The Station, Part 30

My man ape friends have gone off a little ways and begun digging in various places. A minute ago I saw the male pull up what looked like a rather large grub and offer it to the female. In a rather gentle way I notice, almost reverently. She took it in both hands and cooed back at him. A “thank you” of sorts I suppose. And then delicately ate the seemingly precious morsel while her companion watched. More digging and the female pulls up what looks like a fat, white radish. She peels away some of the outer layers and shows the male. She makes a cooing sound. He responds by tilting back his head and opening his mouth. She then holds the radish-thing over his mouth and squeezes. Water dribbling out of it and into his parted lips. Amazing. The more I see of them, the more I’m convinced they’re a couple. More than mere sexual partners, less than married, but having a bond based on what we would call love. Is this how it began, with the sharing of precious food? Well, as far as I know, jewelry has yet to be invented here, so what else would have value but the very stuff of life? More grubs are being found and some other creature, a grasshopper perhaps, caused a small ruckus as it tries to hop away. The male is quicker than the grasshopper though. His loud, crunching sound he makes as he chews it has actually made me a little bit hungry. Well, I do have the remaining foodstuffs from the suit. But I don’t want them anymore, because even though I know what it is, and I know it is the ultimate in nutrition for my body. I couldn’t stand another ounce of it. I’d rather go hungry for now, thank you.

I never bothered to broadcast from Frontier after I left her. Why is that? That’s the downright dumbest thing I’ve ever done, hands down. All I had to do was hit one fucking switch and I would be able to have tracked the station down. Probably. I feel rather detached about, but I still want to see her, if not for some kind of closure. The station, assuming she’s still operational, has everything I need. Plenty of food, water, balanced environment and even a soft bed. And yet I’m still not anxious anymore. Even the thought of sending a stronger signal through Frontier’s more powerful transmitter has failed to send my pulse racing. There is more worry about that. Where is my urge? Where has my anxiety gone? Why don’t I feel trapped?

My guides have finished their meal and stood up. Without another sound, they trudge off with purpose in the same direction as before. The same direction we took in the dream.

It’s like immediate déjà vu. We are simply following the path that I have been on before. In just a little while we’ll find Frontier. I’m somewhat apprehensive in this. I’m so certain of this near future that I haven’t even considered it just a product of my rattled unconscious. And when my conscious mind sees Frontier, what will this confirm? Have I developed some form of precognition, or has this ability been with me always and only now manifested? That would be quite the convergence of events now wouldn’t it?

While I follow the man apes, whom I grown to inordinately care for, I’m also taking in the vast grassland that surrounds us. It seems to go on forever in every direction, the mountains notwithstanding. Mountains. Here. In space. It boggles the mind. The whole scenario by itself is grounds for insanity I’d say. But it is beautiful in a very simple way. The innumerable stalks of grass are like undulating gold thread. Here and there I’ve seen more acacias, as well as other species. Insects buzz about too. Real insects I might add and not a myriad of analogue to that order of life. I know so much more know. Buried lessons are coming to the surface of my mind all the time now. I know more of life and its processes now than I ever did, even when I found it most interesting as a child. My mother I would sometimes sit on the porch in the evening and talk about things like ecology and food webs and the like. Did we sit in a swing or in chairs? I can’t seem to recall what the front porch looked like, or the layout of the front yard for that matter. The same yard that my two friends and I played in as children. Or was that just one friend? I seem to recall another boy, but there’s no face or name attached to it. Must be thinking of someone else. A colleague’s son maybe. Oh well. That was a long time ago anyway.

The Station, Part 29

I can’t tell you just how free I feel right now. I’m a human being again. And it’s a wonderful feeling. After I removed the excursion suit my two small companions seemed to look at me in, I dare say, a more approving way even if I’m clad in this white undergarment. It’s not much protection against the elements but it’s still clothing. Oh, I can still talk to you via the commlink obviously. And without the helmet. I took it apart and removed the commlink and its attached power pack. I’ve slung that around my neck and positioned it so that it is in range of my mouth. Pretty ingenious of me, wouldn’t you say. Almost. Without the suit’s recyclers, there’s going to be that small problem of water. Getting to what remains in the suit was rather difficult, but my audience actually gave me some incentive to succeed there too. Couldn’t disappoint my audience even if they had no idea what I was doing, or any expectations. That being done, I drank the last of the water and silently thanked the stars that at least on this particular day, the temperature is rather pleasant. And I can smell the breeze. There’s a sweetness to it, some kind of pollen I suppose. Without the visor the day is brighter. And what I think I appreciate most is that, without the suit, I feel so much lighter. I have noticed something. I’ve lost weight. The almost inevitable paunch gained from too little activity and a superior officer to enforce it is gone. I haven’t seen my abdomen this flat for the better part of ten years I would think.

Now here I am, feeling all but naked, light and free, waiting to see what these man apes intend to do next. Our roles were temporarily reversed in that I became the leader in this game of “follow the leader”. I don’t think that’s the way it was supposed to go. I know. More baseless speculating on my part. Don’t get on my case about it. I’m just taking in the improbability of it all. Let me have my moment.

Standing here does remind me of my two friends from childhood. Two boys, brothers, from the next home over. They were younger than me, and shorter as well, which is where the reminder comes in. Why, for the life of me, can’t I remember their names? I played with them for at least two years before their parents were transferred offworld. I can remember their faces, that time we found the tadpoles in the shallow pond, but I can’t remember either of their damn names. The older one, he was the more adventurous of the two. His younger brother was kind of shy. How can I remember those things and yet forget what I had called them nearly every day for those two years? Memory, the absence of it, can be such a cruel thing.

It shouldn’t bother me this much, but it does. I want to be celebrating my newfound freedom, and yet I should be dreading it. Frontier is still nowhere to be found, and the more I think about the dream about her, the more I think I’m telling myself that if I find her, she’ll be just as overgrown as Sam’s station was. Then what? Where do I go? What do I eat? I wasn’t meant to live here at all. Is that what Sam was thinking? Is that why he gave himself the shot? Fuck me; I don’t even have that option.

The Station, Part 28

I’m going crazy. That’s the only logical answer. I’m losing my sense of reality and the cracks are showing. I’m now having dreams within dreams. There was never a sea of grass. Or an acacia or a pair of friendly Australopithecines. And there is no Frontier. I don’t know how much you have heard, but I would agree with you on this—this is the chronicle of the fall of a man. It’s the story of my end. And don’t give me any shit about giving up. You’re not here. You don’t know. You maybe saying, “Keep going. You’ll make it” or “Buck up, private!” or some other bullshit pep talk. Good for you. Glad to know it’s all good with you. I’m happy for you. But guess what? Just what do you think could make all this just a little more maddening than it already is. I’m even sure I’m awake right now. Yeah. For all I know I’m still dreaming. A dream within a dream within yet another dream. Wouldn’t that be a fucking hoot! Hey, you know what? Maybe this entire thing is nothing but one big cluster fuck of a dream and I’m actually on shore leave and I’ve been drugged by one of those outer colony hookers who’s right now robbing me blind! That would make so much more sense now wouldn’t it! At least then I would know I’ve gotten laid!

Okay. I’m calmer now. Sorry to have checked out like that. It’s just the stress. You understand. I’m quite sure I’m fully awake now. But damn, I’m really going to have to be aware of my states of unconsciousness. Good luck with that, Bradley. So where am I really you wonder? Good question.

Well, there’s nothing quite like waking up to this pair of faces. I must’ve provided some real entertainment while I was out. My two furry buddies are right here, looking at me with really bizarre expressions. Well, I guess any fear they had of me is long gone. I’m just the freak show now.

Well, it’s time that stopped. I have to face the reality of it. I’m not going to fins the station before the air runs out. Maybe the food and water will last a day or more. But not the air. It’s going far faster than I had anticipated. I should have known though. All this extra exertion is to blame. That’s the way it goes. I’ve wanted to smell the air anyway. And if you are at all curious to what happens after that, I’ll make an effort to stay in contact. That’s assuming the air doesn’t kill me first. Wish me luck.

The Station, Part 27 cont.

My guides have stopped. Both of them are pointing over the slight rise of the grassland. What are they pointing at? I can’t see anything. Now they’ve stepped off to either side of me, away from each other. They’re looking right at me too. Like they expect me to do something. Well, I guess I will do something. Find out just why the hell they insist on pointing at nothing to be exact. Let’s take a walk ahead of these two little guys and see…just…what…

I’m home.

All I had to do was take a few more steps. In any other direction I would have easily missed her tower in the tall grasses. She’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Give me a little time. My objectivity just went away for now. But please understand. I didn’t know I missed her this much. I wish you could see her too.

I’ve found her. I’ve found Frontier.

Why is she here in the first place? Honestly, I don’t give shit right now. She’s here and that’s all that matters.

She’s still sealed tight, just like I left her. The unlock code still works. Door’s opening, so that means we’ve still got power. That’s a very good sign. Finally. Finally I’m going to get out of this fucking deathtrap of an excursion suit. The inner door is opening. The lights are one and I’m home! So fuck you, whoever brought me here! Go fuck yourselves! This thing’s coming off right now. I’ll be out of contact for a bit. Gonna take a long ass shower and eat some real goddamn food for a change. Hold on. Something’s not right. There’s a hull breach alarm going off. I must have somehow set it off when I came in. I’ll tell the computer to shut it off. Hang on. My speakers are picking up a noise. It’s coming from the inner hull. Something’s gotten inside. Now it’s behind one of the bulkheads. Damn, whatever it is, it’s moving really fucking fast. In another bulkhead now. I’m effectively surrounded. I’m evacuated—it’s coming from under the door. That weed thing is sliding under the door. That door’s supposed to be sealed tight How is it coming from under it? It’s really moving. Gotta get out of here. It’s under the other door! What the hell is this? Both sides are coming in fast. Where do I go? I’m in real trouble here! Fuck the stuff is on my boot. It’s really. Get off me! Get off me! It’s twisting over the suit. Getting tight. It’s on my helmet! I can hear its little tendrils popping the seal. It’s gotten under my visor. It’s in here with me. Touching my face. Tickling my nostrils. It’s in my nose. Touching my cheeks and now my lips—

It’s inside me! Ah— (Unintelligible)

The Station, Part 27 cont.

I think it’s the dreams. I have been trying to push away the images and the feelings I remember having. It’s all still there. So vivid. More so than any dream, even the last one. It’s more akin to a recent and profound memory than a dream really. I didn’t want to talk about it before. It just seemed silly at the time. Did I talk in my sleep by any chance? The comm has been open non-stop so if some of my recent transmissions have a wholly nonsensical, I must apologize. Guess it would be amusing on your end. Go ahead. Laugh. I can take it. I’m a big boy. But if you did hear incoherent babbling, it certainly wasn’t so in my dream. To say the least, it was wonderful. It’s like I know what is to be this winged being that flew among the many others of his kind. We ate fruit that tasted better than anything I’ve ever known. I still know that taste even now. How can that be? It was all a product of my imagination of course. Had to be.

There’s maybe two days left of air in the suit. And I must tell you, I could rip off the fucking thing here and now. Seeing my two guides in their comfortable nakedness just makes that feeling stronger. I could just take it off and wander with them and be all the happier for it. Just what am I worried about anyway? Viral or bacterial contamination. Come on, even if that were true, that’s not an automatic death sentence it? Even if I did come down with something, by the time I find Frontier, I could give myself a powerful general antibiotic that’ll kill just about every microorganism in my body. It’ll make shit like there’s no tomorrow, but I’ll at least be alive to tell about it. Yeah, but who am I telling? I don’t even know if you’re there still, or ever were. Enough of this line of thinking huh? I can’t explain my sudden downturn in mood. Yes I can. I’ve only been skirting around the issue because I don’t want to face it. Then let’s get real. I’m probably not going to find the station in time. I’m going to be forced to remove the suit or suffocate. I’ll be in true contact with this place for the first time. I’ll feel the temperature and humidity with my own skin. I’ll smell the air with my own nose and hear the calls of unknown things without the filtered reality of my suit’s speakers. I’m terrified of that. I really am. Even through the visor, I see a less than real view of the world around me. Everything I have experienced is checked the artificiality. Oddly enough, the most real thing I have captured has been what’s restricted to subconscious. Yes, the dreams.

I’ve never, ever, experienced such richness in detail during sleep. Sure I’ve had my share of nightmares, even a few that had me waking up in that well-known cold sweat. But even those horrible images, even when they were new, would have paled in comparison to my recent dreams. Even hours later, I still recall the feeling of wind under wings that were never mine. The joy of reunion with strange beings I have never known. The taste of fruits that I have never known to exist. But it just hit me. I have known this dream, in way. Days before, and you would know this as well, I came across this place. The first tunnel. The end of the first tunnel led to a place with a valley. That valley was covered in what I could only describe then as glowing mushrooms. But there was something else there too. At the time I was too bewildered to do much else other than turn back. Above it all was a mist enshrouded sky. That’s what it appeared to be. Yes, now I remember more. Sounds came from those mists, maybe above them. I had no interest in discovering what the origins of those sounds were. I think I may know now. But that defies logic. I can’t just know things like that. More likely it’s my mind trying to work out this already impossible situation. Put things into an order. Who am I kidding? There is much more at work here than mere dreams.

The Station, Part 27 cont.

I’m not concerned about that just now. That comes later, once I have resumed my other self. For now, I am one of them, one of many multitudes of passengers on this mighty ship. I finish my fruit with unadulterated glee. My appetite is far from satiated and I pick up another fruit and before I discover so with my taste buds, wonder what wonderful new flavor I will experience. After all, everyone knows no two fruits ever taste alike. Everyone here knows that.

Just what was that? I’m awake again, at least I think. I took a quick a quick glace around, actually expecting to be on top of a giant glowing mushroom gulping down a glowing piece of fruit. I still taste it. It’s wonderful. But, no I’m not there.

My small apelike companions are still that same discreet distance away from me. They are both sucking on what look like roots of some kind. They look my way as they do so, and there is no nervous tension from what I can tell. After the male’s charge at me from earlier, I would have thought that he would at least be making more of a challenge. Or making an effort to put himself between me and the female. That’s not the case, however. If anything he sees no threat in me. I don’t know if it he somehow has decided I am indeed no threat, which I am not, or because of my awkwardness that I am no challenge for him. In either case, it makes no difference. I am being lead somewhere. And I know I must follow. But why?

I didn’t realize how long I had been out. More than ten hours. And my primitive guides waiting for me all that time. I know I’ve been pushing myself, but damn it, I’ve managed once again to waste more unnecessary time. No one thought to include am alarm for the suit’s internal chronometer. I mean really, why bother? What fool falls asleep while on an excursion. Or for that matter, voluntarily spends the better part of a week inside one? Sure, it’s equipped to handle the messiness that is human biology just fine. But who actually wants to be a part of that? Okay, enough of my self flagellation. Good idea my guides. Breakfast it is. I can only guess that my paste is probably less tasty than what it is you two are having.

They’re on the move again, walking slow allowing me to make my way without much strain. There I go again, making assumptions about these creatures without any real experience to back it up. But it’s funny, funny in a strange way, that for lack of a better explanation, since my arrival here, I have begun to know things as if I’ve always known them. Knowledge that I didn’t know was there has been making appearances. Was it always there? I don’t know. Sometime in my past I must have learned these things, forgotten them, and then for whatever reason these lessons reappeared. My subconscious at work perhaps. Trying desperately to make sense out of my predicament and what must be impossible. And yet here I am. And what has started to frighten me is how I feel about all this. This place, the creatures I have seen, and now these creatures, these two people—Yes, I do believe no matter how primitive they may appear—are indeed people, are becoming more of an interest than that of locating the station. I feel this way, yet I don’t like it. Not one bit. I must not lose my focus.

The Station, Part 27

I’m flying through one of the tunnels. I’ve done this many times before. It’s not that special, but it is still a wonderful feeling. I’m not one of them, yet I’m one of them. That’s how they feel about me. Ever since their arrival and our initial meeting. Of course, there was some trepidation at first, but that soon fell away and was replaced with understanding and acceptance. Now I’m making my regular and certainly expected journey back to them once again to join in the feasting. The fruit is about to fully ripen and I wouldn’t miss this for all the worlds. The ritual has become my favorite of them all. And I have participated in so many rituals of all shapes and forms. Some I must admit, I do not care for, but I do not tell those beings these things. It is not my place.

Ah, I’ve arrived in time. Before I go to meet my brethren above, I make a brief sojourn into the feeding grounds. The fungi’s’ rounded tops are practically bursting with their sweet meats. I can almost taste them now. Their reddish glows must be seen even through the shrouding mists above where my hosts bask. They are so polite. They could have been feeding already. But they waited for me. I must return the favor and delay no longer. I just wanted to see the grounds before the feasting began. I won’t see them again, at least not in this way and with these temporary eyes, for some time to come.

I arch my back and flap with wide wings, and up I go into the mists. I feel the cool dampness wash over me and I welcome it. I’d forgotten how good it felt. So many other responsibilities to fulfill. I’m glad my hosts understand. I can see them now, clutching the upper rock face with their specialized claws. So alien to me under any other circumstances. But at the present, it is but second nature. I call out and it is answered immediately. Especially by the young. I don’t know if it is because they can now feed their hungry bellies now, or because of me. I matters little, all are happy to see me nonetheless. After all, I helped make their lives possible when such lives were supposed to have been extinguished long, long ago. My hosts open their wings in greeting. The fluttering of their wingtips indicating it is not formal, but genuine friendliness. They then shuffle their positions to let me through and I flip my new body over to alight upon a preferred outcropping. I greet them back fluttering my own wings and dipping my head to others in thanks. It is rare that I feel this welcome. Oh, I have relationships many all the sentient beings, but so few of them are so giving of their culture. Even fewer think of me as their true friend and fellow member of society. It is these societies I cherish most of all. Truly, most will probably forever view me with a wary sensory apparatus. I cannot blame them for that.

Today I have been invited to participate in one of the most cherished of traditions. The Great Feast for lack of a better term. They eat like on a habitual basis like most other beings, but this one is special. Their crop, the fungi, has blossomed with their renewing sweet meats. They are more like fruits, really. But I do not argue the minor points. They are what they are. I feel the same hunger as my peers.

A signal goes out, and the feast has officially begun. As custom, the eldest are the first. They loosen their grips on perches and dive toward the glowing spectacle below. With practiced ease, they swoop upward; taking advantage of the warm updrafts that supply them needed lift. Before they make their way down, these elders survey the beautiful forest for any signs of danger. There is none. Not here. Not anymore. But the ritual is important to them. Once their survey is completed, one of them called up to the rest of us, signaling that all is well. A cacophony of sounds erupts from those of us still above. Even I join in the excitement. I hear my new voice among the people, now swooping down in a complex, yet elegantly choreographed mass. Because I am considered so young among them, I wait for my turn with the youngest. I feel no shame or insult at this. This is not about inequality—it is all about safety. After all, the crop is extremely abundant. Plenty for everyone.

This is it. My time. I open my wings, stiffen them and let go. I dive down, some of the young beside me. We arch upward, catch a brief updraft and swoop over the land. The feast is already a successful one. My brethren have already made their selection and are eating heartily. I alight upon one of the mushrooms. Up close, its meats pulse with an inner glow, indicating their ripeness. Unlike the others, I don’t immediately begin eating. Rather, I pick one glowing globe and hold it between wide, clawed hands. It’s warm and smooth. The glow is almost hypnotic. One of the others eyes me strangely. He is wondering why I don’t eat immediately. The look is gone and he resumes feasting. I sometimes let the experience get the better of me. A small indiscretion perhaps, but not one that breaks the rules. Savoring the moment, I bite into this fruit. The juice rushes into my mouth, and the taste is again brand new. It truly is sweet, but with other flavors I cannot communicate. These new senses of mine, the new sight, touch, hearing and now taste are always new again. I now understand once again why this feast is so important to them. While other foods are just as plentiful here in their new world, this particular one comes but once a particular season and then only for the briefest of time. After today, what little bit of fruit that may remain will loose it glow and recede back into the parent plant. Nothing goes to waste. After the feast, we will return with full bellies back to our respective perches an digest the delicacy. And as nature would have it the fruit will make it way out of our bodies and the newly germinating seeds we expel will drop to the surface below. But before that happens, the parent plants, having performed their final duty, will rapidly wilt and wither away. Their own nutrients will help bring up the new generation to follow. And so the cycle will continue.

The Station, Part 26

I’m keeping what I hope is a discreet distance behind the male and female. Apparently this is so as I’m seeing no indication of alarm from either of my guides. They still look over their shoulders at me now and again, but I think they do so to make sure I’m still behind them. They need not worry about that. I’m sticking to their path like molecular adhesive. As we’ve been traveling, I been seeing more acacias and now, as the “sun” rises, and that is in the loosest of terms mind you, more familiar forms. The swaying fields of grass certainly, but other trees as well. One I think is referred to as a flame tree. Others I don’t have names for, but I’ve seen them. One of them is playing host to actual birds. These little creatures have built nests that hang from the thin branches. The noises they make is a happy one. I’ve seen even smaller flying things as well. Even though they move too fast for me to make out their details, I know they are true insects and not analogues. I have somehow come home, albeit far too early.

The day is still brightening and I see no end in sight to this what is now obviously a immense savannah. Just like it would have been approximately three million years ago, give or take. And for whatever reason I’m very happy to know it’s here. My guides move with a graceful ease through the grass. For the first time, the excursion suit seems utterly ridiculous. It would have to be, at least in this place. I mean really, if this is a true piece of home, then I would have no trouble if I removed it. I could conserve air. Shit, I may even be able to finds something to eat here that doesn’t involve a smooth paste. But no. As stupid as it may seem right now, the suit must stay on. If I took it off now, I’m not sure I’d be willing to put it back on again. I’ve got about three days of supplies and then that’s it. Unless I find Frontier. I haven’t wanted to say this yet, but I can’t let doubt get the better of me. But I think I should. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to find the station. How odd is that? Why would I have any reason for that? But it’s been there since that first dream. That dream in which I communed with immense, gentle beings in the forest. I’ve never had a dream where I’ve been so at ease. I was naked even. Aren’t dreams of not wearing clothes supposed to be signs of anxiety. Well, I just blew that theory out of the water, because I was butt naked in the woods, surrounded by creatures much larger than myself. Completely vulnerable. And it felt completely right. I was supposed to be there. And I really wanted it to go on forever.

It’s getting quite bright. I can certainly see more of the area. I don’t know how this could be, but there are actual mountains in the distance. Could that be a clone of Kilimanjaro I see? It’s astounding nonetheless. It’s so perfect I see even make out the snow laden peaks of it and it brethren. There seems to be absolutely no limit to the abilities of this construct. Whenever I think I’ve seems the absolutely impossible, I am surprised again and again. This savannah, possibly the largest environment I’ve encountered as yet, lacks the one thing I’d hoped to see. The wall of tunnels. If another side of that ubiquitous feature is here, it is far, far away. And I’ve done so much traveling. The suit, as light as it is, is steadily feeling heavier on me. All this walking is taking its toll. My feet and legs ache constantly now. I’ve been forgoing sleep which isn’t helping. And here I am, following the impossible like a lost puppy. Well, I am a lost puppy. I’m making no sense, I know. But there is a reason behind these diminutive creatures’ behavior. And I know it has everything to do with me. It has to be.

They’ve stopped. And now they’ve knelt down into the grass. Did they find something? Now the female has stood back up and is looking my way, making a odd motion. She’s putting her hands together and tilting her head to lay one cheek against them. There she’s doing it again. Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. I think she’s motioning me to sleep. Or they are going to sleep. Either way, I’m immensely relieved. It’s one incredible coincidence perhaps, or not, but I don’t really give a fuck right now. I so need to close my eyes.

The Circus is Coming!

When all the children in town had finally gathered around the bloody poster that hung in the town square, they were overjoyed. And every adult that stood away from them felt an old, familiar terror. Powerless, they watched as their sons and daughters took turns placing a finger to the thick paper and drawing it down into the streams of deep red that slicked its yellowed papyrus. They loved its smell, and even more, its taste. So good, sweeter than any treat made in the town bakery, more succulent than any fruit grown in the gardens that surrounded the homes and farms. One by one, the children put their fingers to their mouths to taste the blood and cheered as the mixture of metal and salt made contact with their taste buds. The pact had been made. They didn’t even need to see the garish picture nor its old-time script to know what it all mean, and yet they waited, regretting that none of them saw the poster first, so it could be torn down and destroyed in a cleansing fire. Now it was far too late.

As if silently instructed, the children with bloodied fingers and lips ran off to prepare for the circus’s arrival. All the adults could do was watch, all of them feeling the hopelessness and futility their own parents must have felt when they saw their own children’s gaiety at the ancient parchment nailed to the pillar in the town center. Ashamed, they turned away and walked slowly towards their homes, the inevitable upon their minds. Once the children had gone, some of the adults approached the poster, hung with a single sharpened finger bone. Although slick with dark, rich arterial blood, the image and underneath it was unmistakable. It was the same as they all remembered. The black tent was in the background, bulbous and infected like a pustule. In front of it stood its members in all their perverse glory: The Clown Trio, Strongman, Ringmaster, and most hateful of all, Dickhead. They and rest whose names were all curses grinned back at them with overly intense glee. And below the menagerie were the words that made them all want to scream, The Circus Is Coming!

Tommy was a good boy. He always minded his manners. He did his chores without a hint of complaint. He never neglected to finish his lessons after supper, just as he was told to do. Tommy was such a good boy. He just knew his parents would take him to see The Circus when he asked them. But before he did, there were things to do to make sure The Circus knew their visit was going to be very much appreciated. And because he was the best of all of them in this generation, Tommy was the one chosen to be in charge of seeing to it that such a thing was to happen.

The boys and girls gathered around him, all with expectant stares as he looked back with an authoritative glare that was not entirely his own. Onto each child he bestowed a task, one that must be completed before the first magnificent trumpet sounded off in the distance, announcing the arrival of the circus. Once each child knew his or her duty, he or she ran off, ever so eager to please.

After the last child sped off into the distance, Tommy turned away and went into his parents’ house. There he saw his mother and father, both waiting for him, apprehension in their eyes and movements. Tommy wanted to know where his dog was, that Mommy and Daddy couldn’t hide him forever. Mommy and Daddy reluctantly moved aside and walked out the door, not really knowing where they were going.

Tommy found Pal in his parents’ bedroom sitting on the bed playing with his favorite toy. When Pal looked up at Tommy, his large brown eyes lit up and his tongue lolled around in unabashed, innocent pleasure. Pal was a wonderful dog, always happy to see his best friend in the whole world. Tommy petted the dog’s head ever so gently while his took the hammer out of his pants. While stroking Pal’s head one more time, he took aim and brought the tool down his beloved pet’s head. There was a wet crack and a yelp. Fear and pain immediately replaced adoration. Pal looked up at his best friend with incomprehension in his beautiful eyes when the second hammer blow knocked one of them out and his skull caved in.

All over town, similar betrayals took place. Lucy had drawn her new kitten to the floor and slowly crushed its head with one of her brand new Mary Janes. Michael suffocated his old hound he’d known since birth with a plastic bag tied around his neck. The twins, Jerry and Terry, both removed their two respective goldfish from their ovoid bowl and let them flop on their bedroom floor until their mouths ceased gulping. Many more dogs, cats, birds and other animals met with other manners of cruelty, all with similar results. The walls of the town echoed with last yelps and screeches of extinguished lives.

Some of the children, those without pets, had a more difficult time securing their gifts. These boys and girls went into the farmers’ fields with implements for destruction. One boy impaled a mole with a screwdriver. Another more daring youth knocked down a hornet’s nest and endured many stings until the last wasp was crushed under his hand. And there were some children who, no matter their efforts, were simply not hunters. Empty handed and dejected, these children exited the fields and with heads hung low, and returned home in shame.

That evening, those children who had succeeded brought the corpses back to the town center and spread them up and down the adjacent main street so that no two bodies touched one another. When they were finished, the children looked at their handiwork and were very pleased. Tomorrow, The Circus was coming. And they would be very pleased as well. The children who had not made the necessary kill simply curled up on the ground and slipped into hopeless dreams. The rest of them, too excited to sleep, danced and sang among the bloodied remains until dawn.

With the arrival of the first rays of sunlight came a cold wind. And carried upon it was the first trumpet. It was like the deep, resonant bellow of an immense beast wracked with pain. To the ears of the children, it was the loveliest of music. They ran into the main street, and lined up on either side in an orderly fashion with a speed they had never displayed in school, even under the watchful eye of the sternest teacher.

The jubilee brought the other children, the ones who had not brought gifts for the Circus, to wakefulness and remembered failure. Soon after, the adult population, the majority still in their nightclothes, stepped into the town center. They took great pains to avoid the strewn bodies of beloved pets, many of which were still recognizable as being from their own family. A few mothers and fathers openly wept openly as they laid eyes upon the carnage. Most wore slack expressions; seemingly numb to events or trying hard to conceal their horror. They followed the children and took their place alongside sons and daughters. There were no exchanged greetings, no discernible acknowledgment of the other’s existence. All eyes were trained on the edge of town, waiting. The wait was not a long one.

They so much arrive as appear. No one would claim to know the moment they came into the world, but with the exultant noises The Circus brought with them, everyone knew the moment The Circus saw them. It was when Ringmaster, always the first in the parade line, raised an impossibly long arm and pointed an obscenely long finger straight ahead. Behind him, a mighty horde of skeletal musicians raised grisly instruments and issued forth a cacophony of musical nightmare. And the show began.

Somersaulting and cart wheeling past Ringmaster was The Clown Trio. Animal fat for greasepaint and costumes of eviscerated corpses but that was all the resemblance they had to one another. One was tall and obese, another possessed a ridiculously muscular build, and lastly, was a diminutive, skeletally thin being. They picked up dead animals as they went, throwing corpses to each other. The smallest of the Trio took his handful of collected pets and picked the felines out of the mess. Dropping the rest, he quickly pulled the heads off the kittens and cats with a rapid succession of cracks and pops and, cackling madly, juggled them amid the cheers of the youth and the wails of parents. There was the boom of a cannon and down came streamers of skin like a gentle but horrid snowfall. Small hands were raised to the sky as larger ones covered gray or balding scalps. The cheering escalated. Naked and horrible, Strongman made his way down the street on withered legs. On either side of him, a beautiful nude woman held a crippled arm. As for Strongman, all his efforts seemed to be concentrated on holding up his ridiculously huge, lumpish gourd of a head. The deformed brain could be seen through a nearly transparent skull. As they walked, Strongman spied the body of a large hound and smiled with a mouthful of jagged, broken teeth. He gurgled something unintelligible and each woman held him fast with one hand. With practiced choreography, they used their other hand to simultaneously stroke his rapidly growing penis. Never taking his gaze off the dog, he drooled as the dog’s body floated off the ground. In midair, the dog stiffened and stretched until tendons snapped and popped. Strongman’s member was pulsing under the women’s vigorous stroking. Giving into the psychic power, the dog’s bones burst out of their sockets as the belly ripped open. With one final liquid pop the dog snapped in the two, spraying blood and viscera in all directions. Simultaneously, Strongman’s cock shot ejaculate forward, landing in great bloody red puddles as he made an infantile squeal of pleasure. Flaccid and spent, the women let the penis shrivel away and gently pulled Strongman along. The children’s cheered was deafening. And the show went on, bringing forth more misshapen and perverse performers than the last. Amid these hellish actors, reanimated lions, tigers and elephants danced about. They pulled apart, stamped or simply ate, soon vomiting back up the precious animal gifts they had been given. The dead ate the dead. And the show went on and on until the children’s anticipation of their reward hung in the air like the pungent odor of decay that permeated the town like a dense cloud.

Ringmaster waited until the last circus animal stomped on a little girl’s favorite rabbit and took its place amid the rest of his decaying clan. The noises of twisted musical instruments ceased. The cheers and sobs grew quiet. Some children, too excited to stand still, bounced up and down. Some mothers and fathers, too terrified to contain themselves, mutely wailed into open palms and forearms.

Ringmaster’s ridiculously long countenance of stretched skin and bulbous eyes looked over the crowds on either side of him. Mouthless, he gesticulated to show his intentions using arms and hands far too long for his torso. He methodically pointed at each of the children and motioned them forth. Looking quite pleased and even smug, these children took their places around The Ringmaster. To the remaining children, the ones who had brought no gift for The Circus, he sent into the arms of his misshapen minions. Their saddened expressions betrayed their collective self-disappointment.

With the children in their appointed places, the skeletal band resumed a bizarre, angry rendition of Pomp and Circumstance. Appearing from nothingness but seeming as if he had always been there, was the grand finale, the real star of the show, the one who would bring the good children their reward, was Dickhead. Impeccably dressed in a tuxedo, Dickhead danced his way down the street with his top hat pulled down and cane spinning wildly. He twirled and tapped until he stopped in front of The Ringmaster where he took a bow. The favored children clapped and squealed. The reward was soon upon them.

With a theatrical flourish, the top hat came off and thrown into the crowd. No one bent to pick it up. With the hat gone all could see what had been hidden underneath. The head was the head of a penis, made more horrible as the eyes and nose made their home on the very top; the mouth was most horrible of all. Raising his arms and spreading his legs, Dickhead opened his obscene mouth and issued forth a mighty torrent of brilliant yellow piss that reached a point high in the rapidly darkening sky before raining down to the good children’s open mouths.

Smiles became frowns of confusion and then finally open wails of realization. As sweet as the blood of the poster had been, the flavor of the piss was sour even more. The fantasy pleasure of the blood gave way to the reality of real revulsion of the urine that they began spitting and vomiting out of their mouths. They screamed and called out for their parents who also called to them openly now, telling them over and over again it was not their fault, never their babies’ faults. They saw their beloved pets again with sobered memories and wailed at the sins they had willingly committed.

For the ones who had failed to bring gifts of blood, they became their own gift to The Circus as The Clown Trio, Strongman and the rest accepted these failed hunters as their own gift top The Circus. Blood, saliva and sperm flowed freely. The good children, thoroughly blind with panic, ran from the carnage in all directions. Many of the adults fell to their knees, covered their faces or simply adopted fetal positions. They knew there was nowhere to go. That is, until The Circus had finally had its fill.

The darkening folds of the infected tent enveloped the town, and the darkness was complete.

Short Story Break #1

Hey folks!

Thought I'd give my loyal Readers a Monday morning surprise--a short story!

Not to worry, The Station will continue tomorrow morning with a brand new post.

In the meantime, enjoy this little tale of terror...coming up right now!

A. David Smith

The Station, Part 25

Just look at them, so human, yet so not. People have speculated that these creatures were a transition stage between man and ape. I would say to them that they are so wrong. These beings are much more man than ape. Remove the hair, and what we have left is so much more a person. They’re still staring at me, probably wondering just what the hell I am. This giant white clumsy thing with the giant head within a head that is wandering their home. What must I look like to them. Huge, ugly, awkward perhaps. But one thing I’m apparently not—dangerous. And that bit of intuitiveness on their part is truly remarkable. Even if I wanted to catch one, this suit prevents me from doing that. The way the female tilts her head reminds so much of a little girl. But her feminine shape betrays her adulthood. Her fully formed breasts, the widened hips and thick pubic hair shows she’s definitely no child. Her male companion, could be her mate or her brother for all I know, is lean, but well muscled. Not a gram of fat on that body. I can’t say the same about myself. The station gym notwithstanding, I’m almost jealous.

They’re turning away from me, but not crouching down I notice. They’re walking away. I guess their curiosity has been satiated. I’m not a predator. I’m not food. So I’m not much good other than as some brief distraction from their daily life. My fifteen minutes of fame are up. They keep walking, but every few steps one of them will look over a shoulder at me. I’m still not moving. I’m still trying to digest what I’ve seen here. The female has stopped, and now the male. She’s making a face. Her wide lips are forming an O. And then she’s off again, catching up with her companion. What was that? Was it a good thing? I think it was. Maybe it was their version of sticking out a tongue. Making fun. Or making friendly. Just what would my pale, naked face’s expression was like just a brief moment before must have been like. Maybe they recognize and understand astonishment.

I know I need to find Frontier. But I need to follow these beings. I need to do that more right now. The pull is very strong. It’s so strong it frightens me. I need to se where they’re going. But I need to find Frontier first. What the hell is wrong with me? But then, I haven’t yet found the next tunnel. Or perhaps Frontier is here, just over the horizon. Could be. So I should stay with my could-have-been ancestors. Maybe they know something. Sure, they may not be able to explain it to me in words I’ll understand, but by observing them, I may discover something I would otherwise have missed, namely the path to the station. So much wishful thinking I know. But I know I need to stay with them. I need to do this. Don’t ask me just why. I think we both will have that answer soon. Just please bear with me.

The Station, Part 24

I’m not alone. There’s movement within the grass to my right. A shape is bending is thin stalks ever so carefully, taking a very slow zigzag. I’m not going to be afraid this time. I don’t have to be. Maybe I’m a little crazy for believing that right now—for all I know I’m being stalked by a predator. That could very well be true. But I don’t think so. There’s only one. I’ve already checked that. How do I know that? Well, unless whatever it has an accomplice lying in wait to my left, it would except be to bolt away from the movement and into the range of that hidden partner. But I’m not going to run. I’m going to do the exact opposite. I’m facing the movement in the grass. Taking a step. It’s stopped, probably wondering just what the hell I am and what the hell I’m doing. Good. Keep it guessing. Keep it uncertain. There’s a murmur coming from over there. I can hear at least two distinct pitches. One, low and raspy. Another, high and lilting. If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was a man and a woman having a conversation. Wishful thinking I know. But then there’s the acacia…should I take another step? No, I think I’ll stand my ground and see what happens. I’m very curious about this. Wait, there’s something going on in there. More rustling. Was that a hand I saw? There’s just now way that could have been a—something’s shooting through the grass straight at me. Holding my ground…and oh my. Oh my. I’m look at it but I’m not believing my own eyes. It can’t be more than a meter-and-a-half tall. Covered in short hair. Baring large, white teeth and brandishing a short thick tree limb. And now it’s gone again, back into the grass. A little apeman. I saw a little apeman with almost no forehead and a saggittal crest, just like the creatures we’ve all seen in books and holovids. You may not know them by name but you’d know their faces. Australopithecines. There is no convergent evolution going on here. This is home as it used to be. You must also know what that means for me. This place was meant for Man Who is to Be. I wouldn’t need the excursion suit. I could just strip it off right now, take off all my clothing for that matter, and in all likelihood live off this land, or a t least this chamber, just like we had in the beginning. That high crest that must support huge jaw muscles was distinct on one famous species. A dead end one at that. Australopithecus robustus. Don’t ask me how I know that name. It was just there. I see two pairs of eyes reflecting in the moonlight. Two sets of green dots that have risen over the grass because they’re standing upright. They had been crawling, or perhaps knuckle walking, in order to sneak their way towards me. I haven’t moves a muscle yet. I think in the this particular transition from ape to human, this species has made the one crucial leap that could have very well doomed our own ancestors if not for good old fashioned dumb luck. The display of aggression by the male, having been met with an unexpected lack of response my part, has undoubtedly made an impression. The male and female look back at me. Their mouths are closed; the teeth are then not bared. The tree limb is down by the male’s side. No more aggression. By the fates, I think I may be on the verge of contact, with what could have been another eventual humanity besides our own. And to think we won that evolutionary race. These creatures just took an avenue we weren’t aware existed.

The Station, Part 23

How did it get here? There is the possibility, however likely, that this tree is not an acacia, just another life form that happened to look just like one. A convergent evolution if you will. These kinds of things occur on Earth where two unrelated organisms will evolve to look similar based on similarity of environment. That’s assuming, that this particular form of life evolved here in this savannah. I think it did, but the savannah was not here. I don’t know, maybe I’m just getting too far ahead of myself. Without anything to contradict me, no evidence to support my hypothesis, I’d have to say yes, indeed. This is a motherfuckin’ acacia tree from outer space. Did I just blow your mind?

The tree I used to climb was a little smaller, but that may be in part due to the fact that I’m quite a bit taller than I was when I last climbed it. I was about six or seven years old I guess. Mom and Dad were one of those eccentric types. Country folk my great grandfather would say. Our closest neighbor was about a kilometer away. Even then, that was highly unusual. The only people who lived in the so-called country were either Luddites or employed by the Global Environmental Agency. My parents fell into the latter. So while my classmates and friends lived in the various metropolises, I got to live like my ancestors. I could open my back door and step on real grass and not that bioengineered stuff that people in the city grew. We had natural trees too, a lot of them. Mom and Dad, being the caretakers that they were, didn’t have a single gene therapy or engineered plant with their designer leaves and fruit. Nothing but what nature offered could be found around our home. And I didn’t know any different. And I didn’t care. There was an autumn where I seemed to have spent more time off the ground than on it, sitting in the crook, watching birds fly by, pretending they were all seagulls, frigate birds, pelicans, albatross, any kind of bird you’d find soaring over the ocean. And my acacia was my gigantic sailboat, the crook of it was sometimes my crow’s nest, other times the helm. It all depended on where my imagination would take me that day. My six-year-old imagination was all encompassed with the likes of Robinson Crusoe, Captain’s Courageous and Mysterious Island. You could say I was obsessed with nautical-themed works. Come to think of it, I never did imagine being a pirate or anything about pirates. For me, the ocean was like outer space. Even though we’d explored the depths of all oceans, I still wanted to believe there were parts of the world no man had gone before, where I could go someday. And I was convinced that those places were far below even the bottom of the oceans.

Romantic huh? One of my fondest memories of all is of me, sitting in that acacia on a very cool day, eating a sandwich. I can even remember what it was. Peanut butter and banana. The bananas came from a small grove by the house of course. But that memory is still with me. Absolutely nothing happened. But it was for me, the perfect day. I think it was that particular day that tipped the balance when I volunteered to be among the first to man the new Frontier program. I wanted to finally explore that deeper than deep ocean. Well, Robbie, looks like you got your wish. And now that you’ve gotten it? What do you think? The jury is still out. But rumor has it that this explorer is getting close to having his fill. He wants to go home.

But strangely enough, I’m more at ease here. Must be my seeing a familiar face, such as it is.

So what is this then? A facsimile, a wild coincidence? Who the hell knows. Standing here in the lunar lit night, or at least its approximation, I’ve been able to turn off the suit lights and look around me with the naked eye. My ambient speakers are turned up. I’m listening to the night sounds. It’s nothing but wind rustling the acacia branches and a hiss over the field of grass. This grass seems to stretch on forever, and now that my eyes have adjusted, there are more trees visible in the distance. Overhead, There is a cloudy sky. No moon, just the glow that comes from everywhere up there. I wonder how that is possible. No moon, no stars, but apparently there is moisture up there. How does that work? So many questions. All of them can wait.

The Station, Part 22

Another dream unlike any I’ve ever had before. What I wouldn’t give to talk to a psych officer right now. Then again, how fast do you think he’d take me off duty? I kid myself. This was no ordinary dream. This had…substance. I’m retaining memories of sensations. Of a different, I don’t know, a state of being. Haven’t felt like this ever. It’s not merely as if I had been transported into another body or place, it was as if I had always been in this state. Like it was natural to me. There was a sense of well-being, and a concern for another. Sure I know these feelings sound very human, but I tell they were not. These emotions had other ties, other senses that allowed them to be possible. Listen to me, you must think I’m raving. I check out for a few hours and come back spouting nonsense about some wacky dream. You know, it could be just an effect of too much oxygen in my helmet. It could very well be. But I don’t thing so. You’re not here. You’re not seeing what I’m seeing.

Alright, enough of the self-analysis for now. Back to business. I haven’t taken in my surroundings just yet. Been on introspection mode. It’s something of a twilight state here. Oddly serene in a way. I see what looks like wheat or barley swaying in, all be damned, a breeze. I like the sound it makes. It’s a familiar thing, like home. Something is silhouetted against the silvery background. Looks like trees. And that silver. That has to be a version of moonlight. This place continues to amaze. I want to take a look at those trees for some reason. I think I may know what they are. Think I’m crazy? Maybe I am. But I need to prove to myself that I’m not. Trouble is, in order get close to enough to identify exactly what these trees are I have to cross into the field. I don’t know why, but just thinking of doing that makes be fearful. Some instinct kicking in? Or just a leftover from the last place? The wheat-like grass comes up to about my armpits, so I’ll be able to see over it. It’ll provide some advantage over whatever else is hiding amongst. I don’t know if there’s a damn thing inside that field but not knowing is the very reason I’m making myself go. I’m not letting the animal in me win this time. Fight or flight my ass.

I’m crossing into the grass and the ground crunches under my boots. The natural detritus of new replacing the old. Just for the sake of curiosity I’m taking a really close look at one of the stalks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen wheat up close and personal, but I think it would look something a lot like this. The rest of its brothers sweep up and down in the breeze, looking like choreographed dance, or wind over an ocean. Take your pick. I see no other movement. I’m walking further in, closer to the trees. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something in the grass, watching me. Now I don’t feel as threatened by it. But more and more, there’s this sense of familiarity about it. Like I should know where I am right now. Except where here is shouldn’t be here at all. Doesn’t make any sense at all to you, does it?

It’s an acacia. I know these trees like old friends. My parents had planted one in our backyard. I used to climb it when I was kid. I can remember pretending to be Tarzan surveying his jungle kingdom. The only real difference between that tree and this one is the one in front of me is just a little larger. The first thing I’ve recognized about this place and it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. A tree, from Earth, light-years from where it should be. I think by that alone, makes it the downright strangest thing I’ve seen inside this whale so far.

The Station, Part 21

What’s going on? Where am I? Why is it dark? I don’t remember. I feel groggy. The things in the fog! They’re all around d! No, wait. I have calm down, relax and get my bearings. I’m not there anymore. At least I don’t think I am. I can see in front of myself again. No fog. How did I get here? Last thing I remember is glowing eyes. Eyes attached to a stalk, and that stalk was attached to a body that may as well have been created out of my nightmares. But after that, something’s coming back. I was still in that fog, but I wasn’t me anymore. The fog was no longer a barrier. I knew it was there, but my eyes merely saw it as color. Color that varied….I saw my own exhalations and everyone else’s. I saw my brethren moving out from under the guiding branches of our eldest to see the newcomer. A strange thing it is, small, blind, helpless. Terrified. Why so terrified? There is nothing to fear here. All has been taken care of. Perhaps we can help it. Take it to our grand eldest who will show it that we are no threat. Such a pitiful little creature.

I think I must’ve passed out again. Again. Still in the same place as before though. Wherever that is. From what I can tell, it looks like I found that latest tunnel. God I hope so. I need check…but no, I didn’t place a beacon this time. First time for everything. Screw it. What do I need a map for anyhow? I’m not going back the way I came anyway. Shit, I’ve been out of commission for a good twelve hours. Damn that’s a huge waste of time. Oxygen levels reflect the time stamp. Consumption might a little high even for that. That’s just wonderful. Maybe four days to go if I don’t exert myself too much. What the hell was I doing. Hiking? Deep breathing exercises? Well, I know I didn’t eat anything, and now I could eat a horse. I don’t even know why I look at the menu anymore. I’ll just pick anything.

I could have had more, and I really want to, but I need to conserve. So now, where am I? My eyes have adjusted so I’ve switched off the headlamp. Looks like during my mysterious sleepwalk I found my way here. That’s right. I was deeply tired. I think I panicked, and hauled ass here where I fainted or just slipped into a deep sleep. That must have been what happened. I don’t even know if I should mention this, as you’ve been following me from the start. But if you’ve learned anything about me it’s that I’m not one to come to wild conclusions based on scant evidence. So keep that in mind when I tell you about this dream I had. A new dream. It’s a little vague now, but I still think I can recall most of it. In it, I was above the fog, but the fog wasn’t like before. It was in layered in such rich colors that I couldn’t begin to list them, They seamlessly blended one into another. And I was out of the suit again. I felt tall, powerful, and at ease, for the most part. I was concerned, almost worried, about someone. I wanted to help them, but it was afraid of me. So afraid that it began to run fast. So much faster than me. There were other people with me, trying to help with the rescue. One of us had called out, telling us that this strange person might have hurt themselves because they had fallen and did not move again. So we helped it. I and the rest of us were at ease once again.

The Station, Part 20 cont.

Is that…is that a light? I think I see a light. No, more than one. Three. Close together. About three meters off the ground. I’m going to stand real still now. Because those three lights are swaying back and forth. And the sound of a large body dragging in snot is right there with it. A new sound just make me start. Like a huge exhale and the three light shave moved closer. They’re getting lower, lower. Getting closer to me. Don’t run, Bradley. Don’t you run like a scared little boy…Eyes. They’re eyes. Three eyes on a stalk! Looking right at me. I’m so fucking scared right now. Those eyes are glowing, going over me. There’s a dark shape in the fog ahead. The stalk must be attached to it. It’s big. It’s sliding closer. Oh don’t feel good. I need to calm down. I need to stay in control. The rest of it is visible now. It looks like a giant fucking worm attached to a lumpy clump of….cancer. Yes, cancer. It’s bulbous, uneven. Diseased looking. And it just let out a breath or a fart or something because I just saw something noxious come pouring out of its obscene sphincter of a mouth—I’m getting the fuck out of here. I have to get out of this hellhole! Let me out of here! I can’t see! I can’t see! Somebody just show me how to leave!

There’s another light. Another one of them. Gotta keep away from them. They’re wrong. I shouldn’t have ever laid eyes—another one. What about this way? No, no. Not that way. Get way from me! Get away from me! They’re everywhere. How can they do that? How can they be fucking everywhere?! Not right...not right…not right...not…

The Station, Part 20 cont.

It looks really cold in here. Fortunately my suit is well insulated for just such things. I’m going very slowly, taking my time, and keeping my path as straight as I can. Somewhere on the other side is another tunnel. Again, and I have no reasonable explanation for it, but Frontier 2 is not here. I just know it. Makes absolutely no sense, does it? I just know I’m getting closer. As a precaution I’ve also turned up the ambient speakers to maximum. If I can’t see what’s in here maybe I’ll be able to at least hear it. So far I’ve encountered a whole lot of nothing, aside from the fog. About this fog: it doesn’t look like any fog on earth I’ve ever seen. The color’s wrong, and it moves almost likes its alive. You know how when you walk through thick fog and it seems to fade as you get closer? Well, not this stuff. It just seemingly parts in layers as you pass, like a curtain without boundaries. Taking a look behind me, I see that it slides back into place, as if I was never there. The Tunnel Round that I came through? Well, if I hadn’t placed a beacon there, I would never know where it had been—son of a bitch. I’m a fucking idiot! I didn’t think to take the beacons from Frontier 1. They might’ve still been working. Wait. I’ve got something on speakers.

It isn’t that close, but it’s definitely there. To my right, well out of visual range, which isn’t that far really. And unfortunate. I shouldn’t put it like that. No, its merely inconvenient. Do I sound convincing? I don’t feel it. I’ve picked up a squelching sound, like feet in mud. Except it isn’t quick like a footstep. It’s more drawn out, almost as if someone were slowly dragging their feet through it. I haven’t encountered anything viscous like that yet. I should take more care in watching every angle. The flashlight in my hand feels rather useless right now. Redundant. My headlamp can barely cut through this mess. At least I’ve managed to keep on a straight path. Let’s hope that continues. The squelching sound is at my left now. Or is it just another source creating the noise? I’m going to stop walking for a moment and just listen.

There are several sources of sound. None are that close, but I think there may be at least half a dozen of them. Whatever they are, I can’t tell if they’re sound s of moment or just something moving in place. No, they’re moving. Just very slowly. Don’t really know if there’s that many. Can’t get a fix on anything in this damn fog. And I’m so damn tired. I need to take a break, but I don’t want to stay in here. I can’t see a fucking thing! I’ve started walking again, faster now. The ground has just started of become slippery. I’m heading towards something then. Getting a little deeper now. It’s up around my boots. No idea what it is. I’m looking right at it now and couldn’t tell you what the hell this stuff is. It’s gray and somewhat translucent. Almost like mucus. Now there’s thought I need to get out of my head right now. There is more of that squelching up ahead. No pattern to them. They just sound about the same. Something, many somethings, are moving on this surface. I don’t feel good about this. I want to turn around and haul ass back the way I came. It’s easy, even in here. Just turn around and cut a straight line to the Tunnel Wide.

The Station, Part 20

Why am I so tired? Ever since finding Frontier 2, I’ve felt oddly drained. Like that damn weed has actually gotten into me during my short time there. Hell no, I’m not going to get paranoid like that. That shit does not feed off still living things. I’m certain of that. Again, I just know that. So when did I sleep last? Hard to remember when. I just remember what I saw when I slept. Those beings. So real.

My tunnel theory just got another boost. I tried another Tunnel Rounds and its been a more or less straight run. Sorry I haven’t been conversational through it. Been thinking about Sam. For a guy I didn’t really know all that well, I’m not sure why I’m so damn angry at him. I feel guilty and just plain angry about it, but I can’t help it. These issues are going to have to wait. I’ve reached the end of this particular passage and, for the first time since I’ve been here, I think I truly am scared right now.

Through the passage opening there is a fog. It’s extremely thick and stops abruptly at the tunnel opening, as if something were blocking it. Not a tendril of the stuff is inside the tunnel. I’ve turned up my light to maximum and I can still only penetrate a few meters into it. The first thing I checked for was a floor. It’s there, thank the stars. But beyond that I have nothing else to tell you. I’m seriously considering turning back and finding another tunnel that might take me around this place, but I already know that this was the only Tunnel Round coming from Frontier 1. The prospect of losing time over my chickenshit attitude keeps me locked in place right here, at the mouth of the tunnel. There it is swirling and twisting, all a dare to get me inside. I want a fucking gun again. This time I might really need it. All I have are these beacons, which honestly, don’t mean jack shit anymore. I mean, I’ve been placing them at each entrance and since each one is coded, I can draw a makeshift amp on my HUD. It isn’t much right now, but I’m getting a much better appreciation of the size of the whole structure. And each time I find a new chamber, it just keeps adding to that immensity.

Yeah, I know I’m stalling. I’m trying to find where my balls went, okay? Give me a break here. If you could see how thick this stuff was you’d damn near shit yourself thinking about going inside too. And I don’t want to overtax the suit’s recyclers right now, if you know what I mean. I’ve got the spare flashlight gripped firmly in one hand. It’s the only thing that approximates a weapon. Pathetic, but I feel a little more secure. It’s solid, unlike whatever this ethereal substance is. Here goes nothing.

The Station, Part 19 cont.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I’d said I’d bury Sam. I don’t have a shovel or a pick or anything remotely resembling a digging implement. Even if I did, I have no idea how deep the soil, or whatever this ground is made of, goes down. For all I know it’s a whole five centimeters. And cremation is out of the question as well. No a single flammable material on board. It is a space station you see. Instead, I’m leaving him right where he is. Let this strange nature take its course. Perhaps in a few weeks or less, all that Sam was will be reduced to the most basic parts, even the bones I’d say. Ashes to ashes they used to say weren’t it? Quaint. This is element to element really. In its own way, more through than even cremation would have been.

There’s nothing left here. Nothing that I can use. No food or water. I could take some spare power packs for the suit, but the ones I have can last for months without recharging. Hell, one wouldn’t hurt or make a difference anyhow. I’m leaving Frontier 1. Goodbye Sam. I’m sorry.

I feel like shit. I really do. I’m very tired all of a sudden. Sitting here a ways from Sam’s final resting place I’m looking at the wilderness around me and really, really thinking about what to do next. Okay, I’m really thinking about Sam. Why he never left his own station and explored the tunnels. Hell, it looks like he never even went outside once. Why did he just give up? Damn it, we could’ve found each other, pooled resources. Kept each other company. Sam you bastard. You should’ve tried. You were supposed to be a trained officer of the navy. Instead, you just said, fuck it, I’m outta here and shot up to end all shot ups. You were a fucking coward, Sam. Now you’ve left me here to do your job, too. What finally made you do it? Was it the weed coming in and getting into the food, or the power flickering and leaving you sitting there in the dark? Was that when you pulled out the needle? Over a damn weed—

The weed. It might grow elsewhere. There’s no way to know. It’s all over Frontier 1 and it’s so tangled can see no actual origin point. More of it could be growing beyond just this space. And if I’m right, my station isn’t that far from here. Maybe in a place much like this one. Sitting there, unprotected, and being covering by this stuff. Getting into the stores of food and water. I’ve got only days left with me. If Frontier 2 has been compromised, there’s nothing left. That might have been what Sam was thinking. No communications, no power, no food. He thought he was totally alone. And if he had been brought here before me, then he was. Goddamn it, why didn’t you try exploring, Sam? We could’ve made a hell of a team. I need to get off my ass and moving again. I’ve wasted too much time already. My own station is close, I know it. Now I’m a little more than afraid to find out what’s happened to her. I don’t want to think about what condition she’ll be in when I finally do lay eyes on her. If she’s covered in the weed… No. I’m not going to consider that yet. Too soon. And it’ll do me no good. Gotta stay focused. Get to Frontier 1 and resupply. Once I’ve reenergized myself, I’ll be more than ready to take on this…place. Or places. Whatever. I will find a way out of here. Fuck you, Sam for making it all that much harder. Time to get moving.

The Station, Part 19

20/6/2207

I’m not back. This isn’t Frontier 2. It’s Frontier 1. Just didn’t see that until I got up close. In big black letters. Looks like she’s been here a lot longer than I have. I don’t know how that could be though. I was just talking to my counterpart here, Samuel Price. He preferred Sam. Only his mother called him Samuel he told me once. I wouldn’t want to be his mother right now. I wouldn’t want to be the one to have to tell her that her son was dead.

He’s been dead for some time it looks like. Suicide it looks like from what I can gather. There’s a pressure syringe and a bag of sleeping solution nearby. Empty. He must’ve taken enough to put a herd of elephants into a coma. Why, though. Why did he decide to take his own life? He couldn’t have been here that long. Like me, he must have tried every fucking comm. channel known to Man. And he got no responses. I’ve been through every deck of his station. Looks like he never left. None of the excursion suits have been used. O2 tanks were all full. Can’t get into the central computer because there’s absolutely no power. That I don’t understand at all. Even running all systems on full power, Frontier 1 should be good to go for at least another two years. And that’s without any aid from the solar and kinetic chargers. There’s not a light on in here. And what I really don’t get and I don’t know if I want to understand it, is exactly just how life has gotten into this station. She’s supposed to be sealed tight against the vacuum of space for fuck’s sake. I had to use the outside manual release to get in. And that door opens into an airlock with another door that has to be unsealed manually as well. In other words, just like my station.

There’s a weed growing all over. It has made it into just about every deck and every room. It’s infiltrated the food and water stores as well and taken every scrap, even used the emergency ladders next to the pneumatic lift system to make its way nearly up to the sensor complex at the station’s apex. It’ll probably be there in no time. It’s such a tangle that I can’t see just where it may have gotten in. There must be a breach somewhere. Doesn’t really matter anymore. Sam’s dead. The station died with him.

Sam. It’s hard to look at him. At what he’s becoming. The weed, whatever else it is. It’s a parasite. Sam had become food for it. The weed has apparently penetrated his orifices, strands of it has entered his nostrils, his mouth, even the tear ducts. Probably doesn’t end there. The exposed skin is grayish, not the white I would have expected. And what’s really making it hard to look at him is the protrusions that have come through. Little furry skies have erupted through the skin on his face forearms and hands. I think he’s being digested. His body’s nutrients are being processed by the environment. Sam is just food now. Is his fate what will eventually happen to me? Will I die and be turned into alien plant food? I can’t stand by and let this happen in front of me. I want to have him cremated just like everyone else. I don’t know if that’s going to be possible. I may have to settle for burying him. It’s an outdated and primitive practice, I know, but that may be the best I can do for him. If these messages of mine are getting through to anyone at all, please tell Sam’s family that I’m so sorry. Just don’t tell them about the plant. Thanks.

The Station, Part 18 cont.

I got so excited that I forgot to mention the place I’m in now. Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about that right now, but I thought I should still report anything of significance. First off, there’s a soft light, which may be yet the closest I seen to our sun. The floor, or should I call it ground here, is covered in a very fine grass-like growth. It’s so fine it could be hair on the back of an immense green monster. Hell, for all I know it is. There’s what look like small plants, roundish and a darker green than the surrounding grass. I can see bulbs of what may be fruit on one I just passed by. I must say that these pear-shaped fruits look rather tempting right now. But I’m not putting them anywhere near my mouth. That would be incredibly foolish.

Frontier is much closer now and I can see her name and registry number pretty clearly—
No…No. No. No. No. This is not happening. This is not happening. Damn it! Fuck! Fuck me! I can’t take this! Why is this happening to me?!

The Station, Part 18

More evidence that I was right in classifying the tunnels. I located my Tunnel Round and after having been traveling through it, there’s been no sign of incline either up or down. I’m relieved and I must say a little proud. No, more than a little proud. I’m a little embarrassed at myself for it, since I should have figured out the key much sooner than I did. Oh well, I did discover the road signs. And this must just be the start of them. Up ahead the tunnel is starting to curve to the right, but with no change in altitude. I wonder if that feature has some significance and not just a random design element. Design. Now there’s a thought. The word conveys purpose. Intelligence. Many clues point towards a mind behind all that I’ve seen. In just my short time here, I’ve seen wonders that would turn humanity on its collective head. It’s so like a cosmic joke, that after all the centuries, Man’s search for life in the universe has culminated in one man who has seen the offspring of many worlds, has no means whatsoever to tell anyone about it. Let’s see if I can change that cruel punch line.

The tunnel must have made a full ninety degree turn. I’m traveling in a straight line again. With all of this walking I’ve been doing. I’ll be ready for a marathon in no time. Here we go. The tunnel’s ending.

And hallelujah! There she is! Frontier. She looks so gorgeous. I had no idea just how much I missed that huge hunk of junk until now. She’s a ways off in the distance and listing to port, doing her impression of the leaning Tower of Piza, but so the fuck what? Who or whatever they are, they’ve managed to wedge her into yet another custom sized crevasse it seems. I’m walking at a good clip now. If I could I’d jog, but that is out of the question in this getup. Can’t wait to get inside and out of this damn suit. So sick of this thing and the nasty food paste and the canned sound of my own voice. I should slow down to a normal pace again, but who cares now? The station looks powered down right now, but I’ll reestablish vital systems, namely environmental control, and start the oxygen flowing again. Looks like I didn’t need the suit’s week-long supply of O2. I’ve got, according to the HUD, just under five days at normal exertion left. Am I good or what?

The Station, Part 17

Well, personally I was hoping to find Frontier waiting for me. That was too hopeful I suppose. But I’m pretty sure that I’ve gotten a lot closer. So what do I see instead? That’s a good question. As far as impossible environments like beaches or deserts, I seem to be in a rather familiar looking place. It’s far larger, but it resembles the chamber Frontier was housed in first. The walls have far fewer tunnels more some reason. The floor is covered in a fine, powdery black dust. Looks volcanic. I’d say this place was unfinished or just unused. It’s extra space. Something will go here eventually, but for now, it’s just an empty broom closet. The light here is much like the sun. Yellow. Not quite the same, but it’s a welcome approximation. Again, the light source isn’t obvious, but as I look directly above me, the light pours down. Almost too bright to stare at directly. Can’t complain though. It’s the closest thing to Earth that I’ve seen here so far. I wonder why this place is empty? Even where Frontier was, she was evidently replaced by the strange grove. Apparently that space was better suited to that particular life form. So maybe the space station was just put into temporary housing until a more suitable place could be freed up. Sounds more and more like an intelligence is at work here doesn’t it? Again, I’m making lots and lots of assumptions here. There’s no real evidence to back up what I say. But there’s this feeling, coming from somewhere in the back of my head, that says I’m on the right track. And that feeling is there more and more often lately. I’m going to make one more outrageous assumption now. I think there’s light because this place is gearing up for some new arrivals. Maybe they’re more like me biologically. You know, one head, two eyes, body, two arms and two legs. Yeah, that would be really reaching at this point. Maybe I’ll stop guessing so much and really start to look for some actual answers. Time to go. I see more tunnels on the other side. Without anything to block my I can clearly see this particular space is absolutely huge. You could fit an enormous lake in here, or colony of gargantuan beings. If I play my cards right, I’ll be long gone before that happens. Now to find another Tunnel Round.

The Station, Part 16 cont.

I don’t know what came over me just now or where this dream came from, but it was incredible. And it made some kind of sense. This knowledge. I knew I had something. It’s gone now. Or is it a simple matter of this place getting to me. If I’m that lonely, why haven’t I dreamt of human beings? Why am I imagining beings I’ve never laid eyes on?

I’ll worry about that later. Right now I have more pressing maters to attend to. Like what’s on the other side of this very real tunnel. Speaking of which, if I’m going to keep making my way through these things, I might was well come up with some nomenclature for them. So far, I’ve seen three versions of these passageways, so that means I need three names. I’ll take a page from modern taxonomy and Linnaeus and give them a genus and species. Why the hell not? Let’s see, what to do think of this: Tunnel Tall, Tunnel Round, and Tunnel Wide. Genus Tunnel, species Tall, Round and Wide. Eh, not elegant at all, but it does the job. So, now that I’ve got names for these things, I can put a least a little sense of order to my world. Listen to me—my world. Like I belong here. This isn’t any more my world than Mars is my world. And that planet is in Earth’s solar system. Next door neighbors on the cosmic scale. I need to make sense of this world. This world.

Tunnel Wide’s incline is starting to decrease. I’m thinking that I’m coming to the end. What do you think I’ll find this time? A vast desert? Another beach? How about a bottomless pit straight to Hell? Oh, better yet, the forest from my dream. That would be enough to send me over the edge. Hah! At least there’s light now. I can switch off my headlamp. Lets’ see what’s out there…