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.

Short Story #2

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"We interrupt this program..."

...to bring you the second installment of the Short Story Break.


Like I'd mentioned before, from time to time I will take a break from The Station and present to you, dear Reader, a short story of my own composition. So up next is my latest contribution, a tale of desolation, deceit, and a fragile society desperately trying to survive. A story that shows us, that even in the most hopeless of times, humanity has the capacity to make things even worse. And now...Black Planet...

The Station, Part 47

These new eyes both intrigue and disturb me. I am seeing things that perhaps no human eye should perceive, which further lends to my belief that which each passing moment, I am a little less human. So when did the changes to my vision begin? Days ago? Or when I first entered the cave. Probably the latter, as I noticed nothing unusual until after the crystal had broken. The changes to my eyes are useful, a seemingly purposeful alteration. Like my longer legs, leaner build. I’m now a prime example of a great design for long distance travel. Millions of years of evolution probably could do no better. But what of my others alterations? The loss of my fifth toes for examples? Why that particular change? Was it because it was simply not needed for my newly sculpted feet? They certainly are far superior version to the ones with which I was born. And most fascinating of to me—my extraordinary sixth fingers, so different and alien. An addition that proved useful when climbing a tree. But I strongly suspect that is not its true purpose. It is more like a modification for a very specific function, not a general one. For all other circumstances, it is rather extraneous, but not a burden. In fact, my grip strength is marginally better, a slight difference when I had a mere five digits. I did after all, drop the crystal. A move that saved my life, yes, but also proves that these hands aren’t improvement in that area. It’s more a matter of delicate control perhaps. So then, what is this mysterious purpose they serve? I obviously haven’t had the need yet, but they have been helping me in food gathering. Perhaps with my new hands, am I meant to climb trees. No, that’s not it. But they’ve proven their worth in that area.

It’s still good to be speaking to you after all this time and the changes I have experienced. Even though you’ve never responded I haven’t lost hope that you’re still out there, trying to get in. I thought of Frontier and her exposure to the outside. That seems like the perfect scenario for my freedom. An opportunity that apparently was never taken. Which meant there was a chance that you are not there at all. But I dismiss that notion. An object of this size does not go unnoticed by the vast network of sensors buoys, satellites and starships that crisscross space. There is someone monitoring this, watching, waiting…and listening. Listening to all the sounds of life that should seem impossible, but is. And somewhere there’s a receiver, probably many transceivers, hundreds of them in fact, that are translating my data into text that is scrolling across screens, holding my audience in rapt attention, waiting for the next installment like rabid fan base. That’s what I hope. I don’t want my words to merely disappear into the ether. I wish I could know that all this effort was for something. That what I report will not be dismissed as some delusional ramblings by an insane naval officer. Navy? Am I in a navy? Yes, goddamn it! I’m Lieutenant Bradley of the station Frontier! I’m Bradley! Bradley! Bradley! Bradley! You hear me! Whoever the fuck you are! Whatever is changing me! I am a fucking human being! No matter what you do to me, I’m still a fucking human being! Don’t forget you it! Or you’ll be sorry! You take away my humanity and I’ll make hell! I promise you!

The Station, Part 46

My own clumsiness may have just saved my life. It’s my own stubbornness and inability to see the obvious that only prolonged my suffering. As I stumbled along, I managed to trip. I’m sure you’re not surprised at that. But in attempting to regain my balance, I instinctively threw out my arms, and in doing so, accidentally threw the crystal. It hit the wall and then the ground, breaking it in two. At first, I could have cried. I’m so tired. And now in the darkness. Or so I thought. Even as the last bit of light faded from the shattered torch, I discovered something new about myself—the ability to see in the dark. Apparently, I never really needed the crystal, but it certainly needed me. I took it out of its native environment. Or rather, I took them. Whatever lived inside it. The microscopic colony of life that died as soon as its home was destroyed. I can only surmise that once I removed its base from the rest of the colony, it no longer had an energy source from which to feed. In desperation, and a sheer need to survive, it found the next best thing—me. My life energy. After all, I am a biomechanical machine am I not? I have a store of energy that would suffice, even if not ideal for a colony of oh so tiny lives. My fault. I never saw it. But without their draining influence, already I can feel my strength returning. But in my redoubling my efforts I did really push myself too hard. Just to stay moving you see. Now I am merely tired and need a decent rest. I don’t fear stopping now.

I’m really fascinated by my new ability. I took stock of myself for the first time in while and discovered new things. I see my hands have gone through yet another alteration. They’ve become rather hirsute of late. When did that happen? What must I look like sans the undersuit? My eyes can also see that there is some kind of light, ever so faint, resonating from the cave interior. The walls themselves it seems. A mineral perhaps. Has to be. If there were a total absence of light, even the most acutely sensitive eyes would be useless. That is why the troglodytes are blind and pale. Perhaps that and the presence of the crystalline dwelling life forms are the reason for the absence of other life. Tiny lives would most assuredly avoid their life draining quality. I’m alive because of a stupid mistake.

But Poor Fred. He never learned the secret. He must have been like me, struggling to find his way through, straining not to succumb to his torch, never knowing that the very thing that he thought would help save his life was the very thing that would eventually extinguish it. I was no smarter than he, just luckier. Thinking of his bones lying back there, and the clear, yet unbroken crystal at his side, I wonder of after its food source had died, did the living things inside their protective mineral world know of their own fate? It seems like a tragedy for all parties. I hope that the ones that I ripped from their home didn’t suffer for very long. And to top off all today’s revelation, I can see in the dark

The Station, Part 45

I have made one discovery thanks to Fred however. These crystals glow isn’t infinite. His though colorless now, is obviously of the same variety as mine. So perhaps whatever causes the luminescence, it’s dependent on something to perpetuate it. Far back and above, in the chamber where I discovered them, there were absolutely no faded crystals. I remember that clearly. Fred’s is the first one that I’ve seen that has lost its glow. So what else is different? Why am I so curious about this? Because both Fred and his crystal were once both alive. Both now lie dead. I don’t want to join them. And in the back of my mind, I have this feeling that I’m going that way. I’m missing something vital. Some little bit of information that would make all the difference. It’s far too late for me to go back and examine the crystal colony further. So, I have to rely on my memory. A memory which has been failing more and more of late. Except when it comes to my experiences in this place. All that came before; that is where I find it increasingly difficult to conjure memories. All this pondering is taking more effort than it should. If I didn’t know any different, I’d say I was drugged. But that can’t be, can it? I haven’t eaten all day, and only drank water from the stream. Is it something about the air? Yes, it could very well be a lack of oxygen that is taxing me. Yes, that must be it. I’m slowly suffocating. Fred needed more O2 than me. Bigger lungs. More effort to breathe. He’s an alien. He just couldn’t last.

That’s what I’d like to think. But I know I’m wrong. But I won’t have to worry about one thing—light. My crystal is showing no signs of fading out. Quite the opposite. I think as I examined my newfound dead friend, it grew a bit brighter once again.

This weariness is unrelenting. No matter what I do—increase my pace, even run for a bit, it never leaves me. It’s more than just exhaustion. It’s not a lack of breathable air. This is a hollowness that I have never felt. I am having serious doubts about my chances now. I’m only a mere fraction of the way I need to go, and yet I feel as if I’ve traveled already traveled the entire way. No, more than that. This is the very life, my essence if you will, being drained away. My only comfort is my strange blue light. So bright now. I can barely look directly at it anymore. How is it that I wither while it grows brighter? It may even be my imagination, but the crystal seems to have grown larger. That cannot be. My arms tells me it is heavier, but I’m so tired. The walking itself is so taxing now. But I can’t, won’t stop. Stopping means death. Fred found this out. And he had a crystal just like me. Just like me…going to stop talking and conserve strength. Sorry, just can’t spare the energy right now. I’m sure you understand.

The Station, Part 44

I have a new friend. I’ve named him Fred. He’s maybe about three meters tall, with a heavy build, and like me, he’s got six fingers on each hand and four toes per his two feet. But that’s where the similarity ends. He’s but a skull only and hideous mother could love. It’s a huge skull that that, but its proportional to the rest of the skeleton. The eye sockets are huge. The nose cavity, immense as well, sits right above a set of jaws that would give a shark pause. Whatever Fred was in life, he was one formidable-looking motherfucker. But as the evidence shows, even the meanest motherfuckers aren’t invincible.

I’ve also noticed that Fred and I share other similarities. He apparently didn’t wear a stitch of clothing in life, as there’s no trace of even a thread of fabric. It’s possible that it decayed over time, but I find that highly unlikely. In the time needed fro that to happen, the bones would have probably fossilized. Fred also had one thing that makes me believe that giant skull once housed a decent brain. Beside him where he sits along the cave wall I found a crystal not unlike my own. It’s larger than mine; I would have trouble carrying it. But by the looks of Fred, he would have had no trouble handling it.

He must have been about seven feet tall and well built, as his bones are at least twice the thickness of my own. What an imposing figure he must have made in life. But then again, for all I know he was the runt of the litter. But it’s the digits on his hands and feet that intrigue me the most. Six and four, like mine. Was it just natural for him to have them? Or was he, like me stranded here and then altered? Perhaps I’ll never know the answer to that question, but at least I have solved the mystery of the strange symbols along the cave walls. The end of the crystal by his side shows some damage to its shaper side. The end has been worn downed. Used as a writing utensil no doubt. So he was no mere brute. Just another lost soul trying to find his way out. And his way home. I can empathize with his situation. What were his last days like? And why did die? In here. I think I owe Fred an apology. I called him a motherfucker earlier. No, he doesn’t deserve that. Not even the “mean” part. He was lost, alone and died that way. That is no way anyone should have to spend their remaining days. That won’t be me.

But finding Fred does bring up another question. That’s all I seem to have lately. Questions. No answers. Lots of assumptions. Today it is just more tiring to even make the assumptions. I shouldn’t be this worn out though. I’ve been traveling downward, which is easy. It’s cool. But I’m rapidly getting bone tired. Maybe I need food. But I haven’t been thirsty, which is somewhat intriguing. But not that much. Its just sleep I need perhaps. But as interesting as Fred is, I don’t want to take a nap in the same place as he; that’s just plain unnerving. You should see his teeth.