The Station, Part 77

EPILOGUE:

I easily push my way through the lush, green forest. My newest form is powerful and huge. I am a magnificent, naked specimen. I still wear this odd communication device because I want to share one last thing with you before I go. I no longer need rescue as you may have already surmised. You will now hear the rescuer meet his first charges.

I enter a clearing, sit down and wait. They are already here, watching, contemplating me, the new arrival that looks just like any of them. After a while, the first member of the troop emerges. He is the leader, a splendid and beautiful example of primate if I ever did see one. His dense, muscular body is even larger than my own, as I intended, for I do not want to intimidate. He approaches and sits across from me. Satisfied that this stranger is not a threat, he gives off a soft grunt of approval. The others begin to emerge. One by one, they file out of the underbrush in the order of rank as I expected. The young mothers with adolescents and infants in tow are last. They are all here. An inquisitive youngster approaches me. Her mother looks on with not alarm, just concern, on her face. I let the little one touch my face. I do not move. She darts away, but then hesitates and returns. Again she touches my face, this time more confident. The ever so soft murmur of my incomprehensible speech is interesting, but not frightening. It is proving to be a distraction however. I will stop soon. I will then speak to them in the way they understand.

I have passed the first test. They are ready for me to begin the transition to becoming a member of the troop. I will learn their ways, their values. And when the time is right, I will tell them of my true nature. I will tell them of where I came from.

I am glad to still have those particular memories. I’m happy will always remember my mother, my father, and why I would not be able to cope with the world I left behind. All those moments, the ones that really matter, will not be lost.

I will then tell them what they one day will have again—a vast new world of their own. It is time for me to take my leave of you. I thank you for staying with me throughout my journey.

This is…this is Lieutenant…this is the Emissary…signing off.

The Station, Part 76

I am being shown that the habitat chamber is now complete, a facsimile of the old world. The fog, plants life and all the other things they call home are all there for them when they awake. The young species is now aboard, mercifully unconscious among their many familiar things.

I am seeing the Junction once again. One of the crew steps into a chamber just like the one I inhabit now. Time passes and the chrysalis, as I understand it to be now, unseals and out emerges a perfect replica of the mollusk-like form, in every physical way identical to those that are within the new habitat. This being is to be the emissary, the one who will live among them, learn their ways, and become one of them. And when the time is right, the emissary will reveal himself to the people. There is much time as they all journey through space. They will continue to find and save other dying races that deserve a second chance. Habitats will continue to be created, and the emissary will visit each one in turn.

More images pass by. More races of all shapes, habit and form have been rescued from undeserved fates. Years, perhaps eons have passed and I discover that even the most advanced of all races is still not immortal. All but one remains. The emissary is long since gone. This is the last member of his own race, and he and weak from age and work. His time is short. The Ark is being programmed. For the first time in millennia, its mission has changed. It will no longer seek newly sentient races. The Ark must find its next caretakers; and most importantly, its new emissary. The learning programs have been prepared. All the habitats will be maintained automatically. But new ones cannot be created until a new emissary has been selected. And now that emissary has been found, and is almost prepared.

My safe cushion of fluid has disappeared, and once again I am in the empty chrysalis. The opening I have so desperately tried to preserve and escape into has returned. I feel so anxiety now. I now emerge out of it and into my new life. My body is like that of the long deceased crew. Thin, smooth skin devoid of hair. My feet retain their four toes and I see that my hands are still of the six fingered configuration as well. They will be better able to manipulate the myriad functions of the Ark. I am fully prepared.

I understand precisely why I am here. I understand it all. And yes, I will do this thing this long dead being asks of me.

The Station, Part 75

I’m floating. I don’t know where I am, but it does not matter. I don’t even know how I am communicating to you, if at all. Perhaps these are my thoughts being transmitted through means unknown to me. Or perhaps I am insulated from all forms of interaction. Regardless, I feel completely free and content. Every muscle in my body is perfectly relaxed, my mind is clear, and I do not have a care in the world. Yet there is another presence here. Something that does not require eyes or ears to detect. This is something that has been with me for some time now, my companion on the long journey here. They are within me. An intelligence that has made my body stronger, more capable of handling the rigors of the many environmental challenges I have faced. This presence is throughout me, and now in, within this fluid state, it and free itself to make its presence known. Without eyes I can see it, a complex of many billions. They permeate my body and now float freely within the fluid as other parts of it build still more. They tell me they are going to help me. Make me whole. I do not understand what they mean, but I am willing to let them go about their task. It is irrelevant in any case; I do not know how I would go about giving them a response. I would like to say that I have given my companion permission to go about its task; it is simply not aware of it.

As I wait and wonder, I am being shown a virtual kaleidoscope of images and information. They rush by, and somehow I am able to discern individual events of which must have occurred long ago. There was a race of beings here once, in this chamber. I suspected as much. The crew of the Leviathan. They operate the vast complex of machinery that comprises this Leviathan. The many displays show the chambers of which I am now so familiar. But this is an earlier time. They are all but empty containers yet to be used for their most altruistic purpose.

The crew centered their attention on the central hologram—their first charge, a small desert world with patches of precipitation. I can see that this world is a very old one; its sun has dwindled into a weak dwarf star. One of them touches a control and the Leviathan descends down, down into the atmosphere of this ancient world, into one of the dense cloud formations. Once on the surface, I can barely make out the surroundings. Then they seem to materialize out of the rolling fog. Huge, mollusk-like creatures, each with a single stalk tipped with light. I have seen them before. So close to us, yet unaware of our presence. They frightened me then. Now I feel sorry for them. They are noble, intelligent species, on the cusp of forming a society. Through no fault of their own they are also a dying race, being driven to extinction because they had achieved sentience near the end of their world’s lifespan. But they deserve the chance to continue, to contribute to the universe. They are, after all, a kind of people. They have not lived to their full potential.

I have been told that the interface between myself, my companions the nanites (that is what it…they call themselves), and the Leviathan is nearly complete. I can now comprehend even more. This dying race will be saved. They need only be taken aboard. Their habitat is nearing completion. Once finished this small society will be brought aboard, and once settled into a place all but identical to their soon to be former home, all will be delicately and fully explained. And here they will remain, able to live their lives in freedom while being cared for, until a suitable new world can be found for them to be fruitful and multiply. This species is far too young to understand the impact, and so they will not interpret their home as captivity. The concept would apply to a more advanced race, one that is less innocent.

The Station, Part 74

As for the explanation I promised, you have now been given it. I feel no disgust towards you, rather a sense of pity, and I’m sorry for that. There is no sense of superiority to you either. That is not it at all. I was but a lonely explorer to found without knowing until just recently, his true home. I pity what you will only hear of and never experience for yourself.

There is a change happening to the Junction. The myriad of displays are fading and the room is darkening. It continues to fade. And now I can see nothing save for a single spot in the very center of the floor. I am drawn to it. I have to see it for what it is.

Before I take a step, I see the displays return, slowly fading in. The images they show me have a theme—planets. Many are water-filled worlds, some are gaseous giants, and still others wear various shades of green. Still others are blessed with rings. All manner of worlds that only seconds ago were unknown to me.

A hiss has startled me. The place of the light has been filled with some kind of spherical chamber. It appears to be a miniature version of the Junction, large enough in diameter of accommodate a being of my size. As if reading my thoughts, the side visible to me slowly opens, parting as liquid does. Now there is a perfectly round hole. A faint light emanates from within. I believe I have been invited inside. In any case, I would like to see what lies inside.

I step inside and find that it is noticeably in here warmer than outside. Not uncomfortably so; in fact, it gives me a relaxed, secure feeling just being in here. I sit down, resting my back against the inner wall, letting this moment of calm wash over me. I close my eyes. It grows darker. Why is that? The hold I came through—it’s almost closed! I pull at it with all my strength, but it makes no difference. My fingers now barely fit inside. They have been forced back inside. The opening has completely closed. I am trapped inside with only the faint, warm light as company. It is of no comfort right now.

I feel something wet on my feet and buttocks. I reach down and touch wetness. Not like water; this is a thicker, viscous fluid that adheres to my hand. I cannot shake it off. I can’t see where it originates from but it is quickly filling in around me. I try to stand up but there is no room. I can only stand with knees bent. I reach above and use my hands to push at the top of the chamber but there is hardly any give. I try to push my fingers into its surface, but it has become harder. There is no longer any give to it. It is hard as rock. The fluid is still rising. It is now around my knees. It is a pinkish hue in the low light, like the color of diluted blood. I try to find its origin point, but it just seems to come from nowhere and everywhere. I want to get out. I don’t want this anymore. Why couldn’t they have asked me? Get me out, damn you! I’ve been with you this far. Whatever you are—stoop this now! This liquid is getting higher. Around my chest now. It is warm, but that is of no comfort. It won’t stop rising. How will I breathe? Is this some cruel joke? You can stop now. I can’t have come this far only to die in here! Damn you, let me out. Please, it has reached my neck now; I won’t be able to breathe! I can’t breathe liquid. I can’t just grow gills…can I? Touching my chin. Please let me go…

The Station, Part 73

At my touch, she turns and covers my hand with her healthy one. It’s so like mine except for it immense size as compared to my own, which disappears under it. As for a time, we share a bond of kinship. We are two friends, both feeling unworthy of our place here. In my mind I feel the old one asking for forgiveness at her intrusion, but she had to make her delivery. I impress upon her that there is nothing to forgive. But who am I to determine that? But then I realize it is indeed me that she asks forgiveness. And yet once again, I feel unworthy.

Our unspoken conversation is at an end. The opening above has already begun to close. She or one of her kind could reopen it but she feels that any more such intrusions are improper and border on the unforgivable. I do not argue. And then she impresses upon me that this is not goodbye. I do not have the heart to tell her that it most likely is. Our hands part and she takes to the air. I follow her path up, up until she passes through the gap far above. And then she is gone. I stand here for a time, watching as the Junction heals itself, waiting as the hole reshapes and shrinks, until it finally closes. Now I am truly alone once again. I know why I want to be here, but I have absolutely no idea why I have been brought precisely to my desired destination Was it because in my mind I wish it and the old one simply fulfilled the request? And why did it not occur to me to ask this altogether important question? In any case, I should have thanked her.

Because I wanted to find out for myself. All this time, I’ve been held by the hand in both figuratively and literally. It is past time to take matters into my own hands and fulfill the task I set out to do. I had assumed it would be a simple matter of finding that last passage to freedom, but I see now that it will not be that simple. Yes, it is a matter of locating that place, that one place that I used to call a home. But all I can remember is the cold walls and impersonal colored lights and the speckled blackness that surrounded it. I was a pale, helpless thing, dependent upon artificial things to keep me alive. I remember seeing the crowds of similar beings that packed every corner of vast cities, so close together, yet so unaware and unconcerned for one another. Everyone a stranger. And each one as ultimately helpless and alone the sole occupant of a sterile shell in the blackness of space, ironically searching for new companions among the stars, because he couldn’t find the sense of unity and from where originated. But here, in the Leviathan, I have seen and felt more sense of home than anywhere. The entire reason I was out among the stars in the first place. I remember that now, I remember that most of all because it is the important thing. Not the names and events that I have now forgotten, or the meaning of the machines I must have took much effort in learning. All of that is gone now. I have already been set free.

You may have deduced what is to come next, but if you have not, that is fine. I feel I owe you an explanation for what I am about to do. I made my way to the central hologram, the three dimensional map that shows all paths. I reach inside and touch the place that holds my former home. It is as it was at the very end of my Sleep Lesson. And now that lesson is completed. I see the specific route I must take to reach my former home. As I do so, the hologram shifts and reforms into a shape of sharp angles and spokes of instrumentation, held in place by an intricate mesh of strands to prevent it from falling into space. It is an ugly thing, yet still holds some value for me, that small confining thing. I now know how I am to get there, but that has been rendered unimportant. I have been given a pair of choices: to stay or to go. After all, this all about freedom, is it not? I am making that choice now. I place my hand into the hologram of metal and push. The image shifts. The stands that hold the thing in place begin to fall away, one by one. The last stand that lets go is the very tunnel I would have used to regain entry into that place. I feel a twinge of regret. There is very small part of me that grieves. But it is a very small part. I think I will hold onto that piece of myself for as long as I am able. We need to remember the sacrifice.

The Station, Part 72

We are coming closer and my excitement grows with each passing moment. It just occurred to me that as ware outside all the tunnels, are means by which we will enter the Junction has not been made apparent. There are no doors or other discernable means by which to gain entry. This is cause for concern. I look up into the face of the old one who seems to sense my unease. She smiles in that remarkable way of hers, a reassuring smile that tells me again without words that is and will continue to be well. And I do believe she is rather pleased that I even feel the way I do right now. There’s something to which I’m not being enlightened. But one thing is certain; there is a plan at work. And I am most certain that I am a central part of it.

As we alight upon the surface of the Junction, the notice her weight makes impressions on its egg shell white surface. I should have known. Like the tunnels, this central hub is born of the same malleable substance. As remain seated, the old one places me into the arms of another adult that has landed beside us. Now with two free hands, she slowly pushes into the Junction’s surface and begins a kneading motion. As she works it begins to part, a little at first, and when the hole is large enough, she pulls at either end until she has to back up as she works. Now it is wide enough to accommodate her great form. Taking me back from the other adult, she hugs me to her chest and we drop into the hole.

It is too bright in here; I have to keep my eyes closed. But even without the benefit of sight I feel that something is different here. It is not the temperature or humidity or any other meteorological factor. The difference comes from within me. I detect the first slight bump of our landing and the second as the old one sets me down on the floor. The pain in my eyes has lessened. I think I can chance opening my eyes.

What an assault on the senses this is! All around me there are images of activity. I see on the curved walls and floating at various altitudes what must be a representation of every inner chamber of the Leviathan. Every environment that I traversed, and many more that defy my experience—they are all here. It is so much more than what I witnessed in my Sleep Lesson. That was merciful; for I do not know if my mind of that time could have handled such a feast. I can barely take it all in now. I think I will need more than just two eyes for the task.

I have almost forgotten about the old one. She remains standing beside me. I look up at her and I see her head is bowed and her eyes are closed. Is it because she cannot handle the array of imagery, or is it because she believes she is not permitted I wonder. I believe it is a combination of both. It is another bit of knowledge that I have gained without the benefit of words. I reach out and touch her hands, the one injured long ago in a time I cannot fathom. She is as ancient as the trees.

The Station, Part 71

I look up once again to the circle of singers above, and focus beyond them. I can make out other domed structures like this one. They too have been opened, allowing their inhabitants to view the celebration. I suspect that they too are singing. And I see thousands of their kind lining the sinews that interconnect their homes. It is an astonishing sight. A chorus of thousands. It is an effort to take my eyes away, but I manage. I return to her her. Her tears have collected into small pools at our feet. She stands fully erect now. Her size is no longer a frightening sight for me. And behind me the younger adult I now know to be male and her subordinate, holds something in his hands. It is made of the same substance as their homes. But this creation is more refined, smoother, and more delicate with an inner lining of soft silk-like material. It is just large enough for one creature of my particular size to sit within its comfortable interior. This little thing, this cradle, is something special. It was made just for me. They have told me al of this without words. It was in their singing, it was in their expressions. In every body gesture. I will not disappoint them. It is time to return their generosity. I step inside and sit upon its silken bed.

And with that, the old one spreads her wings wide, and with an ever so slight push of her legs, she takes us up out of the chamber and into the sky! I can truly see the enormity of her home, this great city nestled within and around great fibrous vinery. All around us, hundreds of her kind have joined us in flight. They are ancient as well. Perhaps they are the representatives of this community, ambassadors of goodwill. Every face is different, unique, but all share the same expression of great happiness.

Up we climb traveling past one domed chamber after another; their song uninterrupted as we pass countless numbers of their kind, all of whom sing with wing and voice. A single, unbroken song of a chorus that must ultimately measure in the millions. Our course takes us ever upward into the sunless heaven. And then I begin to see it and I understand a little more. I see the conjoining of tunnels from all places within the Leviathan. Some of them intertwine as if in a loving embrace before ending. Others take a more direct course. Still others arch upward at an angle that perhaps only the most skilled climber would be able to traverse. But all share one thing in common—their destination. And that, as I’m just now beginning to fathom, is where the old one and her kind head right now. It is a great, perfectly white sphere. I recognize its shape as I saw it from the inside, from my Sleep Lesson. It is my turn to shed tears and I do so unashamedly. It is the Junction. My key to salvation. Except now, there is something altogether different about its meaning for me. Seeing the Junction is like seeing a home thought lost long ago. It is this feeling I do not understand. I should be thinking of getting inside and determining which among this myriad of tunnels is the one that will take me to my former home. I must be overwhelmed with stimuli—I cannot remember its name. This place that I seek. That place full of stark gray walls and now meaningless colored lights that blink in mysterious patterns. I know this name. Or do I anymore? I feel I may have lost more than I realize. But have gained so much more perception, both external and internal, the longer I stay here. The sacrifice is not an altogether painful one.

The Station, Part 70

It begins with a low hum that feels as if it comes from everywhere. I’m look about me, trying to find its source. There it is—the wings of the great being. They are vibrating too fast for my eye to follow. The hum’s volume increases, and the wings become invisible. It is a beautiful sound, clear and resonant. Almost a voice. And now it changes rising in pitch and volume. The younger adult joins in. I see its wings flutter and all but disappear in creating it own sound. It blends and contrasts with its elder’s sound. These sounds resonate off the walls, creating an acoustic effect unlike anything I have ever heard. It is gloriously beautiful. And just when I thought it could not be any more breathtaking, the soft little ones add their own voices to the duet, giving birth to a chorus that stuns me with its beauty.

I feel as if I am bathing in sound. It whirls around me, touching me with soothing hums and filling my mind with the most beautiful images. I no longer see a mere collection of strange beasts. I see beings that glory in song and belonging. They move with the sounds of their natural instrumentation. It is a dance. A dance of joy and celebration. They celebrate an occasion. I understand. I do not know how, but with every nuance of sound they project, I see new images. Not words. Impressions and emotions which are too complex for mere words. They are celebrating me. I have finally come for them and they are overjoyed. I do not understand the reason they feel this way at my coming, only that this is an occasion to sing at one’s best.

I have been so overcome with emotion that I did not notice that the beam of light around me has expanded and nearly all present have been bathing within it for an unknown breadth of time. I could have been standing here for minutes or hours. I have already lived a wonderful eternity of bliss within the song. I had forgotten about any light until now. The song has been my warmth.

That is because what was once just a circular space in the ceiling is now an open roof. Lining all around its perimeter are more the adults of all ages. I see variations in color and faces. No two are alike. I cannot see their wings, but I know they sing along with others. They are the rest of this magnificent chorus. They too look at me with those eyes full of wonder and joy. I am their audience. I do not deserve such treatment.

It is almost amusing when I think of my state of mind from when I first saw their slumbering young, full of fear and trepidation. And contrast that short time ago with now. I am embarrassed and unworthy of this. I was just a lost traveler, making his way. But here and now, I am not lost. I am not afraid. I am happy because they beings, these people, have shown me nothing but their generosity. Not just these singing ones, but all the rest. The worms of the snow, the man apes of the savannah, and even the myriad of forms I see in my sleep lessons. I have given nothing back but fear and distrust. And now I feel something altogether new—shame.

As if reading my thoughts, and perhaps actually doing such a thing, the old one comes near once again. I have come to understand that this one is a female. Something that was communicated through thought or song, but I do not really know just how. She is close now, and this time there is no singing, there is no guiding hand. I see pools of clear liquid welling up in each those great eyes. One spills over, and the other quickly follows.

By the stars, she’s crying.

The Station, Part 69

Its eyes are bright, full of life and dare I say, wonder, or is it…awe. I must assume nothing. But I do longer fear them. And behind it, I see more of them, lining up; all with that same expression that I feel should not be upon their faces. My first visitor reaches the old one’s side and looks up to it, then me, then back up to its elder. It is uncertain. From the old one’s wings comes a sound that reassures me and seems to do the same to the little one. Its face relaxes and it again moves toward me. It is now a mere half meter away, it faces even with my chest. Its nearly invisible pupils lock with mine and then, by the stars, it smiles. I know the smile anywhere, in any place. It is undoubtedly the smile of a child. And with that, it has dipped it head back down toward the floor. Its forelimbs spread again in that same pose of supplication. Is it waiting for me to do something? I feel silly, awkward. I can only stare down at it. The old one moves in beside its charge and reaches out ever so slowly with its good hand, almost reverently. With a touch ever so light, it takes my own hand and places on top of the little one’s head. Its skin is cool and soft. At my touch I feel it briefly stiffen and just as quickly relax once again. As tenderly as before, my hand is taken away and juvenile look into my eyes again, smiles and crawls away. It is immediately replaced by another. The hand motions are repeated. I now understand the motions now and the elder creature’s guidance is no longer needed. It seems to be aware of this and removes its hand from my own. I perform the unfathomable ritual again and again until there are no more heads to touch.

Now the last to approach is the first adult that arrived. Like its elder, it towers over me, but only in size. Like all the others, there is no aggression in its motions. I know why it is here. I raise my hand one more time. In response, it lowers it body until it lays flat on the floor, just low enough for me to barely reach the top of its head, but I manage it. Unlike the softness of the little ones, its cranium is hard and somewhat rough like rock. It only lays there for a moment, head down just like all its brethren, and then once again raises itself to it full height. It looks down upon me with an expression that I take to be thankful, and resumes its place behind the eldest of them all. The ancient beast—no, I should not think of them as beasts—this being, along with the rest of its kind, seem to be waiting for something. For me to do something. I have no idea what. What do they want me to do? Again, I feel the awkwardness. But like before, it is this great old one that saves me from further embarrassment. It begins to sing.

The Station, Part 68

As I watch, the adult creature touches each of the young, one-by-one, in a most gentle way that belies its appearance of brutishness. It’s a caress, as a mother would caress her child. Its forelimbs gently sweep over each head. The young in turn emit a cooing sound that grows louder with each newly touched head. I am almost moved by the gesture, if not for my overriding fear of discovery. I do not want to consider what this family’s reaction to my presence would be. I would guess it to be a negative one. I do like this cooing much more than the desperate cries of just a few moments before. It calms me. I think that is its function. A mutual reassuring sound to one another that all is well. I do feel safer now, their attention focused on the adult. And now another adult has entered. This one even larger than the last. And different color with a face that is unmistakably wise. I would even say…gentle.

Once the caressing motions have ceased, all turn to this being, for even I know that this one is special. This one is the leader of them all. It body is pocked with numerous scars. There are patches there fur is missing. And one hand-like extremity is missing. But its countenance is magnificent. The eyes, set deep within I can easily become lost. Countless wrinkles crisscross a leathery forehead and cheeks. The face is a gentle one. That, in combination with the resonant sound the children emit is so calming. Perhaps being discovered would not be so terrible. In their time of great calm, would not my miniscule size be of little concern? Here, bathed in the warm light of a sunless sky, I stand at the very center of a small world dominated by vast beings of what I only recently thought to be impossible. I watch as the eldest one look upon its subordinate and the children, and watch as it turns to peer directly in my direction. I go from calm warmth to cold fear in an instant. I have been discovered. And now as I shiver in helplessness, it approaches. And while grows closer, I see that all eyes are now upon me. There is no place to flee, the exit is blocked. The opening above is too far above to reach. I have violated to sanctity of their home. I’ve closed my eyes. I fear that these are my last words to you, whoever you are. Thank you for listening…

I’m awaiting pain yet nothing happens. I’m afraid to open my eyes, but that’s what I do. There is a massive face barely a meter away from my own. This close, I can see deep into it eyes. I was wrong. There are pupils. They seem to react to my speech, narrowing at its cessation, widening with new the beginning of each new sentence.

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but in reality is a mere handful of seconds. Then I sense that something is happening behind this old one. It finally backs away slightly as if to show me what goes on behind it. The young ones have lined the walls in an evenly spaced fashion. The lesser adult rests in front of them, seemingly in a resting position. They do not move. Their heads are bowed down. I do not understand this reaction at all. But the old one opposite me approaches again, and this time is reaching out it arms high above me. Does it mean to strike me? I want to run, but everywhere I could go is blocked by one of these creatures. But then, the old one is moving so slowly, deliberately. Its arms reach their apex, and just as slowly, come down to the floor as it takes on a bowing position, a pose of supplication. I am astounded. In front of me, this creature that could crush me with a single blow, is bowing before me as if I were it ruler. And then I see that the other adult has done the same. And in no particular order, the young has begun to follow suit, their plumper bodies looking somewhat ridiculous as they mimic the movement of their elders, holding of their stunted forelegs as high as they can, and then bringing them down again in a comical imitation of the bowing position. I have no fear now. At my own amazement, I am utterly embarrassed. I do not deserve this treatment at all. And now the old one stands again and turns to the other adult. Making a noise with its wings that is a cross between a buzz and a voice; the lesser one touches the child creature closest to it. This little one still far superior to myself in size, makes it way towards me.

The Station, Part 67

As my eyes adjust to the light that surrounds me, the effect is that of an ambient darkening. Details of what surrounds me fades into this self-induced twilight state. I an now peer up into the hole above me little effort. And what a clear day it appears to be. My keen eyes do not spy what would be considered a sky. From my vantage point I see no clouds and hints movement above. I do see however, more of these amorphous protrusions climbing up what must be the largest dark wall that I have yet to be in the Whale. I cannot tell you just how insignificant I feel right now. A murmuring sound is suddenly all around me. Now it is a desperate bleating! It’s the sleeping insect-beasts. They’re waking up! I should leave now. But no! I just stepped out the beam and saw that they’re all moving around now. My exit is blocked with their rapidly crowding bodies. I step back into the beam, hoping that its light will disguise my presence. But what woke them? Why they face the exit. Move of them crawl past me. They are clumsy, barely able to control their atrophied limbs. What should I do? I can’t possibly remain here without detection for long. And what then? To where will I retreat? But to what little relief it gives, my theory about the light was apparently correct. So far all the inhabitants have either not detected or simply ignore me. For them it is my hope that I am not here at all. I can only stand here, frozen in fear, and wait for whatever comes next. All the beasts now face the way I came in like a crowd waiting for something to arrive. There is no escape for me.

And then I see it before I hear. Something vast and impossibly fast. There are legion in number. In the time it takes me to blink, the opening to the chamber above my head is darkened several times over by the passing of bodies that are far too fast for me to properly see. The noise of a hurricane above easily drowns out the bleats of the newly arrived things above. Through breaks in the swarm I see more of them alighting upon the chambers above and disappearing into the entrances. And now it dawn of me—the beasts that wait anxiously at the entrances are but infants. And the parents have come home. My legs are weak. I can’t help the shuddering I make even in the heat of this place. It’s no better than a tomb.

The crowd seems to swell as something pushes through it, covered by the excruciating cries of the young. As they slowly slip off the form, the body that is revealed stops me cold. The adult creature is simultaneously magnificent and terrifying. Where it young are horrible enough, this specimen is truly a predator among predators. It must be over ten meters in length, winged and possesses a sleek body of well-defined musculature.. The fully-developed limbs show me just how powerful these young ones will one day become. My eyes go from their powerful bodies to their faces. I am horrified, and yet I cannot look away. They have large, bulbous eyes that reflect the light of the beam, giving them pupils that really aren’t there. Just black soulless wells like that of sharks. I could confirm this if it were not for my partial blindness from within the light beam. I do not really care; I am apparently still invisible to them.

The Station, Part 66

They still have not noticed my presence and I decide to tale myself up on a dare. The light that I saw is a lovely pale yellow beam that shines into the chamber of insect beasts, a sharp contrast to the creature that surround it. My dare is to slip into the chamber and take a look up into that gap in the ceiling. Whatever for you may be asking?

I need to see what’s coming, that’s why. I need to know that all of this effort to reach the summit of whatever world this may be was worth it. I was supposed to go down. Horizontal then down. Never upward. Some instinct, calling or whatever you may wish to call it drove me into that impossibly gigantic tree. It makes no sense. How could it? I’ve done nothing but ascend for I don’t know how long. I was remade yet again to do so. It has to be the right thing to do. Now I face another seemingly impossible thing—these slumbering amalgamations of flesh. Huge and unlike all else that has come before, just like all that I have seen here. I am but an insect here. It is not difficult to think in this way. I have seen nothing that is comparable in size. I will continue to narrate, but it will be at an extreme whisper for the time being.

I am moving inside. The closest of the creatures, a pair that is nestled closely together do not seem to detect my presence. I am a mere fraction of their size, perhaps the size of one of their hand-like extremities. It is very possible that my footfalls are not heard I am so small. That is assuming these beings possess apparatus for hearing. I see nothing of the sort. But that is no reason to become complacent in any way. Their eyes must be huge, thin membranous lids cover their huge orbs. But it is their mouths that draw my attention most. Thin, almost nonexistent when closed, they reveal nothing of their dietary habits. I would be relieved to know if they had nothing but flat, even teeth for processing vegetation. The alternative is too unsettling to consider at the moment. I’m sure you understand, considering my current situation.

I slip past these two massive giants and am almost to the center. The roof of this chamber has an opening about three meters in diameter, far too small for these creatures to climb through. The only other way in an out was the route to took, and that is wide enough for at least three of these creatures. I’m now in the center, looking up into the opening. It is rather bright, painful to look into directly. My eyes need time to adjust. But that leaves me temporarily blinded. I will just stay in the beam until my eyes are used to that too bright light and try again.

I’m now taking the time to examine my hosts even more closely. It is apparent there is a uniformity of size among my unconscious hosts. They may be of the same age, sex or other criteria that I am unaware. Looking closer at the bigger hind limbs at notices something. Their proportions seem uneven. That is, these larger legs, although much larger than the arm-like forelimbs are still remarkably small when compared to the body itself. Far too small to act as effective propulsion. In effect, these creatures may be more or less helpless. Which would mean they may depend on something else for basic survival. Some kind of caregiver that has yet to reveal itself. The very thought inspires a cold feeling within me.

The Station, Part 65

Inside it is noticeably cooler and more humid. Already I had forgotten what the forest far below had felt like. This is much more like that place. Immediately I also find that my climb is rather easy, as the inner walls of this bizarre assemblage is a gestalt of various kinds of vegetation, all cemented together into a homogenous hardness like that of rock. It makes for an ideal medium for an arboreal form such as me. Added that is the lessening incline that decreases the pull of gravity. With these factors in my favor, it is all for naught at the moment. Because that is all I see—more of this amorphous blend of mummified detritus and darkness ahead. But still, like a butterfly to a brightly colored flower, I cannot resist its pull; I can only hope that what I find is indeed a flower and not the embrace of something else—something that does not give in return for a favor done.

For the first time since I discovered the forest far below, I am able to stand and walk. There is but the slightest hint of an incline, but after relying on a different set of muscles for all that time, I now know what it must be like to be a young animal taking its first steps, awkward first steps that still make one think of oneself as a pioneer. How odd to consider myself in this way…

This is no Tunnel Round. For a brief moment my hopes were raised as continued my wandering. I have already seen variations of tunnels, namely the cave system, but this is quite different. It is far too large to be just a means of passage. And I have seen what appears to be spoor here and there. Some deposits must be recent, as they emit a mot noxious odor while others I deem to be quite old; these are odorless and all but petrified. I can only conclude that something lives here. And has done so for a very long time. I see the passage ends not far ahead; there is a welcome sight. Light is streaming in. Light that I have missed. I’m running. I can’t help it. It looks so inviting and I can’t wait to bathe in its warmth!

I need a moment to take in what I am seeing. I don’t know if I’m in danger and should leave right now, quietly backing out and returning the way I came. Instead, I stay perfectly still, the only sound I hear is my own breathing—and that of the massive creatures that I see everywhere I lay my eyes.

I wall of slowing moving flesh covers every bit of ground in what must be a nest. No, a hive. A hive of absolutely horrific size. Horrific in that I am by far the smallest and certainly most vulnerable being here. I must keep my voice to a whisper. Probably should not speak at all, but it does not seem that I have been noticed. My relatively diminutive size is the most likely reason. I am hoping that my status remains that way. What they could possibly be, I do not know. Their bodies are a combination of mammal and insect. Their bodies are segmented into three main parts: A head, thorax and abdomen I surmise, this would be their homage to the insect world. But the rest of their forms do not correspond that order. A set of four legs can be easily divided into two small forelegs that end in disturbingly dexterous hands and two many times more substantial hind limbs, powerfully muscles and fitted with grasper-like extremities. Iridescent fur covers various parts for their wrinkled flesh in no particular pattern. But disturbing of most of all is their faces. They all look to be perfect facsimiles of one another. Deep folds of fatty tissue partially conceal their closed eyes and mouths. Their noses are but small protruding nubs which must be nostrils, for they are seem to expand and contract at a regular rate. They make a faint sound that is like a soft breeze. Had I been more patient, I probably would have heard it sooner. I’m so glad that I did not shout my glee as I was so tempted to do. I don’t want to know what kind of panic I may have created among these massive sleeping forms. A stampede with but one way out, the way I came in.

The Station, Part 64

These vines are surprisingly strong, more than capable of supporting my full weight. However, due to their extremely flexibility, they easily bend to my will, which adds an element of precariousness to the climb. It’s of no real concern. What I am concerned about is their seeming endlessness. I’ve taken my leave of the tree; I have no way of knowing if in fact, is still next to me or many meters below. And instead of the roots thinning as I had hoped, instead they have done something entirely unexpected. Their numbers may have lessened, but the ones that remain have grown thick, less malleable under my hands and feet. Instead of providing a grip I can wrap them around, I must seek out knots and crevasses within these increasingly large plants. It’s like I’ve gone back to the tree again, except that I have more of an indirect course towards whatever lays above. And now I’m convinced that there is something that sustains this strangest of all ecosystems that has nothing to do with sunlight. I must open my mind to other possibilities. Rules that I have been taught to be universals just may not be such.

There is a break in the vines. An opening of sorts roughly perpendicular to the ground. Perhaps ten meters across. Not a tunnel. More of a wedge that has seemingly forced itself into the crowd. Its edges are bulbous and a darkish muddy blue. But all else is cast in that subtle bluish glow, placing doubt on any true hues. Whatever it is, I am unnerved by it. This muddy form seems like an intruder here, having forced its way into the tangle of vines. I feel I should avoid it, but beyond it I can see little more. And What I see look to be several more of these supposed openings. If that is what they truly are. This is indeed the strangest of all crossroads.

I’ve passed on investigated beyond the first opening, discovering nothing more than an impenetrable darkness and silence. I have ascended further and found more of these protrusions. They do not have the look of randomness. The beginning of an arrangement around something is becoming more apparent. Something absolutely immense. So immense that it would dwarf even the tree I climbed to get here. A tree that was not a tree I have realized. Trees are not trees when they require no sunlight for chlorophyll. Trees do not have veins. Trees do not have pulses and do not bleed. When will I break this habit of applying rules of life that have been time and time again proven to do wrong? Perhaps I’ve just taken that vital first step—awareness of error of my ways.

As I progress ever upward, more of these constructions are revealed. They vary little from one to the next, all foreboding. Yet, as I see them increase in frequency, I am becoming enticed by their mystery, their reluctance to give up their secrets. I should not be so tempted. Time is short I feel. I cannot afford to deviate any more than I already have. They have become so frequent that I now have to find way to navigate around them, making my efforts that much more difficult. I have to stop and rest more frequently. And now would be the time that I miss those soft, pulsating forms filled with their juices, their blood. I see nothing here that could be used for subsistence. That is troublesome. I am expending much energy and not replenishing as I should. I look upward at my chances. There is nothing to indicate I will find what I need. Weakness will eventually lead to clumsiness, which very likely will lead to a fall. Not fatal at first in all likelihood, which I would deem merciful. But nature is not one to lead out mercy, now is it? It would in all likelihood be enough to promote a slow death by injury and dehydration. It is far, far too late to consider returning the way I came. Enough of that kind of thinking. I need to stay intent on finding possibilities. And that is where my annoying curiosity is now coming into play. With a mix of inquisitiveness and trepidation, I will now take my first foray into one of these distorted, ominous openings.

The Station, Part 63

With my belly full and I feeling satiated, I can now more fully concentrate on the issue at hand. The scenario I’ve put myself in feels rather ridiculous at the moment. Here I am, a virtual chimera of a pallid species and that of something else, a form that harkens back to much more primitive days, and a time when my grandparents of uncountable greats were living in trees. Although nothing quite so majestic as these specimens. I see no hint of an uppermost canopy of which there must be. But when the time comes, what am I to do? There is nothing that I can remember from the sleep lesson that even hinted at an ascent. I should be traveling in a Tunnel Round, the kind that would take me on a horizontal path. Is it possible that I somehow took the wrong tunnel? Now that I think about it—yes, I very well could have. So overconfident. So enamored by my own seeming importance. Creatures assisting me in finding my way like I was some sort of regal figure. I’m such a fool. It never really occurred to me until now that at least some of the behavior exhibited by the inhabitants was random. The worms of the snow—they could have been merely curious about the white furred oddity that had traversed their territory. And the path they provided? That may have just been a mere side of effect of a desire to see me gone as soon as possible. The tunnel they lead me to. That may have just been the most convenient for them and nothing more.

If that is the case, I have done nothing more than to sabotage myself and waste time. I don’t know how long the Whale intends to keep the station within its grasp. But I can’t sit here like a damn monkey and wallow in self pity either. I’ve made my choice. I will see this through. No more time for doubting. Off I go again.

I’m nearing the end of this…I think. The trunk has finally begun to narrow in circumference, the bark has taken on more of an aged, weathered appeal. The orb-like fruits are far fewer and smaller as well. Yet there is still no increase in ambient light. Could the canopy be that impenetrable? It seems I’ll find out soon enough. Another detail that seems odd—the frequency of vines is well above that of their counterparts below, going as far as to outnumber the branches of the tree itself. These vine look to be as strong as carbon cabling, perhaps even more so. And what few leaves they have appear atrophied and all but extraneous. I wonder what sustains their apparently thriving lifestyle…

Up a little further and I find my path actually becoming narrower. The combination of thickening vines, smaller branches and thinning trunk are making my choices in footholds and such fewer in number. On the positive side, a fall from even this great height may not be fatal. Painful still perhaps, but there is so much foliage between myself and the ground not that it surely will break my fall. I would have plenty of opportunity to regain my hold long before I really got into trouble. That will be of some comfort as I may be making a trip down in the near future. But what if I’m not? I can use the vines to climb now, as they’ve nearly obscured the tree trunk. As I go higher, I no longer even see the tree. There are only vines now.

The Station, Part 62

I’ve decided to rest for now and ponder my situation for now. My modified form makes it quite easy to stretch onto the thick branches and their broad leaves and relax muscles that have been taut from extended exertion. It is my own thoughts that are more difficult to put at ease. Was it a mistake to leave the ground? I have found little in the way of food or a clear path. There has been no help, no assistance rendered by natives. And for that matter, no natives to speak of. No sign of movement other than these things that expand and contract, stretch and rebound all at their own paces. What happened to all of that? I’ve led, given silent instruction on what to eat and shown the proper path to my destination. Why would all of that just cease. Perhaps I don’t require it any longer. Perhaps I am that close and made an error very late in the journey. I could just climb back down and seek the way on foot, but then my way would be an extremely difficult one. Without some kind of assistance other than my hands it is most likely an impossible task. And what use would my newly designed hands and feet, my elongated arms, all be for?

No, I am doing the right thing? You agree don’t you? You have been with me this entire journey, intercepting the transmissions that I send via this thing that allows me to speak to the outer world. I know it still works because when I remove it to examine this odd thing, it emits a small green light. There are other marking upon it which I do not understand but I don’t think they’re important. I think it’s that green light that must remain so that I can speak to you. Just keep listening. I still know it’s important to me that you do. I’ll need help to remember why I came back. When I’m back.

Taking a very long look at my surroundings gives me no answers. I gaze upward as far as my straining eyes will allow and see nothing more than tree trunk, branches and leaves. What sort of nature allows for a life form of this size to exist? I guess at high oxygen atmosphere and low gravity for a likely combination. It would also explain my relative ease of ascent and relative lack of fatigue. I really do feel like I could go on and on. There is no tree tall enough to keep me at bay. So I’ve settled on doing just that—climb until there is no more room to move. I don’t know if it is what I must do, but there is no other way to know until I do it. So I’m done here. Upward I go then.

Sometimes the greatest discoveries come purely by accident. That is how I’ve managed to find both food and water so far up here in the canopy. All because of a minor slip. It wasn’t a potentially fatal error. Although now I am much more aware of the precarious position I really have put myself into. I was hopping to another section of truck, enjoying my ease of movement when, in my slight overconfidence, missed my mark and made a grab for the nearest handhold—one of those pulsing forms I have been taking certain small detours to avoid. To my immediate horror, and then quickly dawning realization and relief, the contact was a welcome surprise. As my hand broke the bulbous protrusion, a wonderful smell rose into the air. And what emitted the wonderful scent was the fruit of the interior. What once revulsion quickly became ravenous hunger, a lust that was second only to the one I felt for that lone fruit of the savanna. I hardly chewed that one. With the second I was more methodical. Once I pried away the bulb from the truck, I discovered it to be attached to several small venous connections. Separating it from these links proved unproblematic and I as soon as I do so, the pulsing ceased; this no longer made a difference to me. It was as if the formally unsettling undulations were never an issue. Hunger can be that powerful.

The Station, Part 61

That may more difficult than I had just anticipated. I can see so much foliage, the branches with leaves of all shapes and sizes, many of them laden with what could only be fruits and seeds. I know nothing of them. This is a problem. I am without the advantage of observing other animals’ eating habits. The small primates I witnessed eating the figs back at the mountains was in all likelihood a stroke of luck on my part. In addition, that world was the most familiar of them all. A more primitive, yet nearly identical version your own world. Here, in this very different place, there is the most superficial familiarity. I can recognize these analogues of trees, vines, shrubs and all their parts. But what I don’t have knowledge of would be the chemistry. I have a virtual feast around me, or a world of death my any number of poisons. I will have to abstain for now and ignore the noise in my belly. But nature is insistent. If I have to rely on my own willpower alone, I may have to hurry along. I can’t let mere hunger rule my decision. I am ever closer to the Junction. I know that I must travel upward, into the canopy, for passage on the ground looks to be all but impossible. And the sudden knowledge of my arboreal skills is an excellent clue as to how I am to meet my goal.

I’m climbing ever higher into this canopy. I must be nearly one hundred meters above ground by now. The immensity of this jungle is astounding, dwarfing anything else in my experience. As I ascend ever higher, I still have not seen a hint sky. There might not be one, just a ceiling of metal perhaps. I can just toss that idea away right now. Although I have seen other places without skies, there can be no greenery without the aid of a sun. Energy from light of course. Or can there? Still no hint of rays, yet there is a dim light throughout. That light has to come from somewhere.

I have noticed subtle changes in the vegetation species as I further separate myself from the jungle floor. The deep greens, which now that I think of them may be in fact due to the lack of light giving them their darker shades, have been supplanted by an ever increasing population of ever more bizarre looking plants upon other plants, many must be epiphytic in nature, others of a more parasitic nature. I cannot differentiate between the two if that is indeed the case. I matters little to me—they are all in all probability inedible. Yet these oddities are but a few of the strange forms I have seen as I climb. Growths for which I have no comparison appear in I dare say have a grotesquery that have had the temporary yet strangely beneficial effect of curbing my appetite. It is not so much that that have shapes and textures I would not apply to plants life. That would be quite enough. But it is way in which I see that they do lay prone. Grasses and leaves sway in the wind. But there is nothing about the air that I can surmise that explains the way in which these creatures of vegetation…pulse…undulate. My nearness to them is disturbing some sense within me, an ancient understanding that is being contradicted. I want to be away from them, yet I know in that maddeningly mysterious way that these moving forms are not the obscene things I want them to be. They are nothing of the sort. The more I look on them, the more repulsed I am by my growing attraction to them. My stomach has rumbled again and I’m appalled by the suggestion. And where are all the animals? In such a dense biomass and great variety, what fills these niches? Can it be that even with my new senses, that I can miss all of it?

The Station, Part 60

That place I saw in my last sleep lesson. I said I would talk of it again. I needed to understand a little more of what I saw. I believe I have arrived at that point now. It’s where I came from, where all of this began. That sickly, forlorn faced…person was me. Or rather, what I once was. Before I first tread here. Long before I ate of the fruit that made me a true part of the Whale, as I have just now come to know this place. Whale. It just sounds right in my mind. I say it out loud and it sounds right as it echoes of the walls of this tunnel I currently travel. Speaking of which, my eyes are like they were in the cave; I see details on these walls, smooth, undulating waves of blackness almost look alive. It piques my curiosity. I lay a hand on the one spot, press hard, and wait. Yes, ever so slight, a movement occurs, a shifting in reaction to the pressure of my added weight. I take my hand away. I have left an impression. As I wait again, the impression very slowly fills in. And now there is no trace I was ever here. I take a step back and what do I see—Impressions of my huge feet of course! And they too after a brief time begin to fill in as well. Remarkable. After all that I have seen, I can still be surprised by a small thing such as this.

The tunnel has ended with another surprise, albeit a less than pleasant one. I’m staring out into a dense jungle. I can’t peer that far in due to the thickness of the foliage. There is every possible shade of green. This is not the kind of thing I would have expected this close to the Junction. It appears that I have yet another hurdle to surmount before I meet my goal. And I am so unprepared for this kind of heat and humidity…well perhaps I will be. It’s remarkable how well and how rapidly my body adapts to every new miniature world I encounter. I was so enthralled with the newfound nature of the tunnels that I failed to notice what was happening to me. Most of the white, or transparent fur to be more accurate, has grown thinner and much darker. And my hands, my hands are so elongated now, attached to arms that seem impossibly long. My feet as well have seen change. The big toes, now a second set of opposable thumbs, can mean only one thing: I was just now built for this place; my body somehow anticipated the change before my conscious mind even knew of the jungle’s existence. I was designed to live here. No, more than that—I was designed to thrive.

I can see now that I was not meant to scour the leaf-strewn ground for signs of the final pathway. That idea is just ridiculous that this point. Instead, I look up into the canopy for signs of passage. I can focus onto objects with such clarity it is almost startling. I notice places in the immense twisting tree that could serve as foot- and handholds. I know their distance from me, how much to bunch my musculature in order to make a successful landing. It’s so much readily available knowledge that I am actually and tremendously excited to try out my newly acquired abilities. And do so I shall. I choose a nearly tree, huge just like the rest, a gnarled twisted thing that is rife with climbing opportunities. I immediately recall the last time I had a needed to do this, the time I was very interested in the ancient figs. The thought of the figs sets my stomach growling. How I can go from no hunger to an almost ravenous state is beyond my understanding. Nevertheless, I need to find food now. And I mean right now.

The Station, Part 59

Come to think of it, I have already completed more than half of the journey. I hadn’t realized it until long afterwards that my time in the cave actually comprised a good number of those tunnels. I can now recall that the Tunnels Tall and Round were all there, simple connected along a chain that was not nearly as obvious due to the combination of poor lighting and my then weakening condition. And with that new realization, I can only surmise that my time in this cold place is nearing its close, and when it does, I will be in sight of the Junction. And when I see this place, it will all but completely and undoubtedly confirm what I have known all along—there is intelligence at work here. And it has a purpose. I intend to find my answer there. And then I will find my way home.

A downward slope has begun. Subtle, yet it means I am finally nearing the end of this place. I can now make out what is now a most familiar sight: a wall. The details are not yet visible, but I am quite confident that I will find a wall full of many tunnel entrances, Tunnels Tall, Round and Wide. That will not daunt me I imagine. For when I take the last remaining steps, I will have already been told what tunnel is mine. The path of snow heads straight and true towards that wall. You see that I’m right.

The path made by my annelid-like guides leads directly to a particular Tunnel Round. And that is where it ends. Right in front of the entrance. I could have no better sign than that. But what of my mysterious friends? It’s like they just vanished. But really, all they must have done was burrow deeper down and gone on their way, the job completed. I give them my thanks in silence. But somehow, I know that the mere act of my following them was the real thanks they, or it, really wanted. And so while I stand here, pondering the next phase of this sojourn, I make a silent wish that on the other side of this dark passage, will indeed be the Junction. There I hope—no, I will—find the immense image last seen in my sleep lesson and discover the final path to…to....damn me. Never mind. I melt some snow in my hands, or paws if you prefer, and take one more drink before heading inside. It tastes clean, pure, and enlivens me a little more.

It’s almost ridiculously nostalgic. Only the last time I was inside I was a very different being. Confined to some kind of strange, awkward skin, breathing stale air, and leaving behind some sort of little bright things. I don’t no what they were for, but at the time they were very important to me. It all seems so unnecessary now. What things did I miss because I was too afraid to shed my unneeded artificial skin? What clues did I not pick up on that would have sent me on my way to freedom that much sooner? It’s of no real importance now. I am on my way out. The means of my salvation is les clear, but knowing of its existence is enough for me. My one true source of fuel.

The Station, Part 58

Suddenly I don’t want to be here in this place anymore. It feels like a trap, an inescapable prison for which I want no part. But what is most tortuous of all to watch is this creature, all but absorbed in this most trivial of tasks, never once has he gazed up at the wonder of the heavens that is right before him. If he ever had an interest in the possibilities at are out there, that curiosity is long gone. I feel nothing but pity for him. I want to never be like this creature—ever.

And now all I se is blackness. And somehow this nothingness is better than what I have just left. I no longer have to face that lifeless creature back there. That creature that was so irritatingly familiar, but also so distastefully devoid of wonder. Do such creatures such as these exist in such profusion? How do they survive? Do they deserve to succeed in such great numbers? So many, and yet so alone within themselves.

The darkness gives way to light. This light seems to be inside my eyes. It gradually grows brighter until it almost hurts…

I see the inner walls of my igloo. I must be awake then.

The light is coming from outside. The gray that was night has passed. Though emotions I felt during the sleep lesson, if that’s what it was and not merely a dream, are still with me. The disgust at the listlessness and emotional immobility of the beings I saw is like a bad taste in my mouth. I want to wash it away but I don’t know how. But you don’t have any idea what I’m going on about do you? Once I have gathered my thoughts on this, I’ll let you in on my discovery. In the meantime, I’ll just leave the confines of my igloo and see what the new day has brought.

It’s almost as bright as before, with a hint of gray still remaining, probably a last remnant that before long will disappear as well. The mound housing my mysterious helpers is much smaller now and has a deflated look about it. There is an opening at the top. I’m going to take a look. I thought I’d be more nervous about doing something like this but there’s something about desensitization that makes even the most daunting tasks less daunting. The mound size has been reduced enough that I can stand on tiptoe to see inside. It’s a disappointment for the most part—it’s empty. But who or whatever they were, clues were left behind. The inner walls betray the general shape of the inhabitants, although that shape id not terribly distinct. And it still remains inconclusive as to the exact number of beings that was inside. But going back to the beings’ shape—based on the wall impressions, I can surmise that they are long and tubular, perhaps of an annelid-like form. Worms. In some places I detect what appears to be segmentation. Not unlike an earthworm increases many thousands of times it own size. But the exact size is impossible to determine. I could be seeing the impression of a several three meter long animals or an individual at best guess perhaps fifteen meters long.

I won’t anything more here, but I’m glad I did what I did. A little more of a mystery that begets yet more questions. Specifically; why are these wormlike creatures involved in my welfare? Yes, I still believe that. Because even if they have moved on without me, there is a new trail stretching off into the horizon, continuing in the very direction I need to go. Exactly along the path that I have committed to memory. I’ll just be finishing this stretch of it solo.

The Station, Part 57

And where am I now? I am bombarded by noises and lights. I’m now surrounded by these same strange, seemingly helpless beings the humans. They swarm around me, so many of them, all unaware of my presence. They take no time in going around me, walking to destinations unknown. It seems I am to be but am observer here as well. But everywhere I cast my eyes, I see artificiality. Metal and other materials I cannot readily identify, but I know to be of a manufactured nature. There are smells that defy classification for me. Many of them emanate from the humans. It is all overwhelming. And I see that there are even more of these humans above me, inside floating vehicles to whisk them to and fro. I look to the horizon, see towers of metal and glass and then the other. More of the same. Both are blocked by massive constructs. They stretch as far as I can see. Perhaps these constructs cover their entire world. Regardless, I see that these humans, however physically ill equipped as they are, have somehow managed to succeed. They need no outside help. Their technology has even outpaced them. They are still just evolved creatures of nature after all. I wonder if they know it themselves any more. This is a species that will go on. And now this vast landscape is gone.

I should know where I am now, but I do not. I used to know it, but now it is just another strange place. I don’t know what to make of it. Not yet. It is a sterile place, made up of white, unblemished walls of metal on three of four sides. The four is dominated by a transparency that reveals the one familiar sight—the stars. Under it is long, smooth machine covered in all manner of lights in a dazzle of color. I know that each one of those lights means something, but what I do not know.

Near the center of this collection of artificial constellations is a seat. It is high enough that I cannot discern if it occupied, but no, now I can. There is movement that reaches out from either side. Hands. Pale hands that touch a light here and there, changing little square window of other colored lights. Their meaning goes beyond my understanding, but I have seen these motions before. Each one serves a purpose. But what, I do not know. It is interesting, but not so much as the being that is performing the actions. It is another one of those creatures. A paler one at that. It seems it does not live under the light of a star and so does not require pigmentation. It has the hair on top of its head. In fact, I see a strong resemblance to the male with the facial hair. The one from the grove. But no, this one with the naked face is not the same individual. And its clothing is quite different as well, not the lurid colors of the city. This is a monochrome covering, even more artificial looking than all the previous examples. But like the rest of the many of his species I had encountered, I am but an observer here as well. He does not acknowledge my presence. I’m not being ignored. I simple am not here. That allows me the ultimate freedom to observe. Which just may be the sole reason I am here. This is yet another part of the sleep lesson. And perhaps the most important one of all. I think I know this odd being. This pallid skinned, soft bodied creature with no other seeming purpose then to touch these lights. His countenance is not one of what I would interpret to be happiness or sadness, nor anger or fear. It is a blankness. A lack of luster. Living inside this metal construct, away from what is natural, and alone. No contact with others of its kind. That must take its toll over time. Does this poor creature have a choice in the matter? Is he trapped? If so, is this how he deals with it. By randomly touching these insipid lights that do nothing but blink back at him? What kind of horrible existence is this?

The Station, Part 56

Where am I now? I’m standing in a field of tall green grass. To one side I see a grove of what look like banana trees. It’s hot and humid—a tropical perhaps. But who knows, as this is but a dream. I’m still huddled within my impromptu igloo, miraculously constructed out of my own huge hands. Here, in the dream, I see myself as I once was. I wear clothes, my bare arms devoid of the white four. And four fingers and a thumbs on each hand. My sandaled feet reveal all ten toes. It all feels strange. This is what it feels like to be alien.

I hear voices, human voices, coming from the grove. I take it I am to investigate. And what else is there to do? As I approach, the voices grow louder, more distinct. I can distinguish two voices—one of a male quality I believe; the other one female. The leaves of banana trees obstruct my view so I push them aside. There is a small clearing. In the middle sit three people. A man, a woman and one very small child I imagine. They are so odd in appearance. Strange clothing, with patterns not found in nature. I see that without these cloths they have no protection other than their own thin soft skin. No fur or scales to protect them. Their exposed flesh is vulnerable. The only real natural protection they seem to have is the mass of hair on the top of their heads. With the exception of the adult male; his lower face is covered in a thin layer of hair. They seem so helpless and exposed out here. Yet confoundedly, they seem to be blissfully unaware of any danger to them. The name for these being is human. I know. I was once among them. But now, as oddly familiar as these three particular individuals may be, especially the very small one, they belong more to the myriad of life that we—it—they harbor than I belong to them. Perhaps I am assuming too much. I must remind myself that this is a dream—a sleep lesson perhaps. That has yet to be clarified.

They adults are eating and paying very close attention to the small one. It must be their offspring. An even more helpless looking thing. The limbs appear too short for adequate walking, running or climbing. And when it does move, the motions are clumsy, unsure. It must be entirely dependent on its parents for sustenance and protection. An indication of intelligence. I suspect I won’t be present to study them for much longer, I see that this odd species may be worthy of saving. If it meets the criteria. That sad, unfortunate criteria. But in order to be saved, they must first be doomed.

But now the creatures, the trees, the grass—it’s all gone. Will I not learn more about these beings? I have lived and communed among so many others. Why pull me away from this? There was an opportunity lost. An opportunity to learn who and what these being are…or were.

The Station, Part 55

My hidden trailblazers have stopped. I know this because I have caught up to them and I can see that there is no movement in the thick snow now. I’m not sure just how far behind I am, as I don’t know the actual size or number of creatures that make up these trailblazers. They’ve, instead of traveling forward; have been working a circular path, round and round, until a buildup of snow has formed. Higher and higher it has climbed, until it towers above me, a mound that bears a strong resemblance to a cocoon. It even possesses a translucent quality that allows me to at least see partially inside. And what I see helps me little in determining the nature of my latest assistants. Inside this immense construct I see just an amorphous dark side, now and then shifting here and there, as if trying to find the most comfortable position possible. I have a feeling they are going to be here a while. And what does this mean for me? Have they, or it, completed their task and I been dismissed? There’s still so much traveling to be done. I strain to see as far ahead as possible, which has become more difficult as the bright blue of the day has faded to a dull gray. There is nothing but more dunes all the way to the fading horizon.

It has grown colder as well. Really, it’s the first time I have even truly noticed it. And with the drop in temperature, I see the first ever so slight precipitation. Snowflakes fluttering down around me. Delicate things that would be familiar on any world I imagine. But how? Looking up I se that the grayness is but a gathering of clouds. Or something analogous to them. I sit low and immediately give me a sense of foreboding. The flakes are rapidly increasing and suddenly feel naked, exposed out here. The purpose of the mound my new friends have produced is suddenly clear—shelter. Even they must protect against a coming type of cold that even they’re naked bodies cannot withstand alone. Huddled together within that self-made temporary they have self-generated body warmth and insulation with which to survive. And what do I have? I have literally been left out in the cold.

Whoever said necessity is the mother of invention may have been in a situation very much like my own. And how right they were. I know nothing of building shelters, let alone a shelter out of ice and snow. But as the cold increased, somehow, and from somewhere within me, I have managed to create a temporary. Under other circumstances I would be rather proud of myself, but I have no luxury to do so now. All I can do is huddle inside and let my own body warmth keep me alive. And, by the stars, I think it will work. I don’t know where the ingenuity to make and igloo as good as I did the first time, without benefit of time for trial and error came from, but I strongly suspect just how. The Sleep Lessons are not without purpose I remind myself. And make that more than just one purpose. And as I lay here, drifting, I know it will be a good sleep, not the sleep that is the death of me. I am warm again, my own body fur insulating and protecting me from the elements. I have the luxury of sleep—and perhaps another sleep lesson—once again. I just know it will happen. It has happened every time I have lost myself to my unconscious.

The Station, Part 54

Nothing remarkable has transpired since we last talked, unless you think of my ongoing path being that one remarkable thing. I have continued along this path provided by my mysterious assistants and with the luxury of it, have been able to appreciate the vastness of this white wilderness. It seems to stretch off in to forever in every direction, revealing nothing other than dunes that touch the horizon. Without my present knowledge to guide, and the incredible behavior of things unknown, only a fool would make this trek unaided. There is no guide. A compass is tied to magnetic fields that are unlike those of Earth. No sun, stars or moon to serve as a navigational tool. There is nothing. Thee is the wind and the things under the snow. Snow which has been holding a certain consistency since I have been traveling under their guidance for these many kilometers now. But on either side of me, I have seen a steady change in the colors and density of the ground. It began with the ever so slight hint of blue that has grown into a rather eerie quality. A refraction of changing overhead light I suppose. Also, the packed, powdery consistency has given way to a thicker, more slush-like appearance. How difficult would it be to try and cross this land without aid? Perhaps impossible even for me in my latest adaptive form. How very much I really appreciate it now. My coat of thick white fur, long muscular legs, even my nose, which I have noticed by touch has flattened and widened considerably after arriving in this cold place. All purposeful, sensible it all is. I have only but one idea as to how it is guided. As far as I know, the first physical changes occurred after I had eaten that ridiculously wonderful fruit. That one perfect, delicious orb dangling so temptingly from its awkward tree. A tree that had no business being where it was, in an equally vast, yet altogether different world away. It was the only time I eve felt ill. I attributed it later to poisoning. After all, I had just eaten something that for all intents and purposes was utterly alien to my system. Some biological chaos had to be expected after all. In my throes of pain I saw many things, went many places in my head. Like a massive data download, I was flooded with images and feelings that could not have been all my own. There was too much clarity, too many things I have been slowly but steadily recalling over the past few days. Which is what led me to my idea of sleep lessons, a hypothesis that seems to have paid off…so far. Forbidding as this place may be, I knew of in my body long before I grew to know it consciously. That fruit, whatever it bestowed me with that first bite, is the real secret of my success. No human ingenuity, no blind luck, not even the creatures that encourage my progress—there are things at work, very minuscule things that provide constant reworking in order to ensure I live on. A complex, hive minded cooperative effort to make sure their home and vehicle—my own body—is the best-equipped for its outside world as it can. Microscopic biological or perhaps even mechanical machines, but meaningful nonetheless. But is it for my benefit, theirs, or both? I have a feeling that I will have my answer soon enough. In fact, I may have many more answers, and yet more questions, once I have reached the Junction. In my sleep lesson I saw the only place of artificiality. So out of place it seems, but it is where al paths meet. It is a place of utmost importance. Not just in terms of my escape, but as what I suspect to be the one true controlling element of this great leviathan. The whale to me, Jonah. And I, Jonah, will finally have the chance to see my captor face to face.

The Station, Part 53

Whatever they are, they’re showing a lot of interest in me. I’m doing my best to run. Walking is one thing. Running quite another. The snow sucks me in more and more as my footfalls become harder. I’m not going fast enough. They’re getting closer. All around me now. I’m not going to outrun them. By the stars they’re big. Much bigger than I. And faster. The snow is roiling all around me. No sense in running now. What do they want? This was a mistake. I should’ve—something just brushed against me. All of a sudden I have an image of being in the water, surrounded by sharks. I can’t be thinking that way. I can’t let panic take over. There, just a little ways away I saw something. A form breaking above the surface of the snow. Too brief to get a good look but it was definitely—another one. More distinct. Damn they’re fast! What the hell do they want? Did I stumble into their territory? Am I just a convenient snack? No, if they were angry or hungry, I’d be dead already. There’s been plenty of time to do away with me. Then I hope that I’m merely the object of curiosity. I have no way to escape. The only thing I can do is wait…

I don’t know how long I’ve been standing in place, but there’s little else I can tell you about my encounter. Whatever they were, and whatever interest they had in me, I think that curiosity has been satisfied. They have parted ways with me and no matter how much I tried, I never did get a definitive look at any of them. Smooth shapes the same color as all else in this place. They circled, touched me, and went away again. But the story doesn’t end there. For moving away in the distance, I can see the trail they leave behind. Precisely in the direction in which I am heading. Yet another coincidence? No, I don’t think so in the least. And just how do I know that? I don’t. But know this—I now travel in the wake they left in the snow. A wake that, had I not been given the gift of new sight, would have never seen. In this wake the snows have been, shall we say altered in consistency to the point where I can walk with even less effort than before. The snow is but a light dust about my legs. It appears as if as long as I stay on this exact course, my mysterious benefactors that travel under the snow will provide the means to arrive at my destination in due time. I can find no reason for this treatment. In a way, I find it unsettling. This isn’t the first time I have received undeserved charity from beings unknown. The things in the fog I suspect of it. Even more so was the pair of young, manlike apes, my guides to the fruit.

The Station, Part 52

The Junction is not a fantasy of my own making. Don’t assume I haven’t thought it over. But you weren’t in my head. You didn’t see what I saw. It made sense. Not in the way that dream logic makes sense. That kind of dreaming is completely nonsensical once you’re awake. No, I remember too much to think that way. There was a complex design that has stayed with me. I have followed the path that was shown to me in my unconscious. There is no wishful thinking here.

The dunes of snow are always changing shape, ever so slightly. They’re like a vast colony of living undulating things, constantly jockeying for prime positions in order to best capture the wind. Yet I know these dunes are not alive. It’s all just one vast collection of snow. So what is the meaning of all this? I may have found that out a few moments ago. I’m not sure, but I thought I witnessed a dune shift in a direction contrary to its cousins. Against the wind. It was quick and even my eyes, as keen as they are now, couldn’t quite tell for sure. I’ve kept my gaze locked in that direction, but there has been no new activity. It could have been just an anomaly, heavier show falling and collapsing over a lighter variety. We’ll see…

As I’ve trekked along, the consistency of snow has indeed become more dense, which has had the beneficial effect making my course an easier one. At this rate, I’ll find the entrance to the Junction sooner than I expected. What is sooner you may ask? I don’t really know, as I’ve not noted time in any measurable sense. No hours or days anymore. Time is governed by my body’s needs. There is the time to walk, the time to feed, the time to sleep. The last one, I think that may be coming soon. I need the first two less and less often now. As far was water, I haven’t felt the need for a drink since exiting the cave. The cave that I now know was made to house a single kind of living thing, one that had no business interacting with other forms of life. You and I both have seen the result of that scenario.

And no, I’m not seeing things either. That was most definitely a movement under a dune. Something is pushing its way underneath, tunneling through with purpose. I have no knowledge of what it could be—I have had no dream remotely like this. I can only hope that it is at best friendly, or at the very least, apathetic to my presence.

I have seen more movement. Or just now noticing it. The dunes undulate all around me, al from a distance. While I theorized that I may be witnessing some sort of optical illusion, such as heat mirages that look like water, I have ruled that out as a possibility. Whatever may be traveling under these snows, it is making an effort to stay out of my way. I’m going to test out my idea. Against my better judgment I’m standing still and watching for anything that might indicate a pattern or purpose. The roiling motions are getting ever more active, as if more of whatever they may be are gathering together. Or waking up perhaps. This doesn’t seem to be such a good idea anymore. I’m only delaying my rendezvous and for what? Just to see what is moving into position from all around me, closing in the gaps. Damn. I don’t like this anymore. Not one damn bit. I need to move now!

The Station, Part 51

I follow my mind’s eye toward the horizon. Beyond it lays the Junction. The Junction That place I saw in that last dream. Once there, I will find the final path that will lead me to Frontier and ultimately home. Getting there, that will be a complete journey unto itself I think.

As I make my in this new land…Land. Heh. I’m starting to accept it. As if any of this were actually land and not a construct—I walk freely now, fully appreciating what my latest form can now do. The unseen ground may be ice, rock, or something akin to a metallic hull for all I know, but my soles easily grip it. My powerful legs have grown bulkier and longer still, making the push through the snow but a little effort. And my body, now completely covered in white—no, make that clear fur—shines with the reflection of the snow. To the unaccustomed eye, I am likely all but invisible against the dunes. I feel immensely powerful. I am powerful. But compared to this world… Yes, it is a world unto itself. Using chamber is a word to describe the places I’ve seen should now be put to rest. Compared to this world I am so small. So ultimately at its mercy. The old me, the original me, would not have survived these ordeals of real and simulated nature. That much is certain. I have no doubt that not only these physical changes of mine were meant to help ensure my survival. As for my mental lapses, I suspect they are not meant to harm me. That would make no sense at all. I think I still right about them—that the images given to me in dreams and the waking experiences have been supplanting other knowledge. Replacing what is not apparently necessary for my survival here. I’m being streamlined inside and out. Being primed, modified and molded to survive here. But the big question is why?

Under any other circumstances, a person could lose their mind in a place like this. I know I thought I would. But walking among these dunes under what passes for a bright day, I feel at home. Comfortable, not too hot, cold or even out of place. I’m part of some mysterious club. So far I’ve seen no other members, but with the exception one empty world I briefly visited, there has been life everywhere I go. Now I anticipate it. This can’t be a wasteland. It can’t be all for me. It has the capacity to house a menagerie of its own. So where is it? Where are you? What new thing will I discover today? I promise I won’t take you away from your home. I now see the error of my ways in that respect. Fred did not. Fred just didn’t make the connection that did. If he had lived where would he have ended up? Was he just another resident that went astray? Was he the cat that curiosity killed? But if he was trapped here like me, am I finishing the same journey that he failed to complete? Listen to me. I’m doing it again, jumping to conclusions. The only thing that I’m doing is finding a way out. Fred, if he was indeed imprisoned as I am, was more than likely following the same course and the same purpose. Great minds think alike. Free minds desire a whole freedom, the body and the mind together. It’s just the only reasonable explanation. And Fred ultimately found his freedom. Just not as he intended. But by the stars, he tried.

And what of that other poor soul that didn’t? The one I found within another station. I knew that one didn’t I? The one that ended his own life. I knew him I think. Did I know him? Doesn’t matter now. He failed to face up to the challenge. I will not be another failure.

The Station, Part 50

I can see the white fur poking out here and there. From the sleeves, ankles, and over the collar. It’s all very thick, very white. Although that may not be entirely true. I’m looking very closely at the hair on my chest, and from here, it appears to actually have a strangely clear quality. No pigment at wall. How bizarre. That must include the rest of it. Perhaps the light passing through it, combined with the star white of the snow is the color that I’m seeing. Like it was meant for this precise environment.

I’ve become a snowman. A snowman that no longer needs the ever tightening constriction of a now-useless and redundant undersuit.

I’ll admit I feel like the garment is no longer appropriate. Foreign in some way. It has been a distraction in my journey, but other than the comm. device I’m using to speak to you, I have no other link to the outside. Going native has been a slow, reluctant process on my part.

The undersuit is off and lying on the snow. It looks like a deflated body. Once I removed it, it resumed its nominal shape. I watched it contract and reshape, I had no idea that my body type had been altered so drastically. Shocking to see how small I was those days ago. I was a small, round pink thing of a man, with stumped arms and legs, diminutive hands with too few fingers. How could I have ever thought that my former body was at all adequate?

No man would recognize me now. A tall, fur covered apparition that stands among the white snow dunes of a vast, white desert. The cold is welcoming. It feels…right. I smell the crisp wind and discover scents I thought did not exist. There are no words for them, but I know them well already. And the snow itself. My eyes have changed yet again. I can now see that it is not a uniform thing. There are densities and consistencies in that whiteness that my old eyes would never have found if they had stared for years. Even now, I would have to create more than a dozen worlds to describe each species of snow. A whole new taxonomic system after a while I suppose.

And without the suit I’ve finally allowed my body to be free. I should have done something about that some time ago. But it’s so hard to let go. They were my clothes. What sane person would shed them inside a wholly alien environment? The answer—a person who is no longer what they started out as. And what, pray tell, am I? Whatever it may be, it is certainly better. I feel like I can conquer this new land on my own.

As I walk I feel the wind increase, my newly grown hair is ever sensitive to changes in speed, temperature and direction. Instrumentation would only be redundant at this point. I know the direction I want to go. The image of the hologram is still clear, the path is still a series of strongly glowing red lines. When I have been reunited with her, how strange will Frontier seem? I no longer remember how to operate her systems. What will I do then? Surely I will recall at least the basics once I have seen the instruments. If not, I will relearn them. Simple as that. Because I still care. I still am me. Bradley? My name is Bradley. No, you don’t need reminding. But I do. I’m unnerved that it takes me a moment to recall it. Just a moment, but it’s an eternity when it’s your own name that eludes you.

The Station, Part 49

As I sit here, I can take it all in. And it’s all quite beautiful. Such care taken into something that maybe only I would appreciate. I’ll avoid any egocentricity in thinking that this place is for my benefit. There are far greater forces at work—we both know that.

These forces, they have acted upon me as well. Inside and out. I anticipate and fear them as they come. But there has yet to be one alternation that has been detrimental to my progress. Quite the opposite wouldn’t you say?

I’ve had my fill of cold, pure water and the wonderful moss. The flavor is unlike anything I have ever eaten, but tastes completely natural. The food and water quickly reenergize me. My muscles are somewhat sore, but I think I could go again for many more kilometers. I’m such good shape now. The undersuit is holding up well. It’s rather tight now, stretched to its design limit. It was never designed for this kind of work. But as it was designed for the vacuum of space, tough and resistant. That seems so far away now…so unnatural now. Being surrounded by walls of metal. The myriad of colored lights that all used to mean something to me, but now are only senseless distractions. The scent of purified air, devoid of the dust brought by winds, so sterile and lifeless. How did I ever breathe such a thing? But I still feel and attachment, a longing. Like a missing piece of myself that was left behind there. I can’t thing of anything else that it could offer me. Oh, yes I can—hope of going home. It’s time again to move on. With every step I’m closer to making that happen. Towards the light I go.

I thought I would have more trouble handling the unnatural sunlight of this new place, but apparently my eyes are capable of near immediate adjustment. My skin feels the prick of cold long before my eyes take in the upcoming new wonder. And what do my ever resourceful eyes show me now?

The white of snow. A stark blue sky devoid of clouds. My skin prickles even more with the contact. By the stars, that white is endless. Pure, virgin snow that looks to have never had contact with a single footfall. And I see nothing else. It’s like a cruel trick. Just a short time before, I felt so prepared. And now, I might as well be naked and blind. And then, I think about it. I am not shivering. My eyes are not succumbing to snow blindness. This place must be so cold if there is this much snow. And it is snow. I’m picking it up my hand, which I must say looks more like a paw now. The hair is white as the snow and so think that no skin is visible any longer. I look closer at this new development. On an impulse, which could have been a very stupid decision, I’ve undone the seals on the foot coverings. What I find is expected, but still I can’t help but be surprised. The same white hair is here as well. And why should I be surprised? I know you aren’t. And my hairy feet feel so good all of a sudden. I can almost hear them exhale with relief. I had gotten so used to the tightness that I didn’t realize how constricted they were. I’m rolling up the pant legs and still there’s more hair. Hell, I might as well call it fur. I feel my face; of course it’s there too. I am prepared for this world. I think I need to do one more thing before I resume my journey. Because even though I don’t want to say it out loud, it think I’ve been given all that I need to survive. Human invention has no place here.

The Station, Part 48

I think I needed that. After my close call, I’ve feel somewhat unsettled, uneasy about my position, whatever that may be. I’ve continued along the cave, and encountered little else on the meantime. That’s partly why I’ve been on the quiet side. More than that. I’ve been trying to remember. Remember everything I can. What my job is, who my first love was, where I grew up. So much of that is in a fog. I don’t know what really happened and what I’ve just filled in to attempt to close gaps. There are too many gaps. My first love. I don’t know her name, I can’t see her face. Was there even one? Had to be. I know something, someone was there, but it’s just an impression, a placeholder for that set of memories. “There’s a piece of my brain that says, “First Crush Here”. Another bit that says, “Childhood”. Another and another. Pardon my sarcasm, but when you’ve lost as much of yourself and I have, you tend get a little more than upset about it. The abstraction helps a little.
But there are other things, other, and I hesitate when I say, memories, that have seemingly replaced my original ones. I used to think they were dreams, either induced by exhaustion, my situation, and even perhaps my fever. Each time I have closed my eyes I have gone and brought something back. I don’t know what these things are, as I can’t voluntarily recall then at will. But there are images that I see, places and things that flit through my mind as if they have always been there. I know that can’t be true. These memories that aren’t memories have supplanted the original ones I think. That would explain why much of what seems so genuine is oh so ridiculous. I could never fly. I’ve never been myself outside my own body. I’ve never conversed with great apelike creatures that looked to be for guidance and comfort. Utterly ridiculous. But you have heard of these things before. In fact, I suspect that you may know more about me than I. How I wish that you could talk to me right now. Tell me just who I am now. Where I had been while I slept. But there’s no more I can do other than wait for the next time. Sleep isn’t too far off again, It’s just a matter of when I can go no further without it. When that happens, where will I go, I wonder? What piece of my life will be sacrificed this time, only to be replaced by the sensations of beings and places that I should never actually ever know? I fear and look forward to it. It won’t be too long from now I think. And, on another interesting note, I’m still not nearly as hungry as I think I should be.

My new eyes have allowed me the freedom of noticing that the cave tunnel has widened considerably. Much wider. The floor no longer slants downward like it has been for the past, oh, I don’t really knows, maybe tens of kilometers. But this new development tells that that this stretch of the journey is coming to an end, and I am thankful for that. While I’m not claustrophobic by any stretch of the imagination, the monotony and monotone hue led to much introspection, which then led to doubts and worry that I don’t think I can afford right now.

The tunnel is not so much a tunnel anymore as it is a cavern. A vast room, the far corners of it are too far for even my enhanced eyes to see. The roof of this place is covered in the stalactites that apparently are the requisite for caves, both real and artificial apparently. And there is water, and something like a bed of moss that gives off an aroma that must be what ambrosia. That or the first scent of living organics is acting upon my newfound hunger. Like it was all prepared for my arrival. I do deserve a rest. How convenient that it is ready at the cave’s end. There is light beyond and above emanating from an unseen as yet opening. It can wait.