devon would screw something up. Then he would have an excuse to let him go early. But Devon was too good at his job.

Devon didn’t hate Patrick, and he assumed that Patrick didn’t hate him either. It was just one of those things in life. Neither of them really wanted it to happen, but it did. They drifted apart, and now they were little more than business associates.

“The boiler room looks good, albeit dusty,” Patrick said. “But I don’t suppose there would really be much purpose to cleaning it up, now that the entire place runs on gas.”

“I would agree with you on that,” Devon replied.

“Now, I’m gonna go check out the…get your hands off of that!” Charlie, out of curiosity, had run his hand along the cold metal of the boiler. Patrick caught him and scolded him loudly, causing Charlie to jerk his hand back in fright. Devon shook his head.

“Was that really necessary Pat? The kid meant no harm. He’s just curious,” Devon suggested.

Patrick turned toward him with an icy stare. The black strands of his hair seemed to snake their way out from under his beret, slinking down in front of his blue eyes. His mouth curled into a sour grimace. Devon decided it was best not to push the matter and remained silent. Patrick turned and started limping toward the staircase.

“I’m going to do my check of the light room,” he shouted back. “I’m sure there’s nothing to be seen, but you can’t fault redundancy!” He was quick to cover his anger.

The stairs clanged awkwardly due to Patrick’s unusual gait. As the sound got more and more distant, Devon noticed a change in Charlie. His eyes seemed brighter now, and he no longer sat staring at the floor.

“I’m sorry about that my boy. Your father just likes things to be done in a particular way, that’s all,” Devon reassured him.

“Oh I know,” Charlie said. “I live with the old man after all.”

Devon trotted over to the boiler, and banged his hand against it.

“Would you believe that this thing was the only source of power for this entire lighthouse at one point? Now it just sits here, rusting away into nothing…” he trailed off, gazing deeply into the faded bronze finish.

Charlie knew what Devon was thinking. He had heard his adopted father talking about firing him, although he always called it “letting him go” as if it was a favor. Charlie felt bad for him. Devon had always seemed like an impressive man, standing about half a foot taller than him. But his eyes seemed faded and listless these days. Depression had made its nest, but there was something else, something Charlie had seen the moment they walked up the stairs. But he had waited until his father was out of earshot to bring it up.

“Devon, there’s something I want to ask you. Is there…something else going on with you lately? You seem more tired than usual.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well these past couple of nights. I’ve been…hearing things.” Devon found it strange that he talked so freely around Charlie.

“What kind of things,” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know how to describe it. Some kind of…crying. It echoes all over the lighthouse late at night, and for some reason, it frightens me to no end. I don’t even know what it is, a ghost or what. But for the past two nights it has woken me up.”

And before he knew it, Devon was revealing things he had never told anyone save his parents.

“It makes me feel like I’m a little boy again. When I was really young, I had a paralyzing fear of darkness. It was terrible and made it almost impossible for me to sleep without some kind of light. I used to cling to stuffed animals for support.” Devon chuckled. “I bet you didn’t expect that, a man like me, afraid of the dark, jumping at shadows and strange noises. I must seem like a fool.”

“On the contrary Devon, I find it mighty brave of you to even admit that. You’re so different from Patrick. He’ll never admit to being frustrated or afraid or…anything really. He just bottles it all up inside until it bursts out. I worry about his health, all that stress. Sometimes I think he uses his leg as an excuse to not take care of himself. The only thing he cares about is having me take over the family business. He wants me to be in charge of the lighthouse when he’s gone, but all I want to do is paint. I love drawing, I love sitting out on the waterfront sketching the ships that go by. But he’ll never understand…”

In that moment, looking at the young boy, Devon realized that the two of them were more alike than he thought. A couple of decades apart in age, and they were experiencing a similar crisis in life. Both of them, wanting to pursue their own interests and live out their lives the way they wanted to, but being denied the chance.

After a little while, Devon heard the limping footsteps on the stairs.

“Son, can you do me a favor? Don’t tell Patrick any of what I said to you,” he pleaded. “If he finds out, he’d finally have an excuse to fire me on the spot. He’ll chalk it up to a case of the ‘crazies’.”

Charlie smiled. “Don’t worry Devon, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank you,” Devon whispered, and nodded. Just then Patrick came around the corner, groaning as he limped forward.

“Damn gimpy leg,” he cursed. “Well Devon, everything is in tip-top shape it seems. Now, there’s another matter I wanted to discuss with you.” Devon felt his muscles tighten. “There’s no sense beating around the bush on this one. I’m sure you’ve suspected it for some time.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“No no…at least not yet. But I figured I should give you fair warning. Things are in the works, and you’ll receive a fair severance package. Now don’t look so gloomy,” he said, noticing Devon’s downcast face. “You’ll be set for life, never having to work another day for as long as you live! Be happy that you served your community so well for all these years. You deserve a rest.”

Patrick began limping toward the door, motioning for Charlie to come along. Charlie seemed stilted and awkward again, briefly glancing at Devon with no expression before walking up the stairs. Patrick turned back toward Devon.

“I’ll get back to you when I have a specific date for the end of your tenure. But until then, keep up the good work!”

And with that, Patrick made his way up the stone steps and out the door. The door shut behind them, leaving Devon alone in the boiler room with only a buzzing, dim overhead light for company. Water dripped from pipes inside the wall, creating a tinny plonking noise. Devon gazed at the old, rusted boiler, tucked away and forgotten. He stared into the glass thermometer on it, and saw himself in the reflection. After a silent minute, Devon turned away and walked back up the stairs.

 

It was like clockwork. Each night, Devon would find himself awake in bed after midnight, listening to the faint crying echoing through the lighthouse. There was no rational explanation for it. Even his efforts to open himself up to more extravagant explanations had failed.

He had traveled to the mainland a couple of times to do research. There were no records of any mysterious deaths in the lighthouse, least of which the death of a child. There was no trace of any supernatural or strange events occurring in the lighthouse at all. Devon had gone back to the very beginning of its construction, and still nothing.

On the sixth night of the insidious noise, Devon finally decided he’d had enough. He threw off the light blanket and steeled his nerves. Slipping on his boots, Devon stomped out of the bedroom door. Outside his tiny sanctuary, the noise was almost too much. It emanated from all directions, pinging off the rounded walls of the tower. It overlapped with itself, creating a distorted and eerie echo. Devon looked up toward the light room, then leaned over the railing and looked down toward the boiler room. He had no clue where it could be coming from. But on a hunch, he decided to continue up the tower rather than down.

As he started his climb, his ears detected a strange undercurrent to the noise which grew more apparent the higher he got. It was a strange sort of buzzing, a hissing that seemed to be behind the crying. He was heading in the right direction. His hunch had paid off.

He drew closer and closer to the top. The odd hissing droned on, growing louder and louder as he climbed the tower. And that’s when he realized what it was. His mind spun, flashed back to his nightly ritual. The old brass dial, the dusty speaker, the standing black microphone…it all clicked inside his head to form a perfect picture.

The sound was coming from the old ham radio.

He stepped onto the landing, and strolled through the open doorway into the radio room. As he thought, the crying was much more pronounced here, and was definitely coming from the radio. It no longer echoed madly around in his ears, but finally shrank down to one point. Whoever was on the other side of the transmission sounded miserable. The crying was deep and intense, coming through the radio in waves that would spike at any given moment. This wasn’t a recording. This was the genuine article.

Devon sat down in the small chair in front of the radio, and just stared at it. As the crying went on, the speaker occasionally crackled, distorting the sound. He reached over toward the dial and looked at the frequency. It was just as he left it, tuned to the frequency used by captains. He shifted the frequency to see what would happen. To his horror, the crying was on every frequency he tried. The transmission must be so powerful that it eclipses the transmissions on all these frequencies, he thought to himself. He was too tired to think more of it.

Nevertheless, it was time to find out who was on the other end of the line. Devon picked up the microphone in a shaky hand, and pressed his finger down on the transmit button.

“He…hello? Who’s there?”

Almost immediately the crying ceased. There was a brief moment of silence before a child’s voice, as clear as a bell, came through the speaker.

“Is someone there,” the voice asked. From Devon’s estimation, he couldn’t be more than eight years old.

“Son, my name is Devon Woolfe. I’m the keeper of the Sharp Point lighthouse.”

“Light…house?”

“Yes, the lighthouse. Do you need help?”

“Where is everybody? I just want to go home…”

“Where are you kiddo? Can you describe where you are?”

“I do not know…it is cold and dark, so dark…”

He began to whimper quietly. Devon wasn’t sure what to say. He had no way of knowing how far away he was or even where to start looking. But he knew he had to do something.

“Listen, stay calm…I know things seem bad now, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here…please don’t cry. I’ll stay with you.”

“You…you mean it,” he sniffled.

“Of course I do.”

“Th..thank you…it is just really scary here right now.”

“Now, is there anything you can tell me about how you got where you are?”

“The last thing I remember is blackness…and then I was here.”

Devon sighed to himself. This was going to be next to impossible.

“Will you be my friend,” the voice asked.

“Only if you’ll be mine,” Devon teased.

“Why would I not be?” Apparently he didn’t understand the joke.

“I was just teasing…of course I’ll be your friend.”

“Thank you.” There was a brief pause. “I have to go now. I am tired. Goodbye.”

“Wait…hello…hello?!”

But it was no use. He was already gone.

Devon sat there in stunned silence for a few moments, trying his best to comprehend what had just transpired. But his eyes began drooping on him, and he was forced to retire for the night.

He made his way back down the spiral stairs. Each step was tired and slow, and it seemed like ages before he finally made it back down to his bedroom. He pulled open the wooden door and entered, closing it behind him. He unbuckled his boots, shrugged them off, and climbed into bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was gone.

 

The next day Devon had planned to make his way over to the mainland in order to do some more investigation, hoping to figure out who or where this child was. But the moment his eyes opened, the pattering that reached his ears was a sign. There would be no traveling on the water today, and the loud peal of thunder moments later confirmed his assessment.

Devon rose out of bed and quickly shut his bedroom window. A puddle of water sloshed around his feet as he stepped away, soaking into the white floor. Slipping on his boots, Devon climbed the staircase to the light room. Outside, nature was furious. The wind whipped around the building, ferociously whistling. The waves crashed against the rocks, and the clouds were ominous and dark. Devon strained his eyes, but couldn’t make out any hint of the mainland.

His investigation would have to wait.

The storm was relentless, raging throughout the entire day. Devon consigned himself to reading a book, taking a chair up with him to the light room. He tried bringing up the child on the radio again, but couldn’t find any sign of him.

And so he settled in with his book, the giant beacon of light swinging by him every so often. His entire day was spent reading, glancing up from time to time to check on the weather conditions. They barely changed throughout the day. The wind rose and fell just like the waves, but it never ceased howling. The rain smashed against the lighthouse hard. Devon could hear the pinging and the pattering coming from all over as water met metal and stone. At one point he attempted to venture outside just to see how bad it was. The wooden door nearly slammed him back into the lighthouse as he tried to push it open. He didn’t venture beyond the doorway, but rather stood against the door as the rain and wind battered him. He retreated inside and went back to reading.

As night fell, the storm continued on. Sliding a bookmark into the pages of his book, he clasped it shut and stood up, stretching. He felt restless. He wanted to do something about the child on the other end of the radio, but with the storm outside he was trapped. A very real sense of isolation crept into his heart, and for the first time Devon wanted to be anywhere but the lighthouse. He felt like an animal in a cage.

He walked downstairs to the radio room. The hissing static did little to calm him, and so Devon was forced to abandon his nightly ritual early. He crept downstairs and slid into bed, but he didn’t fall asleep. He lay awake for hours, waiting. Time crept by slowly as he stared at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at the bedside clock. First it was ten. Then eleven. Then twelve. When the clock had nearly struck one, he heard what he had been waiting for.

“Hello? Hello?” The child’s voice called to him like a Siren.

Devon jumped out of bed and raced up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He sat himself down in the tiny wooden chair in front of the radio and picked up the microphone.

“Yes I’m here. Are you okay?”

“I am fine. It is just so lonely here. You are the only friend I have,” the child said. His voice seemed so innocent and serene.

But doubt crept into Devon’s mind. Something was not normal about all of this. As he read his book throughout the day, he found his thoughts constantly drifting back to the conversation he had with the child the night before. With a good amount of sleep and clarity of mind, Devon realized a few things that seemed odd.

He was particularly perturbed by the way the child just ended the conversation so suddenly. Devon began to wonder if the child was somewhere against his will, like he had been kidnapped. But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered him.

Some of the child’s mannerisms were odd. His sentence structure was a little strange, and something called Devon’s attention as his mind went over that brief and strange conversation. The child didn’t use any contractions in his sentences. Instead of “I’m”, he would say “I am”. Instead of “it’s”, “it is”. It wasn’t something Devon had considered before, but in retrospect it stuck out like a sore thumb.

But no matter how much ruminating he did on the subject, he was left more confused than enlightened. More to the point, Devon was beating himself up over the fact that he didn’t discover that the crying was coming from the radio sooner. If this kid was really in trouble, Devon’s fearfulness had put him in even more danger the longer time passed.

Their conversation continued much like the last one, as a sort of question and answer session. But then the child asked a question that gave Devon pause.

“Friend Devon, what is a light house?”

Devon blinked for a moment in disbelief. “What,” he sputtered.

“You said something about a light house before. What is a light house?”

“Haven’t you ever seen one of those big towers with a spinning light at the top?”

“No.”

“Well when you do see one of those, that’s a lighthouse. We used it to guide people to safety in dangerous areas.”

“Do you not anymore?”

“No we do it’s just…well…it’s complicated. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime.”

“I look forward to it friend Devon.”

How did he not know what a lighthouse was? Where was he? And why was he calling him “friend Devon” all the time, like some strange formality? Questions swarmed around inside his brain like a bunch of insects, gnawing away at his mind.

“I am sorry, but I am tired again. I have to sleep,” the child said without changing his tone.

And just like before he was gone. The radio hissed.

Devon sat back in his chair and ran back over the conversation in his mind. But like the night before, he had grown too tired to discern anything useful from it. He figured that after he slept, he would be better able to think on it. He headed back down the stairs and climbed into bed. The rain pinged against his bedroom window, lulling him to sleep.

 

The next day the sun shined as Devon woke up, freeing him from his dark and dreary prison. The more he stayed on hand at the lighthouse, the more it reminded him that sometime in the future it would no longer be his to take care of. The thought hit him unexpectedly that morning, and he realized that he hadn’t really focused on it over the last couple of days. The mysterious child had taken his mind off of it, something Devon was strangely grateful for.

He headed over to the mainland with the morning sun gleaming off the calm blue ocean. He hit up the local library again, researching the news to see if he could find any reference to a missing child. It was a long shot at best, but he figured that it was better than wasting his time wondering.

As he predicted, he found nothing after scanning through the archives. So he wasn’t surprised when he found himself drifting towards subjects more occult in nature. Devon hadn’t quite shaken the idea that everything that had been happening to him was otherworldly in nature. He scanned through different books on ghosts and other supernatural entities, but he only found some references to ghosts and radios. And from what he could tell, most ghosts just repeated the same few things over and over again. What he was experiencing was different. Whoever or whatever the child was, he talked to him, responded to him.

Finding nothing, Devon left the mainland feeling a little empty. As he sailed along the waters back toward the lighthouse, he felt like he had failed. The sun was already beginning to set, and he had nothing to show for it. He gazed glumly at the dark orange haze on the horizon, wondering what else he could do. But his mind remained empty.

He continued his conversations with the child, becoming more and more convinced that nothing was what it seemed. The mannerisms grew more bizarre along with the questions. It was almost as if the child had never been alive until that night when the crying began. He knew nothing about modern culture and even once asked what a “car” was. Devon found himself perplexed, and for some odd reason, afraid.

Then one day, everything changed.

 

The sky was overcast that day, setting a grim and foreboding mood, but the weather never took a turn for the worse. With that in mind, Devon decided to take another trip into Colwyn that afternoon. He hadn’t found much progress in his research over the last few days, and was growing more and more frustrated. The boat seemed to pitch up and down to the tune of his troubled mind. He stared ahead, not at his destination, but at some undefined point in the distance, lost in his thoughts.

There was no evidence of this child’s existence anywhere. It was like he was a figment of the imagination, an echo of the unreal. Devon rubbed his forehead with one hand, and drifted backward into the conversation he had with the child the night before.

“Son, what’s your name?”

“My…name?”

“Yes your name.”

“I do not understand friend Devon.”

“You don’t…uh…how do I put this…what do I call you?”

“You can call me ‘friend’.”

“What do you call yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you think of yourself, of who you are, what is that called?”

“I do not understand.”

“Never mind…it’s nothing important.”

“Friend Devon?”

“Yes?”

“What is a ‘name’?”

Lowering his hand from his forehead, Devon recalled how he had just stared at the radio in disbelief. It was as if the child had no real education, like someone had taught him a decent command of English but failed to teach him proper context. But even that seemed like an inadequate explanation for the strangeness.

In any case, Devon continued across the water, tying his boat up at the dock when he arrived. He started down the cobblestone paths, back over toward Sean’s museum, deciding that he would drop in on an old friend once again.

When Devon waltzed through the double doors, Sean was just accepting a donation from some customers: a family with two kids, both boys. Sean nodded at Devon when he walked in, but kept his attention on the family. They thanked him for the tour, and headed toward the door, walking past Devon. Sean slipped the money into a jar he kept below the desk, then walked out to greet him.

“Top of the morning Devon! How are you doing son?”

“I’m fine Sean, thanks for asking. How are things at the museum?”

“Fewer people are coming through these days, but I still get enough patrons to keep me going.”

Sean motioned Devon forward, and they walked down the aisles of exhibits while they chatted.

“Did they ever catch those thieves,” Devon asked.

“That’s a crying shame that one,” Sean shook his head. “They were careful to leave no trace of anything that would lead back to them. The only thing I could give the authorities was a brief glimpse of a tattoo on one of their forearms.”

“What kind of tattoo?”

“Nothing too special. It looked like some kind of snake or something. I didn’t get a good look at it as the thief was climbing through the window at that point.”

“Ah.”

They continued up the stairs, chatting away. When they came to the model of the lighthouse, they stopped. It was then that Devon decided to unveil his ulterior motive.

“I didn’t just come here to catch up with you Sean.”

“I figured as much. You always were easy to read my boy,” Sean smiled, and slapped Devon on the back. Devon chuckled awkwardly.

“Yeah…but in all seriousness, you were interested in radios and broadcasting for a time correct?”

“Yes. It was one of my passions as a young man.”

“Is it…possible for a radio transmission to be broadcast on multiple frequencies?”

“Well, yes it is possible,” Sean said, which sent a wave of relief up Devon’s spine. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” Devon began, “I’ve been having these conversations with someone on the radio, a child. And it seems like his transmission eclipses all others. I’ve turned the dials all over the place and he’s on every single one whenever he decides to broadcast.”

“A child?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm…and you say he’s transmitting across multiple frequencies?”

“Yes…” Devon was getting nervous now.

“Well that complicates things. Usually when someone transmits across multiple frequencies they use something easier to send, such as Morse code. But with an actual voice transmission? That’s a different matter. I suppose it could be done, technically, but you’d need some serious hardware to do it.” Sean stood there scratching his chin for a minute in silence.

“I was hoping we could track the signal or something. I don’t know if this helps, but I wrote down the frequencies I tested on this piece of paper,” Devon said, handing the paper to Sean. Sean took the paper and looked it over for a moment.

“Hmmmm….” he said thoughtfully.

“What, what is it,” Devon asked, unable to mask the fear in his voice.

“You didn’t mention that he was transmitting over multiple bands. Oh my boy, this changes everything.”

“How so?”

“Transmitting over multiple bands like this…with this amount of coverage…Devon it just simply isn’t possible. The amount of power and technology required to produce something like this would be staggering. And as far as I know, no technology like that exists yet.”

Sean slowly turned toward Devon, with a look in his eyes he had never seen. And then, Sean said the words that made his skin crawl.

“At least…no man-made technology…”

 

Shortly after his conversation with Sean, Devon decided to head back to Sharp Point. It would do him little good to do any extra research, knowing what he now knew. But even that was inconclusive. Devon didn’t really know what to make of it all.

The rest of the day was fraught with pondering. The radio, the frequencies, Sean’s analysis…it all jumbled around in his head, and he felt more confused than ever. Devon barely focused on his duties, so ingrained into his mind as they were. Instead, his thoughts were on the child, what he meant, and what he was. Before he headed up to the radio room that night, he scribbled a cryptic journal entry.

“No ships. Not sure what to make of the discovery I made today. Is the child on the radio even real, or am I really losing my mind? Maybe true insanity isn’t being ignorant of it, but knowing that you’re going crazy and being unable to stop it.”

He flipped back over the entries he made over the past week or so. He had begun detailing his conversations with the child, despite the fact that later readers might view him with a curious look in their eyes. It didn’t matter to him. He was going to lose his job anyways, his only purpose in life. Let them think what they will.

After writing his entry, Devon went upstairs to the radio room. He sat in that small chair, staring ahead at the interlaced metal on the speakers, waiting for a long time. The sun set, machinery shut down, and people closed their doors for the night. All the while, Devon sat still in that chair. He felt almost dizzy sometimes, like he was spiraling out of control. He felt like he was going to lose his grip on Earth and fly away like a cast-off insect.

It began to rain later that night. The pattering was steady, but not intense like the other storms. A low boom of thunder sounded in the distance, a companion to his melancholy.

After a long time, the radio sparked to life.

“Friend Devon, are you there?”

Devon didn’t make a move at first, wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. For all he knew he was talking to some evil creature intent on stealing his soul. The microphone seemed to leer at him, taunting him with its dusty black mouth. The crackling static snake coiled like it was ready to strike.

Devon shook his head. No, he thought, I can’t accept that. All that he had heard from this enigmatic voice told him that whatever was on the other line was not a malevolent entity. Somehow, he knew a child of some description was just lonely and reaching out for companionship. Steadying his resolve, Devon gripped the microphone and pressed the button.

“Yes I’m here.”

“It is nice talking to you. I find it comforting.”

Devon sat for a moment before he spoke again.

“I have to ask you a question. Do you remember that first night, when I asked you how you got to where you are? You told me that you couldn’t remember anything. Can you remember anything now?”

“I remember a little friend Devon, but it is blurry and unclear.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

“Green, blue, dark. It was all approaching fast…”

This wasn’t helping. Devon decided to go for a different tack.

“Are you……human?”

“Friend Devon?”

“My name is Devon Woolfe. I am a human being. That is what I call myself. What do you call yourself?”

“I do not understand friend Devon.”

“What would you call yourself? What is the name of your…kind?”

There was a long period of silence. Devon thought that maybe he had offended the child somehow, but soon enough the voice came back.

“I do not understand what being ‘human’ is, nor do I have something to call myself. I do know one thing, friend Devon, and that is that I am not like you, and that this place is not my home.”

How had he not noticed it sooner? It was obvious that the child was strange in some way. Devon even recognized this himself. But his weary spirit and tired mind didn’t make the connection between the odd mannerisms and the child’s non-human nature.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Devon finally asked.

“I was afraid. I was afraid that you would abandon me if I told you that I was not like one of you. I did not want to be alone. Please forgive me.”

The tone of voice coming from the radio’s speaker was so genuine it hurt. Devon was now absolutely certain that whatever this child was, he meant no harm. He was simply that, a scared child with no one to talk to. He was reaching out for someone to help guide him.

A brief whimper came through the speaker.

“Please don’t. You did nothing wrong.”

“You will stay with me?”

Devon thought for a moment. How could he say “yes” when he knew he was going to lose his job soon? The radio was the property of his employer. He held no claim on it.

“For as long as I can,” Devon promised. It was the best he could do.

Somewhere off in the distance, Devon thought he heard something sputter. But when he strained his ears, he detected nothing. So he shrugged it off, chalking it up to the gas generator having a brief hiccup.

Devon began to wonder. For the first time since this whole strange business started, he had an idea. He connected the dots to an explanation he hadn’t thought of before.

“Tell me, friend, when you came here…were you falling?”

“Falling? Yes…yes I was falling. I fell from blackness into a world of green, blue, and darkness. I remember I hit the blue, and it felt cold, yet inviting. It was natural to me, like I belonged. But I was alone here, so I grew scared. I cried and cried, but no one heard me. That is, until you answered me. You came to me. You gave me comfort.”

The flare across the sky that night…Devon almost couldn’t believe it. But his, or its, description was too telling for him not to connect the two. The child was the flare. The child fell from the sky into the ocean.

The concept of it was ridiculous, but it fit what he had experienced. He had made contact with alien life. Devon’s mind swirled, his perception of the world around him changed shape and form so suddenly he almost fell back in his chair. What were his troubles compared to the isolation of a cosmic child? At least he had people. At least he was connected in some way. It was like he had opened a door into a blinding light, a light that engulfed him with knowledge and understanding. It was a strange sensation. He felt like he was floating.

But he was grounded by the thought that he would probably have to abandon this fledgling being so soon after their meeting. He could perhaps purchase another radio, and search for him again, but he had no way of knowing how their connection worked. It could be proximity. It could be wavelength. It could be some random happenstance defect in the radio he was using. It could be Devon specifically.

In any case, Devon didn’t have much time to ponder it when he heard a voice behind him.

“Stand up and put your hands behind your head old man.”

Turning around in his chair, the first thing Devon saw was the glinting silver finish of the magnum. Raising his eyes, he saw the face of a younger male, possibly as young as a teenager. He pointed the gun at Devon, and motioned for him to stand up. Devon slowly stood up from his chair, putting his hands up as requested.

Devon studied the boy. He had short, black hair and eyes of dark hazel. He wore a light, black, coat with black pants. A black box with a speaker on it was clipped to his waist. He seemed shaky, uncertain. His finger twitched on the trigger.

“Now,” the boy’s voice shook slightly, “where is it?”

Devon squinted at him. “What?”

“The treasure old man! Where is it?!”

Devon didn’t understand what he was talking about, but then his eyes were drawn to a tattoo on the boy’s forearm. It was a snake eating its own tail.

This boy was one of the thieves that had hit the museum looking for stuff to steal. Sean had been right about the tattoo. Devon groaned inwardly. His name was on many of the exhibits in that museum. It wouldn’t have taken them long to look him up, and to realize that he sat out here at the lighthouse all alone most of the time. He was an easy target.

“I won’t ask you again! Where is it?”

The treasure had little meaning for Devon. He had no desire for plunder or riches. He just enjoyed giving something back to the community that had treated him so well, that had raised him as a child. And at that moment, looking into the boy’s eyes, Devon decided that the last thing he would do was give up the treasure to a punk.

“Where. Is. The. Treasure,” the boy asked. “Can you even hear me old man?”

Devon stared back at him, saying nothing. Another young male with a black wool hat on appeared behind him.

“Is he saying anything,” the new boy asked.

“No. He’s probably deaf. You know how old people are,” the first boy said.

“You think you’re something don’t you,” Devon snarled.

The two of them turned their heads toward him, taken aback by his sudden burst of anger.

“You think you can just walk in wherever you want, take whatever you want, and no one will care?! Punks like you are all the same, bottom-feeding scumbags who make their livings at the expense of everyone else. You don’t give a damn about what people go through or what their lives are like. No, not as long as you can get what you want from them. Because damn everyone else, you’re all that matters. That sound about right?”

The three of them stood there, staring at each other for a while. Then, before Devon could react, the kid with the gun came to his senses and swung at him, smashing him in the cheek with the butt of the magnum. Devon spiraled backwards into the desk the radio sat on. He nearly collapsed, but managed to hold on to the edge of the desk.

The boy stepped forward and swung again. Devon tried to put a hand up to defend himself, but the gun hit its mark, striking him across the face. He collapsed to the ground and spat out blood, the funky taste of copper filling his mouth. He glared up at the hoodlum, who sneered back at him.

“Tell us old man, tell us where you hid it!”

He smacked Devon with the gun again, forcing him onto his stomach. The kid stood over him, holding the gun to the back of Devon’s head. He pulled back the hammer, cocking it. Death stared Devon right in the face.

“Stop! I found something.”

Devon and the kid turned to look. The other kid had opened the small storage closet and discovered the false back. He held up the two coins with a smirk on his face. The armed kid turned back toward Devon and pressed the gun deeper into his neck.

“Now, tell me where the rest is.”

“There is nothing else.”

“Liar,” he screamed, kicking Devon in the chest.

“Listen punk,” Devon gasped. “There is nothing else. I give it away after I find it. The only reason I have those is because you broke into the museum you morons!”

“Shut up,” the boy yelled, raising the gun for another swing.

“Leave him alone,” a voice suddenly commanded.

The two young boys looked around, confused. Devon knew what it was right away. He had left the transmit button on the radio pressed down. It must have gotten stuck, and transmitted the entire incident as it happened.

“Who the hell…” the gun-less boy muttered.

There was a flurry of footsteps. Two more kids with black hats and tattoos entered the room.

“Hey did you hear that? Something came over the walkie-talkies,” one of them said, holding up another black box with a speaker in it.

“Leave. Him. Alone,” the child said again, his voice suddenly full of menacing authority.

The boy with the gun turned toward the ham radio. He leaned on the desk, squinting at the little gray box. After a few moments, he chuckled.

“What is this, some kind of joke,” he asked Devon, turning toward him. Devon said nothing.

“You need to leave. Now,” the child said over the radio.

The boy leaned into the microphone.

“I don’t know where you are, but we’re not leaving until your old man here tells us where the rest of the treasure is.” He turned back toward his comrades. “Can you believe this?”

“Leave, or you will regret it” the radio crackled.

“You got guts kid,” the boy grabbed the microphone, “but I don’t care. Now tell your old man to be nice or else we’ll come find you. And we won’t be nice to you. In fact, we’ll be real nasty. You wouldn’t want that, would you Devon?” The punk sneered at him.

Two of the others walked over and pulled Devon to his feet. The armed punk placed the barrel of his gun against Devon’s forehead. But before he could say anything, all of them were enveloped in a strange screeching noise. It pierced their ears, driving its way into their brains. The two kids let go of Devon and grabbed their heads. Devon stumbled backwards into the wall and put his hands against his ears, sliding down onto the floor.

“What is that,” one of them screamed.

The young thieves fell to their knees, and the screeching suddenly stopped. Devon took his hands away from his ears. And then, he had a plan. He seized the opportunity, slowly returning to his feet.

“You have no idea do you,” he said to the armed boy, who watched him with fear in his eyes. “You have no idea what this lighthouse is.”

Devon flashed him a wicked grin.

“There are places in this world that are dangerous, but not in ways that you can see. These areas are enveloped with supernatural energy. This entire lighthouse is infused with it. You can feel it in the air if you open yourself up.” Devon drew closer to the armed youth and lowered his voice to a whisper, concocting his story like a mad artist. “You want to know why? You want to know what lies underneath this lighthouse, in the deepest depths of the rocks below?”

“Wh….wha…..what,” the punk asked, eyes wide and shaking.

“A gate,” Devon said with a devilish smile. “A gate straight into the lowest levels of hell. And it’s waiting for you…”

Devon’s eyes rolled upward, and he collapsed to the ground twitching and seizing. His mouth moved, but only loud gibberish came out. He drooled and spat all over the floor, in the throes of some kind of seizure. White foam spewed from his lips, pooling on the floor in front of him. The thieves rapidly backed away in fear.

“What the hell is this,” one of them shouted over Devon’s incoherent babbling.

“Who cares,” shouted the one with the gun. “Just run!

And with that, the thieves ran from the lighthouse screaming like frightened children. A minute later a far off-door slammed, echoing along the tower walls. Devon’s gibberish slowly turned into triumphant laughter. Moments later, off in the distance, a sputtering motor started up and moved away from the lighthouse.

He sat listening for a moment. The motor receded into the distance, and only the light pattering of the rain remained. He chuckled to himself.

“Idiots.”

 

The next morning Devon awoke, sore and exhausted. His body ached from the events of the night before. But he was alive. He had the child to thank for that.

The child tethered himself to Devon. He needed him because he had no one of his kind to give him comfort, to give him warmth or guidance. Devon knew about loneliness, but he could barely begin to fathom the isolation the child was feeling.

Devon knew what the day would bring. Today was the scheduled day for Patrick and Charlie to pay another visit, and he knew that would only mean one thing: his termination. Patrick had said the last time he was here that he was still sorting things out. Devon could only assume that at this point, he would now know the destined date, the date he would have to abandon the child and leave.

It was strange. Devon hadn’t considered having children, the thought never crossed his mind at any point in his life. But the events of the last week or so had awoken a strange fatherly feeling in him. He wanted to protect this child, to keep him safe. Devon felt like it was his duty, his purpose. But now, it was all slipping away from him.

He slowly pulled on his boots, not eager to begin his day. Slipping into a jacket, Devon stepped to the window of his bedroom. Looking down, he caught sight of a boat skimming across the gleaming water. It was time to face his fate.

As he descended the stairs, his steps sounded like a funeral dirge, a sad meeting of rubber and metal. Losing his job was nothing compared to what the child would lose. Devon would be forced to abandon the lighthouse and the radio, leaving the child in the dark and alone. Maybe Patrick could be convinced to part with the radio, but Devon doubted it. He steeled himself for the future, ready to face whatever it brought. There were no other courses of action left.

When he reached the bottom he passed through the stone arch into the boiler room. He gazed at the pathetic looking boiler, encased in rusted bronze. He walked up the stone steps, taking each one slowly and sadly. He put his hand on the wooden door to the outside and paused. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open and stepped outside into the frigid morning air.

The wind lightly breezed through his hair, making it stand up. The waves gently lapped the rocks, soothing the island with its watery embrace. Gulls called out from their flight in the skies above, a white “v” traveling across the water. Devon lowered his head to the dock.

He immediately knew something was off when Charlie dismounted the boat alone. His adoptive father was nowhere to be seen. Devon assumed that Patrick was deeper into the boat, but when Charlie approached, the look in his eyes told a different story. His face was grim, full of determination and purpose. He climbed the steps and extended his hand.

“Devon,” he said with an air of calm. Devon took his hand and they shook.

“Charlie what’s going on,” he asked.

Charlie didn’t say anything at first. Instead he looked away, gazing out at the endless ocean of blue. He stood there in silence, letting the wind blow back his hair.

“He’s gone…Devon Patrick is gone,” Charlie finally said.

Devon blinked. “What? How?”

“Heart attack. It seems all the stress over the years finally caught up with him. He passed away last night. Peacefully I’m told.”

“Charlie…I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be. While I’m sad he’s gone, he was never the one I looked up to.” He turned to Devon, and stepped forward.

“And besides that,” he continued, “there’s been a development. You know that Patrick was grooming me to take over the business. Well, they read his will this morning. Everything he owned is now under my authority, including those he employed.”

“I’m not following,” Devon said.

“You and I think alike Devon. We both have dreams we want to live out. I want to be a painter, and you want to be a lighthouse keeper. The only difference is that I wasn’t being given the chance to live my dream, and you were about to get yours taken away.”

When understanding finally hit him, Devon felt like crying for the first time in many years.

“Devon,” Charlie said, reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder. “The lighthouse is going to become a tourist attraction eventually. That I can’t prevent. But what I can do is keep you on as its keeper, now and for the rest of your life. I want you to keep the lighthouse in tip-top shape. I want you to take care of it, because you’re the only one I trust enough to get the job done. I don’t care about any engineers or mechanics with some fancy degree. I care about passion. I may be a lot younger than you Devon, but I have always known you were in love with this place. And now, I leave it in your capable hands.”

“Charlie, I can never repay you for this.”

“If anything I am paying you back for my father’s callousness. A man like him could never understand true devotion to one’s work. The bottom line was all that mattered. He may have taught me about business, but you taught me about people. And with you taking care of the lighthouse, I’ll be able to pursue my dream of painting at long last.”

The two of them stood there for a moment in silence. The crashing of the waves was a happy sound to Devon’s ears.

“It’s funny,” Charlie began, “I can remember Patrick taking me from the orphanage like it was yesterday. He was…happy then. He didn’t have that grimace on his face, that constant anger and frustration. These last few years…he was so distant. Some days it was like he was barely there at all.”

“People change. It’s inevitable,” Devon replied. “But not all change is bad.”

Charlie locked eyes with him and smiled.

“By the way Devon, did you ever find out what that crying was,” he asked.

Devon smiled.

“Just another lost soul looking for guidance.”

Charlie gave Devon a confused look, but decided not to push the matter. “In any case,” he said, “I’ll be in contact with you soon to begin the transition. If everything goes as planned it shouldn’t be much more than a bump in the road for you. Good luck Devon.”

And with that, Charlie and walked down the stone steps toward the landing. When he was halfway to the dock, he stopped and gazed out at the ocean for a few moments. After some time Charlie turned and looked at Devon. He flashed him a light smile and waved. His eyes were different. They no longer had that naive glint to them. They weren’t the eyes of a boy.

They were those of a man.

 

That night, Devon sat up in the light room with the radio on his lap. He had pulled it up with him so that he could use it while gazing out into the night. He held a can of beer in one hand, and the microphone in the other. This time, he drank not to melancholy, but to celebration.

“Friend Devon?”

“Yes,” Devon replied.

“What is a shooting star?”

Devon smiled. He had been telling the child the story of what he saw the night of the flare.

“Shooting stars are chunks of rock that fall from space. They catch on fire, which creates an orange streak as they fly across the sky. Some people like to make wishes when they see them.”

“Wishes?”

“Yeah. See some people believe that if you hope for something after you see a shooting star, then it will happen.”

“Do you believe that friend Devon?”

“No. But it’s a nice thought.”

They sat there in silence, Devon drinking his beer. The light beacon was turned off. It was no longer needed. But rather than feel sad, Devon felt elated. Even though the lighthouse was becoming obsolete, Devon had a new purpose. Life had color for him again, and the night sky no longer looked despondent and dreary, but serene and comforting.

The beer made Devon feel tingly, warm, happy…

After what felt like an eternal silence, the child piped up again.

“Do you think I will ever find more of my kind?”

“I don’t know,” Devon answered truthfully. “Your coming here was such a strange occurrence that I can’t really say.”

“I hope I do…someday. Because…you will not be around forever…will you?”

The question gave him great pause. He stared into the endless black sky, filled with tiny specks of distant light. He heard the ocean wind breezing through the tower below. He could feel the chill in the night air as it swirled up the stairs toward the light room.

For a long time, he could not answer. The child was absolutely right of course. Devon would not be around forever. He felt the vicious sting, the telltale sign of sudden awareness. He was human. He was mortal. Someday, he would die. Hell, it could be tomorrow for all he knew. He could trip on the stairs and go tumbling over the railing. And that would be it. It would all be over.

Suddenly, he saw Charlie again, standing on the shore. He smiled and waved at Devon, his hazel eyes twinkling like jewels in the sun.

“No, I won’t,” he finally answered. “But there will always be good people in the world. You never have to be alone.”

 

How long he sat up in the light room that night, Devon couldn’t say. For the first time in quite a while he was blissfully unaware of the passage of time. The child said goodbye and vanished from the radio waves, but Devon sat up there a bit longer, watching the stars twinkle far above him.

When he was finished, he got up from his seat and started down the stairs. He stopped off and returned the radio to its proper place. He left it on, faint static filling the room.

After that, he made his way back down to his bedroom. Before going to sleep, he opened the window and let the breeze caress his face. There was a mild coolness in the air, but that was commonplace for the region. Otherwise it was a calm and auspicious night, one he would be certain to remember for a very long time.

His journal entry bore three simple words: “Life is good”.

Thanks for reading.  Check back next Wednesday for a regular post and as always, have a wonderful week!

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Alien Emotions

Welcome to the fifth of twelve.  For my New Year’s resolution I decided to write twelve short stories this year (one per month) and post them to my blog on the last Wednesday of each month.  This month’s story is called “Alien Emotions”.  Enjoy!

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 1

Ship experienced a catastrophic engine malfunction. I was forced to set down on an uncharted planet.

Landing was rough, so I had the ship perform a scan of my body. Everything seems to be in order. No bones have been broken and my antennae are undamaged. My wings and back are experiencing some soreness, but that should pass.

The climate here is humid and hot. While it is not what my kind are used to, I do not imagine I will have to adapt to it. Repairs should only take a matter of a few cycles.

It is just as well. Orbital scans told me there is nothing of interest here.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 2

It appears my conclusions on this planet’s value may have been made in haste.

As I was conducting my repairs this cycle, I heard a distant rumbling noise. The star had nearly fallen below the horizon, but I decided to go investigate.

I stepped through the trees past my ship and came to a large beach. And there, a little ways offshore, was a series of islands floating in the air. Even from a distance it was clear they were not a natural phenomenon.

I do not know what the rumbling was. It ceased before I was able to determine its location.

Further research is warranted.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 3

Repairs to the shuttle are progressing as expected. The ship should be fully functional within a couple of cycles.

The floating islands, however, are a perplexing enigma. I set the ship to run geological scans while I worked. They appear to have small ecosystems of their own, with cave systems and plant life. There are six different landmasses in total, five smaller ones surrounding one large, central island. And it appears that they are connected by small, metallic walkways.

But there is something far more interesting about them, something I already suspected.

The ship’s scans have revealed a strong energy signature coming from the central landmass. I imagine it powers some type of anti-gravity well that holds the islands aloft. However, the geological scans were unable to penetrate the rock of the central island, leaving me with no clear idea of what the device looks like or what its power source is.

A thought occurred to me during meditation: my orbital scans prior to the ship’s engine failure revealed nothing of this nature. This leads me to conclude that the device is shielded in some way.

Perhaps it was hidden to deter investigation. I should proceed with caution…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 4

The islands are inhabited.

With the ship’s geological scans proving fruitless, I decided that perhaps it would be best to inspect the central island myself. My theory was that whatever shielding surrounds the device grows weaker as one gets closer to it, which would explain its invisibility when scanning from orbit.

The water around the beach and the islands was shallow, not even making it up to my knees.

I ran my hands along the rock and used the machines embedded in my fingertips to commence a close-range scan. It would appear that the device has a cylindrical shape, and I have detected the unmistakable presence of an anti-matter power source.

It was not long before I noticed I was being watched.

There were only a couple of them: tiny, blue creatures that wore brown cloth around their waists. They stood on two legs and were barely larger than my finger. I paid them little attention as I worked.

Still, I observed that they seemed to show no fear. Curious…but irrelevant all the same.

 

Log Addendum

I have uncovered the source of the rumbling: periodic earthquakes that rack the floating islands. I cannot be certain of the cause, but the ship’s scans have determined that during the quakes the energy signature within the central island fluctuates. My theory is that the device powering the anti-gravity well is starting to fail.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 5

I have had to halt ship repairs for the time being. Evidently one of the native animals took interest in my vessel as I slept and began clawing at the panel where I was working. It managed to remove a power cell and ran off with it. I will have to create a substitute.

My scans of the islands have proven to be more revealing. Near the large cylindrical device there is a rectangular recess with some type of device behind it. I have theorized that it is an access point or panel, but could not find a way to reveal it.

I can only imagine it requires some sort of code.

More of the little blue creatures showed up. There were six of them this time, and it is clear that they are indeed sentient beings. However, clearly they are not the ones who created the device, as they are far too primitive. They seem to inhabit one of the smaller islands, living in small straw huts bound together with some kind of strong, green fiber.

I took more notice of them this time. As I observed before, they stand on two legs. Each foot has three toes, compared to my two, and their hands have six fingers compared to my three. Their eyes are a combination of green and orange, and are considerably large for their body size.

They are unimportant to my work. Still, they should be cataloged.

Perhaps I will collect one of them for examination during the next cycle.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 6

Even now, as I write this, I am unable to explain what happened.

I was continuing my examination of the central floating island when I spotted one of the little island beings. He appeared to be by himself…a perfect opportunity to obtain a specimen for research. I waited until the right moment then grabbed him before he could get away. I turned around, meaning to carry the little creature back to my ship.

Then I realized that was exactly what I intended to do. And I stopped.

There was nothing wrong with my body. My feet were, without doubt, capable of movement and my legs were undamaged. There was no physical explanation for what happened to me. But regardless, as I stared at the wriggling creature trapped between my fingers, I found myself unable to carry him away. It was only when I set him back down that I was able to return to my ship.

I meditated, but even with clarity of mind I could still not explain my sudden inability to act. Even as I emerged from the meditation machine, I found myself in a troubled state of mind. I am concerned that my time on this planet may be affecting my brain somehow.

 

Log Addendum

The ship’s scanner revealed no problems in my cranial structure.

 

Log Addendum #2

I saw something while I slept.

Bolts of electricity shot across the sky and water drowned the world. There was a terrible, thunderous roar. A pair of blazing orange orbs appeared high above me in the gloom.

Then, a colossal hand of gray reached down from above.

I woke up, feeling a tightness in my stomach and a desire to get as far away from some unseen danger as I could.

Was it a dream? Why was I having a dream? Our species have no time for such things. They are useless flights of fancy that stand in the way of logical thinking. We are taught to push them out of our minds from a very early age.

But still…I dreamed.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 7

In between working on repairs to the ship, I meditated on the recent incident.

I still cannot explain what happened, why I was suddenly overcome with the compulsion to let the little island creature go. The logic of the situation dictated that I would take him back to my ship and catalog his species for the database.

But I just could not do it.

And then I realized…it was not that I could not do it, but that I did not want to do it. In that moment as I held the creature in my fingers, I felt something. It was like pain, but not actual pain. It did not have any discernible, physical origin.

The word “emotion” floated into my mind, which makes my body involuntarily shudder.

But maybe that is the only explanation for what happened. Maybe I was afflicted by an emotion.

I should delete this log. If the High Council ever sees it, that will be the end of me.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 8

I decided to forgo my work and called up the ship’s database entry on The Outcasts.

We, the Faloss, rejected emotions as trivial and primitive many revolutions ago. They were detrimental to logical progress and held us back. Even as youth, we are separated from our birthers before too long to prevent us from becoming attached to them.

This is what we believe. The Outcasts do not.

They rejected tradition and left our home planet behind long ago. It is unknown where they went, but it is presumed that they have created their own colony planet where they would be free to pursue their interest in the blasphemy of emotions. Numerous attempts to track them down have all ended in failure.

This is not something I have ever written about in this log before, but a long time ago when I was scanning a dead planet, I came across a ruined Faloss ship. There were no survivors, but I did discover a data cube left behind by the crew. I retrieved it and took it aboard my ship, connecting it to the main database. I immediately recognized the mark of The Outcasts and quarantined the cube, placing it in a container that cut off all remote access going in or out.

But I ask myself something now: why did I never report it to the High Council?

That is the procedure. “Anything you find on an Outcast vessel must be turned in to the Council for examination.” And yet, I never did this. Did I forget about it? Or was there another reason?

When darkness fell this cycle, I pulled the cube out of quarantine storage and set it down next to the database access terminal. It was almost as though it was taunting me, corrupting me with its mere presence. I could almost see a pure aura of blackness emanating from the hideous thing.

No…I must not get lost in falsehoods. I am an observer and a recorder, not a dreamer…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 9

Repairs to the ship have been completed. I managed to create a substitute power cell to replace the one that was lost. I entertained the idea of searching for it, but even if I found the cell it would likely be too damaged to be of any use.

After I completed the repairs, I found I still had time for more research on the floating islands. I carried a scanning device out to the central island and placed it on top of the spot I determined to be the access point. Despite it being an advanced device, it appeared to have no more luck than I did determining how to trigger the panel.

None of the little creatures showed up this time. I imagine they are rather wary of me now…

But I digress. As I was waiting for my scanner to give me results, I examined the central island and saw something I had not seen before.

A bronze statue, depicting a kind of being I have never encountered.

The creature is shown as being rather muscular, with four fingers on each hand. Instead of toes, its legs (of which it has two) each end in one large appendage, almost like a set of tree stumps. On its head, there are two glittering blue jewels that likely represent the being’s eyes. The statue is painted a deep black, giving it an imposing visage.

But the most curious thing was not the creature himself, but what he was holding.

A representation of the floating islands sat in the statue’s hands. As I took a closer look, I was impressed by the accuracy of the rendering. The shape of the islands, down to the little peaks and valleys, were recreated in surprising detail. I could even see the railings on the metal paths that connected each island. The statue itself was depicted as staring down at the islands, examining them with care.

I can only surmise that the being shown was credited with the creation of the islands, although for what purpose I have no theories as of yet.

But something about the statue troubles me as well. According to the scale, the islands fit easily in the being’s palms, which would make him as tall as a mountain. I cannot comprehend a being that massive in size. It seems like an impossibility.

Perhaps the statue is merely figurative, offering thanks to a deity of some kind.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 10

The little creatures showed themselves again.

It is clear they are not as trusting as before. The three that appeared kept a good distance away from the cliff. I also noticed that they kept themselves within quick reach of a cave entrance on the central island, an obvious avenue of escape should they need it.

My research has been without luck. The scanner fed all manner of data and numbers to the panel, but received no discernible reaction.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 14

I have decided to name the planet Vitellius, after the ancient water god of the Faloss. It seemed fitting, considering the planet is roughly eighty-five percent water.

I have alternated my days between exploring the continent I landed on and studying the islands. The periodic earthquakes appear to have gotten more frequent since I began my observations. And every time, it coincides with a dip in the energy signature. I am now certain that the two are linked.

The anti-gravity mechanism is failing, which means that eventually the islands will fall back into the ocean, taking the creatures that dwell there with them.

But why does this trouble me so? The state of the islands has no impact on me. And yet, I am affected by this knowledge. Is it simply because of the potential scientific information that could be lost?

No. There is more to it. I must meditate.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 15

My terminal tells me that empathy is a forbidden word which is defined as “a false assumption that one can share and even understand the feelings of other beings, even lesser ones.”

I think I am beginning to understand what happened to me that cycle…

Nevertheless, I went to work on the access panel again. This time, only two of the little creatures were watching me. However, they appeared to be less afraid than before, as they had returned to their former spot on the cliff.

This time I brought a powerful laser to try and drill into the rock, to see if I could unearth the panel through more forceful means. I set it up on its three legs, aimed it in the direction of the access panel, and switched it on. For a brief time, it seemed like the laser was having some effect on the rocks. But then, another earthquake struck the island, this one more powerful than any I had yet experienced. My ship later confirmed that it was indeed the strongest one it had recorded thus far.

I cannot help but wonder if my laser was somehow the cause.

The earthquake only lasted a few seconds, but I lost my footing and fell to my knees. As I was getting back to my feet, I saw something that gave me pause.

The quake had caused one of the two little creatures watching to fall over the edge. The being managed to grab a small handhold and was hanging on, but it was clear he was going to lose his grip. The other one was trying to help, but could not reach far enough.

He was terrified, furiously scrabbling at the rocky cliff to find another handhold, but to no avail. The creature kept slipping lower and lower down the cliff. Eventually, he was going to fall.

I cannot say what compelled me to do it. But I did it all the same.

I stepped toward the two of them and, as gently as I could, placed my finger under the struggling creature. Using it as leverage, he managed to push himself back up onto solid ground. After a moment he got back to his feet, turned around, and stared at me.

But I did not pay him any attention, as I saw that my laser had fallen off its tripod and was damaged. I picked it up and made my way back to the ship.

It was only later that it started to trouble me. I meditated until the planet’s star had sunk below the horizon, but I still had no answer for it. Why did I bother helping the creature? What possessed me to do so? They are of little to no consequence.

And yet, I felt some kind of…connection with the little thing. I understood his fear.

These logs are dangerous. Perhaps I should start encrypting them.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 18

More of the creatures have been showing up each time I go over to the islands. It appears that their curiosity has grown since I helped one of them.

No progress on the access point yet. It appears to be as stubborn as I am.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 22

I have been writing in my log less and less. I tell myself it is because of my work, but I know that is not the only reason…

I have finally made some progress with the access point, although entirely by accident. I was removing the scanner from the rock wall when it slipped from my hand. I let out a short gasp of surprise and managed to catch it before it fell into the water. When I looked back up, I saw that a rectangular portion of the rock wall was sliding away, and a red and gray panel was emerging. A green hologram spat out of it, displaying a blue symbol.

However, a moment later, the symbol flashed red and vanished.

It took me a little time to connect my utterance to the reveal of the access panel. I had initially concluded that my scanner had managed to find the correct sequence to reveal it. But when I reattached it, nothing else happened.

Then I understood. The mechanism isn’t activated by numbers or data, but by vocalizations.

This presents another problem: I have no idea the pattern, frequency, or period of these vocalizations. It could be multiple separate tones or one extended, oscillating frequency that I need. Nevertheless, the prospect of making progress is a good one.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 26

Normally, when we Faloss meditate, we do so with the aid of a sensory deprivation machine, which blocks out all unnecessary distractions. But lately, I have been attempting to do so by simply sitting down on the beach near my ship.

I enjoy the feel of the wind on my skin and the sound of the water hitting the shore.

But…why? Why do I enjoy these things? Are they inextricably linked to emotions? Do emotions make these things feel good? I am frustrated because I cannot come up with an answer due to my conditioning as a youth.

Conditioning? I have never called it that before…it sounds terrible and wrong…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 29

During my meditation, I heard a splashing noise. I opened my eyes and saw that one of the sea creatures had poked its head above the surface a little ways off the beach. It was an ugly fish, with sickly brown-yellow skin and hideous eyes of yellow and black. Its mouth held razor-sharp teeth that it likely used to gorge on prey larger than itself.

But it had its eyes fixed on the islands, as if waiting for something.

Moments later another quake struck, shaking the islands and creating a distant rumble. The fish seemed to grow excited at the prospect of the earthquake, swimming closer to the islands until it was almost under them. The earthquake ended moments later and the fish swam around for a little while. But eventually, its head dipped back below the surface, evidently disappointed.

I had a revelation moments later: it was looking for food.

The fish considered the little blue creatures living on those islands to be prey. It was waiting to see if one of them would fall off. No wonder the creature holding on to the cliff had looked so utterly terrified.

I began to wonder: the statue…the being that I assume created the floating landmasses…did he do it specifically for them? Did he feel some desire to help the little creatures, to safeguard them from their predators? It is the most likely conclusion, because otherwise they would likely never have survived as long as they have, existing in a world where so many things consider them to be prey.

Sympathy…empathy…these words hang on my mind.

As I write this, the Outcast data cube sits next to my terminal. I once again pulled it out of the quarantine storage area.

What does it have to tell me? Should I listen?

Or should I just toss it into the nearest star and forget it ever existed?

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 31

Work is slow. I cannot focus with everything that is on my mind.

I have spent the last two cycles wandering the island. I have found that it helps to ease my troubled mind. It has been fruitful too. During my walk I came across a massive crater in the ground. I can only assume that this was either the result of a meteorite impact (which I doubt, due to the lack of surrounding damage) or it was a chunk of land removed for the creation of the floating islands.

For some odd reason my mind conjured up the image of a gargantuan black hand reaching down and scooping the land out from under itself…

Thoughts like that have been a constant for some cycles now.

That reminds me. Against my better judgment, I installed the Outcast data cube and began reading it.

“We are the Outcasts,” it began. “This is our text, our story, our history.

After the purging of emotions so long ago, much of the Faloss race have reached the conclusion they were nothing but a detriment. We represent the few who do not believe this. We have experienced the power of these emotions…how they can drive us and inform our actions.

When we travel the stars and happen to look down at the worlds in our path, a decision must be made. Do we ignore them and continue on our way? Or do we expend time to learn about them?

Some of these worlds may also be inhabited, populated by creatures that might be less advanced than us. How we act toward them can have serious repercussions on their development. Many of us have read distressing accounts of Faloss scientists who, without hesitation, drastically altered a planet’s climate in a simple attempt to gather data or resources.”

I stopped reading there. There was a pain in my chest I could not explain.

My mind was drawn back to one of my last expeditions…I encountered a planet rich in minerals that were essential to our ship drives. So I landed, set up equipment, and began mining. I took far more than I needed, but I figured the abundance would please the High Council.

The planet was inhabited as well…some type of primitive reptilian people. But, as protocol dictated, I did not pay them any attention or interact with them in any way.

It is only now, looking back, that I realize what I had done. The process of retrieving those minerals had a detrimental effect on the world, drastically altering the climate. The cycle I left, I noticed some extreme weather on the horizon. I did not think much of it at the time, but it was more severe than anything I had seen since I landed there.

Did I devastate that planet simply to get what I wanted?

Did I doom an entire species to extinction for my own selfish reasons?

It is impossible to say…but I must cease writing here. I have no desire to continue…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 32

I killed a fish. I crushed its skull.

I found myself sitting on a rocky outcrop with my feet dangling over the water, meditating on what I had read on the Outcast’s cube. My eyes were wandering near the floating islands when I spotted something: a brownish fin circling the same spot over and over again.

I squinted, unsure of what was happening at first. But then I saw it.

It was difficult to discern, but one of the little creatures from the islands had fallen into the ocean, likely due a recent earthquake. I remembered how I had seen the sea creature poke its head up, its eyes watching the floating land to see if any food was going to fall down for it.

This time, it got what it wanted.

It is difficult for me to describe what happened next. It was as if I had become consumed by something…a powerful sensation that flooded my entire body. I felt like I was burning up inside, even though my body temperature was well within its normal range.

My hands started to twitch. My mind was filled with the image of the fish gorging itself on the little blue creature.

And then, I acted.

I dropped off the cliff into the water and made my way toward the spot where the fish was circling. It did not take long for the fish to notice my approach. It attempted to swim away, but I was too fast, snatching the creature out of the water and holding it aloft by its tail. It wriggled and squirmed, swinging its head around in an attempt to escape my clutch. When that failed, it switched tactics and attempted to sink its fangs into my thigh.

I took my other hand and clamped its mouth shut as hard as I could. It was not until I heard the cracking of bone that I realized what I had done.

As impossible as it was, time itself seemed to slow down. The fish had ceased moving and hung limply from my hand. I could not help but stare at it, acutely aware of what I had done. The burning sensation gave away to a thick heaviness that weighed me down.

I cannot say how long I stood there, but it felt like eternity.

My eyes drifted away from the dead thing in my hand and down to the water. I could see the little island creature swimming toward me. I doubted he had any idea what I was going through at that moment. Rather, I think he was just in awe of me.

I tossed the fish aside, letting it fall into the water and float away. Then, I bent over and scooped the little being up into the palm of my hand.

It was clear the creature was terrified. He was shivering and wet.

I carried him back to the islands. Time had scarcely passed after I set him down before he took off, running as fast as he could back to his village.

I pitied the creature. That was a certainty. But that was not the only thing that drove me to act.

That burning feeling…I had never felt anything like that in all my existence. I was starting to understand sympathy and empathy. I had learned long ago that fear was something all creatures experience. But this…this was the strongest thing I had felt yet. It had stripped me of all control.

I must meditate some more. There is an answer somewhere…I just need to find it.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 33

Anger. They called it anger.

Once again, despite all the reasons I should not, I read more of the Outcast’s scripture. Much of it was of little interest to me, just a treatise on the Faloss’ history with emotions. Growing weary of it, I started to skim through the text at random. There is an impressive amount of written work stored on the cube, so much so that I would have to spend many cycles just to read through all of it.

However, one particular part caught my eye. It was essentially a catalog of common emotions.

And there was the entry on anger.

“Anger”, it said, “a feeling of displeasure or hostility. Anger is usually directed towards a particular target. This target can be an idea or a location, but is more commonly focused on an individual entity like a living creature (such as another Faloss).”

That was what I felt. I felt a sense of hostility toward the fish because it was trying to harm a creature that could not defend itself against it.

Anger is powerful.

But anger is dangerous as well…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 34

“Nature does not make mistakes. Nature selects. Nature breeds the qualities that are necessary for survival.

The Faloss lived with emotions for most of their existence. So why do we now believe that they are dangerous? How did we come to the conclusion that they were useless trinkets to be cast off and forgotten?

Nature is variable. Nature is always changing. Nature is cruel.

But nature does not make mistakes.”

This passage from the Outcast text was on my mind as I wandered the continent, the wind blowing through the trees and prickling my flesh. For my entire life, I had believed as all other Faloss believed: that emotions were unnecessary. I still thought this, even as I left my home world to explore the stars.

But now? Now I am not certain. Is it not possible that we made a mistake? Is it not possible that we suffered a lapse in judgment? These “emotions”…they do not feel wrong to me. They feel natural…like they were meant to be a part of my being.

I have decided to name the tiny island beings “Tekkets”, a word from the old Faloss language that roughly translates to “little dweller”.

I have not been back to the islands yet. I feel like they would be too afraid of me now.

Or maybe I am too afraid of myself…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 35

In an attempt to further my understanding of empathy, I tried to imagine myself in the mind of a Tekket as I meditated. This brought me back to the dream I had after I nearly walked off with one of them between my fingers. I remembered the monstrous, cruel hand that came down for me, a distorted reflection of myself.

Was that how they saw me then, as a monster? Was I some hideous alien tormenting them for my own gain?

But now…what do they think of me now? Surely the circumstances have changed?

There is only one way to find out…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 36

I finally returned to the islands this cycle. As I approached, my eyes caught sight of a single, lone Tekket standing near the cliff. He spotted me approaching and reacted with what I can only describe as excitement. He began to run toward me.

In fact, he almost ran right off the cliff. Instinctively, I found myself reaching out with my hand to stop him.

But what happened next amazed me. The little creature grabbed my finger without fear and started nuzzling it. So I picked him up. He was unfazed, his curious eyes watching me as he rested his head against my thumb.

He only became nervous when I brought my other hand closer and the micro-sensors embedded in my fingertips began to shoot out tiny blue lights that swept across his body. He started to quiver and closed his eyes. And, out of some kind of compulsion, I whispered to him. I told him not to be afraid. I assured him that I would never hurt him.

There was no way for him to understand what I was saying. But…it worked. He calmed down and stopped shaking.

After my scan was complete I set the little creature back down and went to check on the progress with the central island’s access panel. My sensor device had made some decent headway in the last few cycles. I now know that to unlock the power source, the panel needs five distinct vocalizations. The device has discovered two of them so far, both in a low-frequency range.

I could attempt another way of accessing the panel again, but the risk seems too high. I still cannot be certain if my laser triggered an earthquake or if it was just ill timing on my part, but discovering the access code seems the safest way to proceed.

And I do not want to even think about what would happen to the islands, much less the Tekkets who live on them, if another method failed catastrophically.

The little one watched me all day, sitting cross-legged on the cliff. I cannot understand why he has taken such a fancy to me. The others who came to watch were almost impassive by comparison.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 38

The little one has met me every cycle and I have continued to scan him. I am interested to know more about their development.

It is clear that he is a child in their species, as the data indicates he is undergoing rapid growth and change. My scans have also revealed an interesting facet of their bodies as well: a pair of vestigial gills. It would seem that Tekkets were an amphibious species at one point in their evolution and that aspect of them gradually atrophied as they spent their lives on the islands.

I am beginning to think that the little one is the same Tekket I saved from the fish. It is impossible to say for certain, but it would explain his implicit trust in me.

No more progress on the vocalizations yet. But I suspect it is just a matter of time…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 39

I carried him on my shoulder.

After I finished my scans of the little one, I had another moment of indecision. There was a pain in my chest. It was as if my past self was rearing up before me, reminding me that these creatures were only to be used for data gathering purposes.

But I was determined that I would never be that same Faloss again. And, almost as if to prove it to myself, I set the little one down on my shoulder.

There was no reason to stay with the scanner, as it would work on its own accord. Therefore, I took another walk around the continent. The little one was clearly pleased to come along. He curled up close to my neck and stayed there for much of the time. I have to admit…I am filled with pleasant sensations just reminiscing about it. The closest emotion I can find to it in the Outcast scripture is “happiness”. Is that what we have been missing for so long? Yes, anger was powerful and terrifying…but happiness? Happiness is nothing of the sort.

This feeling led me to a profound, yet obvious, realization: I saved his life. He would not be here if I had not interfered. He would not be here if I had not heeded the call of my emotions.

Then, a more chilling thought struck me…if I had been the same person on that day as I was when I landed…what would I have done? I ask myself: would I have acted? Of course, I already knew the answer to that.

I would have watched.

I would have observed.

I would have sat there and gathered data while the little one was eaten…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 43

I am starting to slip in my work. I need to regain focus.

I had forgotten to check on my scanner for the past few cycles and when I returned I found that it had lost all power. After setting the little one down on my shoulder I grabbed the scanner and returned to the ship to charge.

I wonder what he thinks of all these things…my ship, the scanner…this world he lives in. I wonder what he thinks of me…the gray-skinned giant who looks down at him with solid, orange eyes. The little one’s gaze constantly wanders. He reaches out and touches things whenever he can. Just this previous cycle, I found him fiddling with my wings, running his fingers over them. But it does not bother me. I let him do these things, because I understand being curious. Curiosity was what kept me here. Curiosity stopped me from leaving the moment I had completed the repairs on my ship.

Is curiosity an emotion? If it is…then that means I was always broken, even before my “awakening”, as I’ve come to call it.

No…I am not broken. What nonsense is that? I am me.

Water is falling from the sky. I can hear it pelting the outside of my ship. I hope the little one is safe and warm. I had to end our expedition early today because of the arrival of the dark clouds. I did not want him to be caught out in the open when the storm began. I could have sheltered him in my ship, but I believed he would prefer to be among his own people.

I am me…what a strange choice of words.

We Faloss are not a hive mind species. But the concept of being an individual is not often talked about. Everything we have done, will do, and will continue to do is always thought of in terms of what is best for the species as a whole. When Faloss like me go out and observe planets and cosmic phenomenon, we do so with the intent of furthering our collective knowledge.

But this…what I have done here on Vitellius…that was for me. That was for me alone.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 45

It appears that the little one has things to teach me, even if he does not realize it.

I moved my ship over to the beach this cycle, as a way to consolidate my efforts. When I brought the little one over, I set him down as I worked. I tuned the ship in to the sensor device’s frequency so I could observe the results it found in real-time, as well as how much power it had.

After that was done, I began reading more of the Outcasts scripture. It had not seemed like much time had passed, but when I looked in the little one’s direction, I saw something that amazed me. He was picking up clumps of sand from the beach and sticking them together. Fascinated by this almost ritualistic act, I left what I was doing behind and sat on the beach watching him.

He was creating a representation of some rectangular structure with high towers. He shaped it so that it appeared like it sat on top of a high cliff. It did not take him long to notice me watching, which seemed only to encourage him to work even harder.

I wondered why he was doing this. Was it out of some kind of longing? Did he hear tales of the old cities the Tekkets used to live in? Was that what he was doing, creating a remembrance of history? After a moment of thought, I did not believe this to be so. He did not appear forlorn while creating it. Rather, he was enjoying himself. It was a pleasurable activity for him.

There is a word for this…but I cannot remember it at present. I will have to consult the Outcast scripture once again.

It was not long before I felt compelled to imitate his action. I picked up clumps of wet sand and started to create. It was a strange feeling, as though I was being totally consumed by the task. I took more and more sand, building my construct higher and higher still. I felt immense pleasure, almost as though this simple act of sticking wet sand together was enough to trigger the emotion of happiness.

The star was falling below the horizon, signaling the approach of darkness, when I finally finished.

The structure I created was a model of the Faloss Council Tower, an immensely tall structure that stands in the center of our capital city. It is an imposing building, ending in a sharp spire at the very top. In reality, the tower dwarfs the height of an average Faloss by many dozens of times, although the one I had created only reached up to about my waist. I reached out and ran my finger along the spire at the top. The real tower would feel cold and metallic, but the one I had created was soft and malleable, specks of sand tumbling off and falling to the ground as I rubbed it.

The little Tekket was impressed with my work as well. I reached down and scooped him up into the palm of my hand. I brought him close to the side of the tower and he reached out to touch it. His eyes lit up, like little green and orange jewels. He pointed at the top of the tower, then looked at me.

I lifted him up between my fingers and set him down on top of the tower, next to the spire.

The two of us spent the remainder of the cycle watching Vitellius’ star slide below the horizon. I stood on the beach while the little one leaned back against the sandy spire. His little size meant that he could walk around on top without fear of the tower breaking away underneath him.

He looked at me. I looked at him. We were happy.

The sky was nearly black, the white dots of the stars shining down, when I finally carried him back to the islands.

 

Log Addendum

The scripture called it “fun”. The word was an adjective describing something that is pleasurable or entertaining.

It’s like there are pieces of me missing that I am trying to put back into place…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 47

Four of five vocalizations now. I believe the scanner will finish its task within the next few cycles.

I must go. The little one is waiting for me.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 48

I was not watching. I made a mistake and…he almost died.

I was distracted by my own creation. The sand model of the Council tower managed to withstand the weather of the last few cycles. I was reshaping it, adding little recesses in the side to represent the windows the Council would use to look out over the city.

After a while I wondered what the little one thought of my work. But when I turned around he was not there.

In that moment I felt a sense of panic and fear. My eyes went back and forth across the beach in a frantic fashion, but I could not see him. I turned my gaze to the ground, hoping to see some trace of where he had gone.

I had scarcely began looking when I heard a loud roar.

I raised my head and turned in its direction. And there, barely visible, was the little Tekket. He was sprinting out of the forest beyond the beach, terrified by something. Loud, crashing steps followed along behind him. Soon enough, the creature they belonged to emerged from the trees.

It was some big, quadrupedal thing with an elongated mouth. It had dark, grayish skin and was nearly as tall as me. A long tail swished back and forth as it walked, eyeing the tiny creature attempting to run away. It did not seem at all concerned that its prey would escape, as its head was bent over, sniffing the little Tekket with its flat snout. The creature rose up and licked its mouth, savoring the moment. Rows of gnashing teeth opened up as it went it for the kill.

I snatched up a rock as fast as I could and threw it directly at the creature’s eye. Fortunately my aim was true and the rock dazed it just long enough for me to close the gap. I tackled it to the ground and held it there. It thrashed back and forth, its tail tossing up sprays of sand.

I grabbed another nearby rock and raised it above my head, intent on bashing the creature’s skull in.

But as I watched its reptilian eyes dart back and forth in fear, I hesitated.

This creature was not any more evil than the fish was. It was a simple-minded being looking for food. It was not its fault that the little Tekket looked so appetizing. It was born that way, conditioned by nature to regard the tiny creature as sustenance.

Much like I had been conditioned to regard emotions as useless. Only in my case, there was nothing natural about it…

So I dropped the rock and stood back up, letting the creature roll back onto its feet. But before it could do anything else, I gave it a swift kick to the chest, sending the creature scurrying back into the forest.

I spent the rest of the cycle sitting on the beach, holding the Tekket between my fingers. He kept shivering, his eyes darting back and forth like he was afraid the monstrous creature would show itself again it any moment. I nuzzled him in an attempt to calm him down. but it did not work. His body continued to quiver with fear.

When I finally returned him to the islands, he ran off without even looking behind him…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 49

I feel…empty…like I have been drained of all feeling.

I realize now that I was a fool. I was being selfish. The little Tekket made me happy, so I kept him with me because I wanted to continue being happy.

I knew how dangerous this world was for them. But I ignored it.

Maybe this is why our people cast off emotions long ago, because they knew that it led to bad decisions. Maybe I should never have interfered with them.

Maybe I just made things worse…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 50

Fifty cycles. I have been here for fifty cycles.

It is hard for me to fathom that right now. The planet clearly has nothing more of interest for me aside from the device that powers the floating island. And yet, I am still here.

I have calculated that this planet’s revolution around its star lasts roughly two hundred of its cycles. Interesting, considering that my home planet’s cycles are longer and it takes nearly four hundred of them before a revolution is complete.

It is not an important distinction, but it distracts me.

It keeps away the dark thoughts that otherwise plague my mind…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 51

My carelessness could doom their entire species.

Even with real-time monitoring, I slipped and allowed the scanner to run out of power again. It has been without power since the cycle my little friend was nearly eaten. I am charging it even now.

The earthquakes are worse now, more frequent and more powerful.

I have to get back to work. I have already interfered, so I might as well finish my task.

I owe the Tekkets that much at least…

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 52

The scanner is back in place, doing its job.

The little one hasn’t shown up ever since that incident. I cannot blame him. He must be terrified of stepping foot outside his home now.

And it is my fault. I failed in my responsibility to keep him safe.

This is the most potent sadness I have felt yet. It weighs on me cycle after cycle. It is strong and pervasive. And it never seems to end.

Is this how I am going to feel for the rest of my existence?

I cannot deal with this.

I cannot live like this.

Perhaps I should forget these emotions while I still can.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 53

I was meditating on the beach when it finally happened.

The scanner found the last frequency for the access panel and the device revealed itself. The first indication of something happening was a distant rumbling. At first, I believed it was just another earthquake. But when I opened my eyes I saw that the central island was splitting open like an egg, revealing a bizarre orange and gray contraption shaped like a massive drill.

And in the center was a clear cylinder full of glowing light.

I was correct. The device was indeed powered by anti-matter. This was good news, as it should be easy for me to replicate another power cell for it. The bad news is that I have no idea how to switch them out without the device losing power completely and sending the islands crashing into the ocean.

But I am tired and I must sleep. I will work on this issue in the coming cycle.

 

Log Addendum

I am shaken by the dream I just had. In the dream there was a loud rumble and a thunderous crash. I ran out of my ship and found that the islands were gone. They had fallen into the ocean and were swallowed whole by the hungry water.

In their place stood a mountainous creature.

The one who created the islands.

The one the Tekkets venerated with their statue. He had smooth, obsidian skin and eyes of blazing blue fire. He gazed down at me with intense authority.

He was judging me.

He was judging me because I had failed.

I woke then, in the fit of fear, shaking and cold with the rain drumming against the metal hull of my ship.

Failure is not an option. I must succeed, even if just for the sake of my own mind.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 54

They were…waiting for me.

I went back to the islands today to investigate the device and determine how I could re-fuel it without powering down the entire mechanism. The Tekkets were standing on the cliff. There were at least a couple dozen of them. They waved as I approached. They were happy to see me.

But that was not the most stunning development.

As I was examining the device, my attention was drawn back toward the statue. And it was there that I saw it:

Another statue…but of me.

Just like the other statue, their depiction was very accurate. They had large orange jewels for my eyes. They gave me three fingers for each hand and two toes for each foot. They even captured the pattern on my wings, veins like those you find on tree leaves. It was not fully complete, as it still had the metallic brown color of bronze. I imagine they are going to begin painting it soon enough.

But, like before, the most fascinating thing about the statue wasn’t its accuracy.

In one of my hands, I was holding a fish by its head and my eyes were turned toward it. And, kneeling at my feet, was a representation of the quadrupedal beast that had nearly devoured the little one. Its reptilian eyes were turned up toward me in a gesture of submission.

They were venerating me with this statue, just as they did the island creator. I did not know if I was comfortable being thought of as a deity.

But maybe that was not the case. In all my observations, I have never noticed the Tekkets treating the statues like objects of worship. Maybe it signifies a kind of respect. Maybe they are thanking me for the things I have done.

However, the fact remains that my work is not yet finished.

My investigations revealed no backup power source for the device. This means that I will have to rig up some kind of secondary power supply and patch it in to the device to keep it powered while I work.

If I had not arrived here when I did…I do not want to think what might have happened to them.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 55

I have created a second cell. I siphoned some of the anti-matter from my ship. As it turns out, I did not need as much of it as I had originally thought. The anti-gravity device is very efficient. One cell should be enough to power it for several hundred revolutions.

This makes me wonder…is the island creator still alive? Does he know what I am doing? Or did he pass long ago, never knowing what became of the little ones he had saved?

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 56

I now have a backup power source. I created one using my sensor device and the laser that had once attempted to cut through the rocks. However, I am concerned, as it is an unwieldy combination and could be highly unstable.

The next cycle will be the moment of truth. Will I succeed in my aims? Or will I just make things worse? My hands twitch and my breath is shaky whenever I think about it.

But regardless, I must continue. This is not a time for hesitation.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 57

I did it…by the stars, I did it.

I was afraid I would not succeed at first. Having an audience of Tekkets only made matters worse. They showed up in far greater numbers than they had the cycle previous.

They knew something big was happening.

The moment I hooked up the backup power source it emitted a horrible droning sound. I knew it wouldn’t last long so I immediately removed the anti-matter power source from the device. The moment I did, the islands began to quake, worse than they ever had before.

It was as if everything was falling apart around me, like I had failed before I had even begun.

But gradually, things calmed down. The backup power source worked. I could not help but sigh with relief.

I retrieved the new anti-matter cell from my ship and placed it inside the device. Initially, it refused to work. I tried activating it several times, but to no avail. I could feel my heart beating fast. My hands twitched and I found it hard to focus. I had believed that anger was by far the most powerful emotion…but it seems I still have a lot to learn.

After attempting to re-insert the cell several times over I had an idea. I went to my scanner that was still attached to the rocks and had it replay the sequence of sounds that revealed the device.

There was a moment of silence after it had finished.

Then…it started to work.

The anti-matter cell began to glow brightly, and a loud clicking told me it was now locked into place. There was a loud pulsing drone that indicated the device was fully functional again. I disconnected the backup power source just as the rocks began to slide back together. As I did so, a strange sound reached me. It was a whole chorus of little voices.

They were cheering. They were cheering for me.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 60

Everything appears to be well with my re-infusion of anti-matter into the device. There have been no more signs of degradation or earthquakes. Nevertheless, I must stay here for a little while longer to ensure that everything is fine.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 62

My ship has not recorded a single earthquake. It is done. They are safe.

 

Komir’s Log, Cycle 64

I am leaving soon.

I spent the last couple of cycles with my little friend. He seems to have recovered from his encounter with the predator and is once again happy.

It rained. We sat together in my ship and watched the water fall on the beach. He was on my shoulder, once again curled up against my neck. For the first time since I came here, I felt truly at peace.

I have made my decision. When I leave this planet, I am going to seek out the Outcasts. I want to learn more about the history we have lost.

But before I leave, I am going to place a device on the center island that will enable me to monitor the power of the anti-gravity device, even when I am light-years away from here. I do not know if the island creator will ever return. But in the event that he does not, I will keep a watchful eye on the Tekkets for him.

And if I pass on…someone else will have to take my place.

Saying goodbye to Vitellius is going to be one of the hardest things I have ever done. I am certain I will return from time to time, simply to pay the Tekkets a visit. But I can never return to my home world. If they discover what I am now…they will surely execute me.

Maybe time will change their minds. Maybe it will not. I am strangely indifferent about it.

When the star rises…it will be the last I see of it for quite some time…

 

Log Addendum

As I slept, I saw the island creator again. He was happy.

 

Thanks for reading.  Let me know what you thought in the comments below!

As always, check back next Wednesday for another post, and have a wonderful week!

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Story Re-Analysis: Returning to the World of “Dark Fall: Lights Out”

Human beings love to look back.  They long for past days, past events…times when they were younger.  But other times, they look back on the past with regret, wishing they could change things…

A little over three years ago I started writing this blog, posting every Wednesday.  And I’m proud to say that I’ve never missed a week.  But there are other things I am not so proud of, things that I wish I could have done better.  The biggest regret I have were the “story analysis” pieces I did.  I think I did around four of them total before I gave up on it entirely.  They were just proving too difficult to write and took more time than I thought they were worth.

And nowhere did I feel this more than the story analysis for a little video game called “Dark Fall: Lights Out”.

It just wasn’t a good post.  It was boring, and it was long (it totaled at almost five thousand words).  I have trouble reading through the entire thing and I was the one who wrote it!  So in the spirit of looking back I decided “what the heck…I’ll give it another shot!”  Here’s to second chances!

And without further ado, I present to you the story of “Dark Fall: Lights Out” once again…

 

The Story

A man tosses back and forth in his sleep.  Ghostly visions of a lighthouse and disembodied voices swirl around in his dreams.  He wakes, brought out of his slumber by a brief knocking at his door.  But when he opens the door, no one is there…

 

Don’t you hate it when ghosts knock on your door? Stupid ghosts…some of us are trying to sleep!

 

Our main character for this journey is Benjamin Parker, a cartographer commissioned to map the coast around the small town of Trewarthan.  In his journal, Parker makes it clear that he doesn’t enjoy the job and considers it a waste of his time.  But it doesn’t take long before he becomes intrigued by a light offshore.  He believes it belongs to a lighthouse, which is strange because the maps show no such lighthouse nearby.

He also talks about a repeating dream he’s been having for a long time, one of a metallic object falling from the sky…

Parker was called to Trewarthan by a man named Robert Demarion.  According to Parker’s journal, while the two are having breakfast one morning, Parker asks Demarion about the lighthouse.  Demarion responds as if he’s ill and exits the cottage, leaving Parker alone.  Parker begins rummaging around, finding a log by Demarion.  The log mentions how Demarion found a cavern underneath the lighthouse out on Fetch Rock island, but when he went to explore it he felt a terrifying presence that forced him to run away.

The book also holds a curious black object he found that can bend but not break, yet can be easily scratched or cut…

 

My oh my, what could this mysterious object be?

 

(Side note: the name “Hadden” refers to a company that was in the first “Dark Fall” game).

Back in the present, Parker ventures outside.  It doesn’t take long before a voice beckons Parker to enter a doorway.  Inside, Parker finds Demarion, who explains that he didn’t tell him about the lighthouse because he didn’t want Parker to be caught up in the town’s superstition.  Demarion also tells him that a passing ship reported that the lighthouse lamp isn’t lit, something the keepers would never allow.  There are three men manning the lighthouse: Oliver Drake, Robert Shaw, and James Woolf, who is the youngest.  Demarion implores Parker to go out to the island and investigate.  Parker agrees and takes a small boat moored on the pier.

(Side note: during the transition to Fetch Rock, we are treated to a partial reading of the poem “Flannan Isle”, based on real life disappearances at a lighthouse.  This event and poem likely inspired the game’s story).

Trewarthan at night.

 

Upon arriving at Fetch Rock, Parker finds that it is indeed dark inside the lighthouse.  Once he gets the interior lights back on, he ventures further up the lighthouse to discover what happened.  Mysterious shadows dart through the corridors, and Parker has a run-in with a ghostly voice that identifies itself as Robert Shaw.  The ghost laments being unable to protect the younger keeper, James, and tells Parker that Drake has gone mad, as if possessed by a demon.

The ghost vanishes and Parker continues exploring.  He finds no signs of anyone, but does discover a unsent letter from Woolf to his beloved.  In it, Woolf describes how Drake had gone mad, moaning to himself in the bowels below the lighthouse.  He tells about how Drake came after them and seemed to transform into a colorful glow.  As he was transfixed by the impossible vision, Woolf heard a name in his mind: Malakai.

He later came to with Shaw in a barricaded room, but Drake came for them again soon after.  James’ last words are that he can see the light under the door…

Continuing upward, Parker makes his way into Drake’s room where he finds the man’s journal.  Drake mentions a dream eerily similar to the one Parker had, right down to the flaming comet of metal.  But in Drake’s, he sees the object falling into a bed of reeds, which reminds him of an etching somewhere in the lighthouse.  Drake complains of a headache one day shortly before the journal descends into maddened gibberish.  Drake starts rambling about a “master” and dotes on Parker as being instrumental to his plans.  He conspires against the other keepers, saying that his master needs them to “feed”.

The journal ends with a creepy “I see you, Parker” scrawled across the page.

 

Cute.

 

In Drake’s desk, Parker finds a drawing showing a path leading to a cavern.  He makes his way down to the ground floor and across the rickety wooden planks.  He enters the cavern, led on by ghostly whispers of “this way” and “over here”.  Upon reaching a caved-in tunnel, lines of color suddenly crawl across the rocks.  When Parker leaves the cave, he notices things are different.

And not just anything…everything.

 

 

The entire island has changed.  Parker enters a small building just a little ways away from the cavern and finds a machine projecting images on to a sheet, a radio, and a mystical, wondrous device full of such magical power that-

 

 

Okay, it’s just a laptop.  But come on!  Imagine how crazy that would be to someone from the beginning of the 20th century.

Anyways, it doesn’t take long before Parker discovers he’s in the year 2004.  Somehow, he was thrown through time almost a hundred years into the future.  The lighthouse is now a tourist attraction, but it appears to have closed down for the day.  And a storm looms on the horizon…

Making his way into the gift shop, Parker finds a plethora of books and music.  One book in particular catches his eye: Horror at Fetch Rock.

 

 

In the book, Parker discovers that after he disappeared off the face of the world along with the three lighthouse keepers, the resulting investigation concluded that Parker must have murdered the keepers.  Demarion covered everything up, denied any involvement with the proceedings, and placed the blame squarely on Parker (although it seems that, over the years, Demarion was suspected of being involved in some way).

Parker also finds letters and a journal written by a woman named Polly White.  It turns out Polly is a ghost hunter who believes the lighthouse is haunted.  She also believes that she is the reincarnation of James Woolf, the youngest lighthouse keeper.

(Side note: Polly White is actually a character from the first “Dark Fall” game.  Fortunately knowledge of the first game’s story is not essential here.)

In the journal, Polly describes how she was led to the lighthouse because of her dreams.  It didn’t take long for her to experience some unexplained activity, such as a chair throwing itself across the room.  Along with her journal is a creepy recording of a hypnotic regression session she went through, which is what led her to believe she is the reincarnation of Woolf.

Continuing through the lighthouse, Parker discovers that history has not been kind to him.  He is portrayed as a troubled soul who likely murdered the keepers in a fit of madness.  There are numerous signs with details about the duties of lighthouse keepers, how a lighthouse operates, and some bronze age relics.  As he makes his way up the stairs, Parker finds that the rooms have been dressed up for the guests, with the crewroom featuring a voice re-enactment of the keepers’ final night.

Suddenly, Parker hears someone dart out of sight farther up the stairs.  A dropped journal entry reveals that Polly saw Parker enter the gift shop and is trying to hide.  Continuing up the stairs, Parker finds that she has locked herself in what used to be Drake’s room, but is now a storage room of some sort.  She slides a piece of paper under the door for him, which leads him back to the little building outside with the laptop.

There he finds the “Radvision” goggles, which let him see ghostly phenomena.  But they also serve another purpose: by using them on certain objects, Parker can travel back to 1912.

 

I see a bad moon a-rising

 

After some sleuthing, Parker finds a section of wall behind the boiler in 1912 that transports him to another time period.  In this time, the lighthouse is no longer standing.  A foundation remains, but most of the structure is now gone.  Parker follows a hole in the wall and climbs down an elevator shaft, finding a futuristic tablet belonging to a man named Gerard Magnus who works for the D.E.O.S. organization.  Continuing through a metallic tunnel, Parker finds another tablet from someone named Maria Ortega, who complains because Magnus has begun acting weird ever since he started working in the elevator shaft.

As Parker makes his way deeper into the facility, things start to fall into place, and a narrative eerily familiar emerges…

 

 

D.E.O.S. stands for Deep Exploration of Space, and is a scientific organization that launches probes to study, you guessed it, cosmic bodies and phenomena.  But things haven’t been well since the disappearance of their most recent probe.  According to the log of one Mitsuyo Taku, someone has been skulking around her room.  She suspects Magnus because, like Ortega, she has noticed him acting weird.

She has also noticed someone on the cameras…someone who seems to glow with an unearthly light…

Taku hatches a plan.  She decides to use one of the crew’s birthday party as a ruse to gather fingerprints.  Everything seems to be going fine, although spirits are down because of the lost probe.  However, Taku writes about a brief confrontation between Magnus and Cobin Hart, the overseer of the probe project and the one blamed for the lost probe.  Hart is lamenting the loss when Magnus starts acting weird, muttering things like “he is calling to me”.  The party eventually breaks up, but soon after Taku returns to her quarters the lights go out and alarms start ringing.  Evidently, soon afterward everyone vanished, just like in 1912.

But more telling is the name of the lost probe: Malakai…the very name James Woolf heard in his mind.

Malakai was apparently the fourth probe D.E.O.S launched and featured an advanced AI system as well as something called Matter Manipulation Software.  This would, according to Hart, theoretically let Malakai generate power from anything it wanted.  The probe was launched into deep space and encountered some type of unknown matter.  When it tried to jump back, the probe vanished without a trace.

So now Parker knows: Malakai is behind all the mysterious events and disappearances.  But where is the probe itself?  The answer lies back in 1912 with Drake’s journal.

In the journal, Drake mentioned that his dream featured a bed of reeds, which reminded him of an etching.  In Drake’s closet, there is a secret compartment Parker was unable to open before.  But now, using clues he got in 2004, Parker solves the code and opens it.  Inside is the etching of reeds, and when Parker looks at it with the googles, he is transported through time yet again.

 

 

Finding himself in an abandoned bronze age village, Parker finds the cavern once again.  Only this time, he is able to continue down the tunnel.  And there, after all this time, lies the object that he’s been seeing in his dreams…Malakai.

 

 

Apparently, when Malakai attempted to jump back to Earth, the resulting incident catapulted the probe back in time to the bronze age.  It’s been lying there the entire time, desperately trying to find a way back home.  But for that to happen, it needed someone to enter the activation code, a code known only to Hart and Malakai itself.  Using clues he’s found throughout the times he’s visited, Parker manages to decipher the activation code and enter it.

Malakai then ascends into the sky before the scene shifts back to the lighthouse.  The lamp is lit once again, the swift beam of light cutting through the gloomy night…

 

Concluding Thoughts

It’s funny.  I still enjoy this game and its story.  But looking back on it, there are some things that could have been fleshed out more.

For instance, the history of Fetch Rock itself.  We know from Demarion at the beginning of the game that the island has a cursed reputation and that the building of the lighthouse was fraught with strange accidents.  But since the Malakai probe would have been there since around prehistoric times, there must have been other weird things going on throughout the island’s history.  Why not flesh it out some more, give it more of a history instead of just saying “hey this place is bad news…take our word for it.”

And for that matter, what about Polly White?  Her only purpose in the game is to feed Parker the location of the Radvision goggles.  And yet, she’s given a whole little bit about being a possible reincarnation of one of the lighthouse keepers.  But it’s never touched on again once you get the goggles.

And what about Malakai itself?  It’s vaguely hinted at that Malakai uses the Matter Manipulation Software to “feed” on people for energy, but why do Drake and Magnus suddenly start glowing?  What is the purpose of that?

I could go on about stuff like this, but I think it comes down to the fact that it is a video game first and foremost.  And to be honest, the atmosphere and exploration were why I was playing the game in the first place, not the story.  But in the end, the story was intriguing.  It just didn’t use its potential enough.  I love the idea of ghostly happenings turning out to be advanced technology that people from earlier times can’t even begin to fathom.  I like the idea of a ghost story with a science-fiction bent to it.  It would make for a fascinating novel.  That way the story could hammer home the technology theme by having Parker be the “man out of time” who encounters these strange devices.

I think the story’s biggest flaw is that it ends up being too complex for its own good.  There’s a lot at play here and it doesn’t all connect in a neat fashion.  Part of that is likely due to the game being very low-budget and indie.  But a lot of it has to do with the fact that a point and click game generally tells its story in a non-linear fashion, whereas I think this game’s story could have benefited from being told in a more structured manner.

In the end, I still love the game.  But I think I enjoyed the idea of the story more than the story itself.

 

Thanks for reading!  Check back next Wednesday for my next short story.

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