The Station, Part 77

EPILOGUE:

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 76

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 75

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 74

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 73

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 72

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 71

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

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

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

The Station, Part 70

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

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

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

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

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

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

By the stars, she’s crying.

The Station, Part 69

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

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

The Station, Part 68

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 67

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

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

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

The Station, Part 66

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 65

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 64

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 63

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

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

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

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