Comm Station Frontier

The Station, Part 77

2007-08-21T06:55:00.001-05:00

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

2007-08-20T07:23:00.001-05:00

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

2007-08-17T07:26:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-16T07:15:00.001-05:00

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

2007-08-15T07:06:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-14T07:08:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-13T07:20:00.001-05:00

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

2007-08-10T07:20:00.001-05:00

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

2007-08-09T07:04:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-08T07:07:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-07T07:03:00.001-05:00

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

2007-08-06T07:25:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-03T07:17:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-02T07:13:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-01T07:09:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 62

2007-07-31T07:03:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-30T07:11:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-27T06:56:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-26T06:50:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-25T06:53:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-24T07:00:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-20T06:56:00.001-05:00

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

2007-07-19T06:54:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-18T06:54:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-17T06:53:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-16T07:06:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-13T06:40:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-12T07:04:00.001-05:00

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

2007-07-11T06:52:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-10T06:56:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-09T07:07:00.000-05:00

Black Planet

My granddaddy once told me the sky used to be blue and had a bright yellow ball that traveled across it. I think the crazy old man was full of shit.

I'm here in the hold, scarfing down my lunch. It's the same crap as the last five days—mushroom mix with side of spiced algae, spiced with what I the fuck don't know. We've had some trouble with the hydrators lately. Had to shut down about half of 'em for maintenance. Meant we had to do some rationing. I'm used to it though. So's everybody else down here. Nobody bitches about it. And when some asshole decides he's just a little bit better than the rest of us, well, we take him down a peg or two. That's means an automatic short straw and a trip Topside. You don't want to go Topside.

I've only done it maybe three or four times, everybody has to do it. One of those times because I shot off my mouth about somebody pissing in my water ration. Okay, nobody would be stupid enough to actually do it, but I was in a mood and when anybody's in a mood it doesn't take long before people starting getting evil ideas.

That first time I did Topside should have been lesson enough. I was more a kid than a man then, face full of zits and thoughts of pussy floating through my head all the damn time. When I popped the hatch I was immediately glad I'd done a double-check on my Walking Suit. Goddamn the wind was strong. I'd opened up on a wind storm that must've just kicked up for my pleasure. That's what it felt like. Anyway, these storms were real common, still are, but I didn't know shit about Topside yet. I looked up at a black, soot-filled sky and a burnt out landscape somehow even uglier than that. Black sands, melted black shapes that used to be buildings, cars, or whatever managed remain after The Bang as I've been told by cackling old folks.

So just what the fuck was I doing up here in this Hell? One reason: Protection. See, we have this problem called Topsiders. We don't know where they came from, what they are, or why they want so goddamn badly to come Downside to kill and otherwise fuck up a good thing. And nobody gives a shit. Everybody's got to earn their keep and go take out at least one of these fuckers before he or she makes it to twenty. Not quite a rite of passage kind of tribal bullshit-this was all practical. Kill them before they kill us. And so far the score was kept about even. Now it was my turn to score one for our side.

We go up in three pairs. One pair of eyes to cover what the other wasn't. Visibility was maybe fifty feet on a good day, but it was usually about half that. Today was not a good day. I'm in group numero uno. Point. Worst job in the fucking world. Good 'old granddaddy made that call. Think the old fuck would learn. Didn't want to show favoritism. He'd done the same for his own kid, my Daddy, and he didn't come back from his last one. Mamma wouldn't talk to him after that. Instead, she'd send me to him when she needed something, which seemed like all the damn time. She was sick with what the clan fondly called lung rot and needed more water more than most. She got from accidentally inhaling a gutful of Topside air. A hose broke and her death warrant was all but signed, sealed and delivered. It can be a slow killer, taking years to do ya in
sometimes. Took Momma about ten years before gave up the ghost. I can remember her wheezing through a bone dry throat "Go see your Granddaddy", her code for "get some more water". And I'd go see my Granddaddy who'd hand over the water skin only saying "Here, boy" and turning his back. That was our relationship until Momma passed and I went under his wing. He talked to me more then but to him, I was always just "boy."

Me, in the lead, was following instructions the old man had given to all of us. Real simple shit a retard could understand. One: Don't lose your beacon finder. You don't have a finder and you won't find the hatch. Guaranteed. If I could've sewn the finder to myself I sure as fuck would. It's a small metal box with a bright red arrow and a distance gauge.
Tells you what you need to know. Two: Take out a Topsider and return home with a piece of it. Anything. No, not a trophy. Proof. Gotta have proof Three: You've got six hours of air. You can figure that one out. Oh yeah, the other thing you got is a rifle. If you know somebody, you can get one with a scope. Except me. Yeah, Granddaddy and his favoritism thing again.

Finding a Topsider was at the same time easy and hard. At least that's one of the tidbits I'd gotten from a three-time vet. They usually found you. The hard part, as you probably already guessed, was killing one. Topsiders always traveled alone. We always traveled in pairs. You do the math. Sometimes you could creep up on 'em, but that was very rare.
What I didn't get then, but I do now, was why every time I asked what they looked like, I'd get a smart-ass answer like, "They're the only things moving up there," or "Not like you." Thanks. Appreciate the help.

The wind was an unrelenting bitch. Kicking up some of the heavier bits and flinging it on me and spotter Twitch. Makes a sound like radio static. You can turn up the comlinks to make up for it, but you still have to scream over that and the wind's banshee howls that came through. We're splitting up into threes now, each taking a direction to cover the most ground in the shortest amount of time. There's an unspoken competition among the three groups. First one to bag a Topsider and make it home gets an hour with Slut Sally.
Yeah, we're all guys up here. Sally was a skinny cunt with no tits and face that could curl hair, but damn she knew what a guy wanted and she had a liking for heroes. And with a 3-to-1 guy to girl ratio, you took what you could get. Nothing like a horny bitch to motivate you.

We take off, me and Twitch taking the northwest third. One thing we had in our favor was a sucking pit in our area. It's a depression in the sands where the bedrock is down deeper than average and can work to your advantage if you know what you're doing. I didn't but Twitch did. Ijust knew where it was. Another tidbit. The sucking pit was right where I'd been told. Just had to be careful not to step over the edge 'cause you don't come out. Helps you out because seems the Topsiders can stumble into 'em same as us.
But that means if a Topsider finds you first on the other end, it might be so wrapped up in tearing your ass apart that it'll fall right in. Then it's a "duck in a barrel" story for later;
whatever the hell a duck is nobody the fuck knows. If luck is on our side that does happen, we've brought along a dipping pole. It's a spear that you can screw together and pierce a Topsider hide and take home some gooey black proof.
So we find the pit easy enough. It's roughly oval-shaped and fucking tough to see if you aren't looking for it. It's somehow even darker than the dark landscape but that's not much of a help. Twitch has already unslung his rifle but keeps it capped. Caps keep sand out of the rifle's guts. Sand means jams and that means you don't come home. I keep mine on my shoulder and make like an oscillating fan, looking back and forth opposite Twitch who's doing the same thing in the other direction. Remember the tidbit, the one about how Topsiders find you first? Well, today the fuckers had decided to be lazy.
We're four plus hours into it, and not a single sign. Not even a howl. I'd already heard the howl in several recording brought back from previous trips. It was part of the training.
You don't need to learn the howl; you fucking hear it in your sleep. I'm listening for that howl, wondering if I'll hear it over all the other noise. It can carry for miles and sound like its coming from everywhere, but it keeps you alert and that's what you want. I'm just hearing a lot of everything else. I click on my comlink.

"Yo, Twitch. Got anything?"

I hear a crackle on the other end. "Nada." Clicks off.

Twitch ain't much of a talker up here I find out. Got good reason though. Talking means you ain't listening. He's sure as hell better be. I'm gonna shut my own hole.

The wind kicks up a bit more and I strain the hear anything on it. I have no idea how the other guys did it. Well, some didn't. Tater and Fuzz never made it back. Nobody mentions their names anymore. That's when you're more than dead. You ain't even history. I am not about to be an unmentionable so I'm feeling good about having a vet spotting me on my first trip out.

Then it happens. All the training, all the tidbits you get from the moment you can learn how not to shit and piss in your own pants, is not enough for what happens now. And fuck me, I saw it first.

It's like the wind pulls a piece of itself out, pushing and pulling in a perverted self-birth.
Jesus, it's a.. .fuck. What do I say? Its body flows like water, black as oil. Roiling and bulging in places, and whatever passes for a head opens like one huge mouth and howls above even this damn screaming wind. I don't remember I have a gun.

"Look alive, Dipshit!" Twitch screams in my ear.

I wake up, nearly throwing my rifle off my shoulder, aim with shaking arms-

"Your caps, fool ! Your caps!" he screaming even louder.

What the hell is he talking about? Like a hammer it hits me. I pull back my rifle, pulling them off. There's a pop, and a high pitched whine shoots past my ear. The Topsider is gone now, back into the thick wind. I hear another pop and a muzzle flash.

"Goddamnit!" Twitch yells into his comlink. "Boy, get your ass in gear. It's coming back 'round!"

How the hell he knows that I don't care. Ijust believe him.

He's right. The demon of the winds comes at Twitch faster than I could get my rifle to my shoulder. But Twitch is faster, much faster than me. He's already got off a shot. The bullet meets its target about the midsection. The noise it makes is like a demon baby that's denied its ugly mama's teat. Doesn't stop it. It keeps coming, momentum on its side. I'm on it this time. My shot is more luck than skill, even if I'm used to the motion.
The Topsider takes this one in what passes for a shoulder, spinning it round to face me full on. I get my first real good look at it face. The mouth makes up most of it, a dark hold, no teeth. Eyes sockets only. I don't get this at all. But think I'm looking at a dead thing. Or a thing that just deserves to be dead.

Black ichor is flowing off of it in waves, caught by the winds. It's just standing there. Another bark from Twitch's weapon and its down. In seconds it's almost invisible against the sand.

"Hot damn! We got 'im! Be proud boy, be proud!" He's pumping his rifle up and down over his head. I'm shaking like my Momma on her last days. He goes over to the body, takes out the blade head end of his dipping pole and starts sawing at it. A few seconds later he's holding up the head. Then I notice something. It isn't so black anymore. More brownish, the crap that I thought hair or skin or whatever was flowing off of it in little bits. I can see a chin, teeth and a flopping pink tongue.

"Take a real good look. And remember." Twitch's face is obscured by his helmet and breather, but by his voice he's gone all serious. More black crap comes off. I see Twitch is holding the head by blond hair. I can't help but get closer. I've seen this head before.
Then suddenly the head is flying through the air at me. Like a reflex I catch the damn thing in my hands. Fuzz stares up at me with dull, dead eyes. I drop the head like its on fire.

I'm trying to talk, sputtering really. Twitch answers the question I can't ask.

"Yeah, they're us. All of 'em. Every fucking on of 'em. That's why they keep on coming back. Getting in when we sleep. They just want to come home. But they're poison now.
Your Momma was almost one of 'em, too. But she only got a lungful. That's a slower way to go, but it's better than this." He's pointing his rifle at Fuzz's headless body, now a stark white against the constantly moving black bed of grime.

Topsiders are downsiders. They just want to come home. Jesus. Nothing like a hot cup of truth to kick start your day. Granddaddy, you're a cocksucker.

My lessons aren't over for the day. No, this little revelation would have done nicely, but that's life. Twitch and I both learned something. It's a little tidbit I like to pass out to the newbies now.

Twitch wipes off his blade and sheaths it. I sling my rifle and reach for the head.

"No, I got it," says Twitch. He's holding up what looks like a severed black finger. "You always bring the proof with you."

Ah, fuck. But yeah, that makes sense. Can't bring back Fuzz. In Downside we don't have trials or juries anymore. 1'd learn to make the proof myself before I got out get it Topside.
That ain't the tidbit. Here it is:

Twitch has just turned my world inside out and we've got our rifles slung when the second Topsider comes silent and even faster than the first one. It hits Twitch hard enough to send his rifle one way and him another.

"Ah, shit," he says when he gropes for the weapon that ain't there anymore.

Me, a vet now, have my rifle ready and am pointing in the direction it fled. Where was the howl? And there is never, never, never supposed to be second one anywhere near.
Yeah, but Fuzz and Tater inseparable. If I didn't like the two fags I could've been crude, called what others were. Butt buddies, fudge packers, whatever. Which is why they always went Topside. But they'd been nice to me. Didn't deserve what they got.

Now that I think about it, it made sense. Tater would have done the same thing in life he did in "death." Even if I couldn't see through the roiling blackness that was the second Topsider, Tater had been there.

"Goddamn, fuck me Charlie!" Twitch is saying, rolling back and forth, holding his sides.

I hurry over to him, and see three slashes in his suit. His bared stomach is bleeding and I see dark ink in it, too.

Twitch looks up at me. This close I can see his eyes. They got tears in them.

"Boy, you gotta do a favor for me." Although in serious pain, his reflexes still quick as ever. One hand closes around my rifle barrel. His pulls it to his chest.

"Do me now so we never have to see each other again," he croaks, barely audible over the winds.

My eyes are darting around our tiny circle of visibility, but I knew Tater wouldn't be back. He'd done what he came to do.

And I think Tater still knew me.

"You know I can't do that, Twitch."

Twitch goes from pleading to rage in a heartbeat.

"Do it now you little shit. I ain't got the time for your sentimental bullshit!"

As he's giving me a mental kick in the nuts, I turn back to look at him. Black tendrils are snaking around his face. One is slipping in under an eyeball. I piss into my moisture catcher. We don't waste anything in Downside.

When I come to my senses, I'm nearly back at the hatch. I'm gripping my beacon finder so hard that my hand hurts when I loosen my grip. All the others are already back. Twitch is the only one not with us. Vets stand with newbies, staring back at me. One vet speaks up.

"Got your proof?" he more demands than asks.

I don't remember when Twitch snuck the finger into my pocket, but when I desperately fumbled in my suit for what I was sure I didn't have, my hand closed around it. Like I said, Twitch was a fast moving son-of-a-bitch. God bless him.

That was some time ago now, and I've been on a few more ofthese hunts. Been a little busier lately. We've been attacked. One managed to get in through the filtration system and before anyone knew, it had killed three maintenance workers. When it got brought down, only vets were present. Of course. It hadn't been Twitch. But that's okay. I should be the one to do it anyway. It's what I should have done before I went chickenshit on him.

I'm actually anxious to get this hunt going. My partner is another newbie. Stick's the name I think. Hell, doesn't matter. He's gonna get educated in a little while anyhow. Too bad for him. What he doesn't know is I've got a little mission of my own. There's one Topsider out there who's faster than the rest. He's the most elusive they've ever seen.
There's another bet going, but I don't give a rat's ass about it. This is about making things right.

I won't let you down again Twitch. I'm making sure. And I'm not bringing the proof with me.

"We interrupt this program..."

2007-07-09T07:03:00.001-05:00

...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

2007-07-06T10:03:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-05T06:56:00.001-05:00

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

2007-07-03T13:33:00.001-05:00

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

2007-07-02T07:02:00.000-05:00

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.

The Station, Part 43

2007-06-29T07:04:00.001-05:00

Perhaps the best advantage of all has the energy I must be saving. Calories will b ea rare commodity for the moment. That may be a real concern later. As efficient as my modified body may be, it still needs food. Maybe I should have eaten more figs back there, but that’s neither here nor there. One thing’s for sure. The slope now is so that I would have to practically be a mountain climber to get back up. So even if I wanted to, there’s no turning back. A dead end is death. That’s a horrible thought. I’m going to forget I ever thought it. I saw the hologram. I know this is the right way. I must be fucking insane.

I’ve been seeing signs that there is life down here, aside from the suspected life that I carry in my hand. This life just may be intelligent. How do I know this? Along the walls there have been signs that some attempts at abstraction have been made. Not quite art, more like symbols. Wavy lines done in an ochre or similar substance. Simple etchings that could be deep in meaning, or not. Just a simple sign that says, “This way up” or something like that. They’re spaced at regular intervals, every couple of kilometers or so. What I don’t think is that, if they are indeed road signs of sorts, which it wouldn’t be done by something indigenous. Other than these symbols I’ve seen no other signs of life. I think that once I left the cave, I left the facsimile Earth environment and entered into yet another alien place. Except this one has made the least sense. This elaborate cave seems to be home to nothing more than a colony of crystals, and I’m not entirely convinced that whatever is housed inside the lattice is indeed alive. What then, is the need for a tunnel of this nature?

Since this place is no copy of Earth, then I can’t expect those typical cave dwellers, the bats and others. The pale, blind counterparts to those of the sunlight world are curiously absent as well. It’s so deathly quiet in here. It’s much more noticeable when you stop to take a breather. There’s only the sound of my breathing. No distant hints of dripping water, nor squeak or scratch of an unseen creature. It is an utterly dead place. I suddenly, desperately, want to get the hell out of this place. Not because I fear being lost or encountering this cavern’s version of an angry cave bear—it’s because I’ve ever so slowly felt less and less motivated, dragged down by the absolute silence and absence of life. This place, I think, does indeed in its own way, draw the life from me. I should get moving again. I so want to get out of here, but it’s pulling at me, draining me of energy. But on the positive, my makeshift torch is glowing somewhat brighter. I guess the little critters inside are working a little harder lately. I hope they don’t work too hard. Don’t want them to burn out to soon. That is, if they can burn themselves out.

The Station, Part 42

2007-06-28T06:55:00.000-05:00

I think I may have an idea. How hard would it be to break off a good sized crystal and take it with me to use as a torch? It seemed sort of wrong, but how do I know how far the light reaches? I’ll need something to help find my way through. And I’ve only just gotten started.

Sorry I haven’t been talking much, but I’ve been concentrating on procuring myself that torch. Anyway, I you would have heard from me was grunting and curses. Not much insight. But I got the job done. At first, I tried taking one from the wall, but I couldn’t budge any of the several that I deemed the right size for travel. Pulling one off the floor has proven to be very difficult as well, but I pulled it off. Ha. Get it? But really, I had to lean into it and push it as hard as I could. It worked. The crystal broke off at the point where it met the ground. It’s a very clean break. It’ll have to be careful of that end as it is also very sharp as a result. Like a really good knife kind of sharp. It’s not as heavy as I assumed, but solid enough. It feels very cool to the touch, a strange contrast to the light that it emits. Common wisdom holds that light generates heat—most of the time. Not in this case. Might as well state the opposite goes for my new torch. It’s a peculiar biology, dare I say, ecosystem, my torch is. What would the scientific community back home have to say about this room of wonder?

The only real way to test just how bright my torch is with a field test. There’s no more to do here and I shouldn’t stay any longer. So, off I go, further into the cave, but now a little more prepared.

I wish you could see the formations that I’m passing. After leaving the cathedral of crystals I’ve been almost embarrassingly pleased with myself. The glow from that place faded rapidly after, not able to penetrate far down into my descent. My torch has negated that problem quite nicely. And it has allowed me not only to see my way, but to experience these hidden wonders. These formations, they’re although familiar and alien at the same time. So many shapes and textures. It’s like an endless art gallery of the surreal. Some shapes take on organic, life-like forms, while others resemble nothing that I could make an adequate comparison. I could go on all day about them. The way has gotten steeper, and I’m getting a little concerned about that. There’s the growing danger of slippage now, at that’s a first. But the headway I’m making is great. I keep having to remind myself that I’m not actually underground. This entire place is both above and below ground and neither if you really think about it. This cave is not really a cave, just another Tunnel Wide among many Tunnels Wide. But like every other inch of this vast network of chambers I have encountered, it is just as real as any natural environment. The ocean, giant fungal forest, grove of trees that weren’t trees, and so much more, all of which were no less authentic than this cave that is now taking be farther and father down towards my escape.

The Station, Part 42

2007-06-27T07:01:00.000-05:00

As I thought it would be, it isn’t long before I enter the cave that the light all but disappears. This is foolhardy. Who would voluntarily do this without any spelunking equipment, let alone a lousy flashlight? Yet here I am, just a single layer of clothing between me and the unknown. It’s not all gone yet—the light that is. There is a barest hint of light, a bluish glow. Coming from further into the interior. As eerie as that may sound, it’s actually something of a comfort for me. Hey, it’s either this or absolute darkness. Take your pick. The walls around are rather uneven, lending to the belief that this is meant to look natural. Not aesthetically stylized either such as in the simulated habitat parks back home. Like everything else about this place, its looks like its always been here, millions of years. But we all know, this could be been formed last week for all we know. In the low light I also see veins of what could be minerals in the walls. The blue light casts it all into many shades of a single color, making it impossible to tell what these deposits could be. Besides, I’m not a geologist.

The cave slopes downward as expected but still retains a straight path further into the mountain’s interior. The walls are getting further apart, yet I can see more detail. The light is getting stronger. These new legs of mine are doing wonders for my pacing. Adding in the incline, I can cover perhaps twice as much ground as before. I wonder how tall I am now. Two-and-a-half meters maybe? What would my grandparents say? “My, how you’ve grown.” If I could only remember them.

The light is coming from not too far ahead. Positively bright now. There’s no way around it. Not that I’d go back. Going in now…
It’s a vast open space. The mystery of the glow is solved. It’s coming from some king of crystalline deposits that occupy virtually every nook and cranny. Some are a small as my finer. Other must be at least twice my height and half a thick with everything in between. Any brighter and I would be blinded. I know of no such minerals on Earth. I can surmise that this means I’ve passed over yet another threshold and entered into a literal new world once again. If I had been more diligent in my investigations, I would have looked for troglodytes. Pale, blind things that have no knowledge of light. But the glow just may have negated those adaptations anyway. As of yet I am the only living thing here. Unless these crystals are something more. I’m looking at one very closely, a small one that juts out of the cave wall like a spear that burst in from the unseen other side. The end has that typical sharp looking point. The blue light is steady and comes from within the structure itself—not a surface reflection. I’m peering closer still, and I think I can see movement inside it. Like minuscule bubbles traveling to and fro. Maybe not bubbles. There seems to be an organization to the movement. Purpose. Whatever they may be, these mite-sized things are what causes the blue phosphorescence. Without them, I suspect these crystals wouldn’t. And I would be cloaked in a perfect blackness. Thank you, tiny blue things. Keep glowing.

The Station, Part 41

2007-06-26T07:02:00.000-05:00

My new legs are as if they were made to order. Meaning, if I had to design a set of legs that would maximize my stride yet minimize the energy needed to do so, I would have asked for just these very legs. They make absolutely great sense. Long, lean and with a high arched foot that even comes with its own tread. It’s such a great set of legs that I can’t help but feel thankful. Had I kept my old ones, by comparison short, stumpy and flat footed, I most assuredly would not have made it this up these hills. Which where I stand now, deciding what needs no deciding. Just stalling because I’m afraid. I don’t care what you think.

The tunnel, no, more like a cave opening, gapes at me from the mountainside. A Tunnel Wide, one I know will take me down, closer to my ultimate destination. The hologram in my mind remember? But this one is different; it looks like it supposed to be here, unlike the rest of its brethren, which are so obviously artificial. This one is slightly less than uniform, but still unmistakable for what it is. If it’s like a real cave, I will be in total darkness in very little time. I know the other tunnels had their share of utter darkness, but I had light me then. I don’t have my security blanket anymore. No excursion suit, no food and water stores, no lights. I am truly on my own. It’s not the dark itself that causes me to hesitate, it’s what may be in dark that does. Yet at the same time, I am rather fascinated by this particular opening into the underworld.

I feel like I’ve been here before, in a way. Not déjà vu. More like a kindred experience. I don’t know when or where I would have been in such a place, knowing just how I am reacting to the prospect of entering this Tunnel Wide. When I try to remember, I recall a large room, filled with stalactites and stalagmites of all manner of shape and size. I see them, and then I see nothing. Complete, utter darkness. I remember awe and wonder. Much longer and there would have been fear. Then there was light once again and the cave formations returned. I had learned a lesson that day, whenever and wherever it was. I should know more about this I feel. Something important. Someone important to me…

Well, this memory, if that’s what it is, is all but gone now. I could say that it doesn’t mater, but I know it does. Other things that have been fading away have troubled me. This inverse process of knowledge gained and past lost, are becoming ever more pronounced. It’s gotten to the point that I don’t know what pieces are missing anymore, as my past, especially a childhood I know I had, has become an ever increasing muddy blur. I sit necessary? Must I lose who I am to make room for the new Robert Bradley? A Robert Bradley the world has never seen? I can only hope the loss is a temporary one. A side effect of the physical transformation and the mental influences. I haven’t ruled that possibility out yet.

That still leaves the Tunnel Wide, the Cave Wide more like it. The regret of leaving my lights back there in the savannah is sharp. In my gusto at relieving myself of the suit I had let myself go too far into the moment and as a result I was stupid, careless. It is nothing I can do anything about now, save going back those miles. That isn’t going to happen; we both know it. There is just one direction I’m heading now, and it will never be back the way I came.

The Station, Part 40

2007-06-25T06:56:00.000-05:00

As I get to know this whale more and more, I find that I know myself less and less. An effect of inverse proportions that disturbs me. I have no control over what is happening to me on the inside, but simultaneously, there is my renewed sense of purpose, of hope, that my predicament is finite. There is a way to get to Frontier, although I haven’t gone over the logistics of how to actually get into her. According to my sleep lesson, she was exposed to vacuum, or at least appeared to be. That remains to be seen. The threads that hold her in place are not exactly threads, just very thin in comparison to the station itself.
They would be rather thick if seen up close, perhaps thick enough for passage through. I know this is all speculation at this point, but I surmise that as with the rest of this place, this walking access even there. There was a thread in the hologram that lead there. I know I must have seen it. There is no corner of this place that has been left inaccessible. The station would be no exception.

Along with my new purpose, my new knowledge has given me the direction I need. And like I said earlier, it’s all down. And I also now know that coming towards the mountains was the right choice, not just in terms of finding food and water for the survival, it also served as my way station for the next leg of the trip. The tunnel I seek, a Tunnel Wide to be more precise, lies within one particular mountain. That’s where I been heading while I’ve been talking to you.

Speaking of you, whoever you may be; is any of the wonder I have provided your imagination sunk in? Have I made it hard to envision what all this manner of alien place looks like? In a way, you’re just as trapped as I, wanting to discover for yourselves the very first true contact. Even if that contact happens to be a go-between. A middleman. But a middleman for what? I feel a bit sorry for you; as you probably harbor a desire to trade places with me. I’m just a glorified radio man, while I’m sure there must be a legion of exobiologists, anthropologists, archeologists and a representative of just about every scientific discipline sitting out there right now, just waiting. And listening to me. And rotting for me. But there’s one catch—why aren’t any of you at the station? Is there something blocking your way? Or are you afraid. If the military is involved, and I would expect no less of them, than the utmost caution is being taken. I was…am….after one of them. Takes one to know one they say. So, yes, there’s some general or admiral out there shouting on about procedures and caution and the like. I know the type. And then there are the weapons. Plasma guns, antimatter missiles, fusion cannons, all mounted on cruisers that are keeping a discreet distance away. Showing force, but not provoking. The unending standoff. And after all of that, I, a lieutenant Robert…Bradley, know infinitely more than all of you. Must be driving the brass nuts.

Hey, once this is over, do you think they’ll pin a medal on me. Or, once they have seen just what one of their officers has become, throw a net over me and toss my ass into cage? I honestly wonder about that. Am I truly compromised? No, I don’t think so, perhaps corrupted in a way, but not in the sense of loyalty. I still love my species and my world. I am still who I am, but that person is more and more an enigma. At what point, if any, do I cease being me and become someone else. Am I just being paranoid, or am I discovering the beginnings my own multiple personality disorder? Wouldn’t that be a wonder?

The Station, Part 39

2007-06-22T06:58:00.001-05:00

Funny, it’s like one of those things that, once you’ve learned them, it stays with you forever. Take tree climbing. The last time I did this I was just a boy, prepubescent and with nothing but dreams in my head. It’s coming back—the old habits, knowing just where to place a hand or foot without slipping. And I’ve never been this particular tree before. So unlike the first time I…when was that? I remember the tree. Where was that tree though? I can see it, looking huge compared to my small size. What was that tree called? I see the leaves, the structure of its branches, and the top of it looking so far up in the sky. The feeling of fear and excitement of climbing into it is fresh again, another first time, but make all the more fearful—the body I have now is so different. I’m still learning it. The hands wrap so well around the tree’s lower branches and my feet, with the foot coverings off, I’ve discovered have their own natural traction now. The foot coverings seem rather redundant now; they are getting loose anyway. Everything feels so much more fluid, connected somehow. It’s not all there yet, I can feel. Some other details need to be worked out.

I’ve gotten high enough to reach the lowest of the fruit. I can also stretch further than before. The new body is more limber as well. Was it built specifically for tree climbing? I doubt it. But the changes all have their purposes. This is no randomness. The ease of walking, the relative lack of physical needs such as food and water, and the lack of sunburn, I’m thinking this is yet another adaptation, rather than absence of ultraviolet light.

The fruit is defiantly like a fig. It’s not too terrible, but won’t ever be a first choice. So unlike the last fruit, that one, dare I say, supernatural thing back there in the savannah, where no such fruit of that kind would ever belong. It was meant just for me.

I eaten a few more figs and that seems to have quelled my hunger for now. Curious, it didn’t take that many, just a mere handful. Do I require that much less to eat? If so, it will be most assuredly an asset here. Come to think of it, so are all of my other…miraculous adaptations. Each has shown to be quite useful. And it all began right after my sickness. The sickness that I’ve grown more and more doubtful was ever such a thing. The sickness which preceded the first signs that my humanity would, at least in part, sacrificed in the name of survival. What else could it have been other than that fruit. One that for a short time might have been the death of me. I can see now that it was the very thing that has enabled to continue to exist.

Am I unique in this way, the sole member of a brand new hybrid, or a wholly new species. An amalgam of human and alien DNA? And what is at work here that make s the effort to keep this lone human alive? That impossible fruit gave me new life, literally. I should be thankful, but I’m not. I’m expectant and curious as to what will come next, even looking forward to it in some fashion. But I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it. If this place knows anything about me, it’s that I want to go home. To Earth. And I need Frontier to make that happen.

I saw her in the dream. She is working. She is bound by threads to this place and so close to freedom it would seem. The hub of all the tunnels leads to all the other chambers. I saw it in the hologram in my dream. That is the answer I have managed to retain. I know it. The dream was the learning experience I knew it to be. And I know how to get there. And I’m more prepared than ever before for the journey.

The Station, Part 38 cont.

2007-06-21T06:58:00.001-05:00

So close, so fucking, maddeningly close. I don’t know whether to scream in frustration or just laugh at myself for even thinking that any of what I dreamt was remotely real. Instead, I’m going to stand up, stretch, and pretend for the time being that I didn’t dream a bit of it.

My stomach is making growling noises. And my bladder is full. I need to take care of the latter first.

I’ve lost my appetite. I’m just losing it—them really. It. My testes. They’ve shrunk. My penis too. They’ve all shrunk down. All comically, locker room mockingly small. I don’t know how much more I can take of this.

Then I need to concentrate on something else. Not my body. When I get out of here. And I will. I saw here, hanging among threads, suspending over space. I now know most of the way there. I must go down. Far down. And thank the stars it is down, and not up. I can only hope that I have the stamina to make the trip. I’ll find a way, even if a have to slide my way down, which right now actually sounds like a pretty good idea. I guess that’s the way to think right now. I have to get something to eat.

I was told once that if I was ever lost in a jungle or forest I should watch what the animals ate. If the local monkeys eat a particular fruit, it was probably safe to eat. It may taste horrible, but at least it would be nutritious—and it wouldn’t kill me. It didn’t strike me as important until now. And whoever said it, I have no clue. A man with a beard, was it him? I remember someone like that. From the perspective of my memory, he appeared much older than me. He resembled what I used to look like. Or have I just supplanted my former self onto another person, now faded away. Where was I when the lesson was taught? I have no idea. I should know this. Never mind, I’m getting away from the task at hand. My stomach insists on reminding me.

There is plenty of vegetation around. I saw some kind of primates earlier, the one that seemed to be curious about. Now that couldn’t have been all of what were they doing could it? I had likely interrupted their feeding time. But what then were they eating? They don’t, like most other animals, travel far from their food sources. Gazelles graze until the grasses are gone, and then move toward more verdant areas, the lions follow the gazelles, and so on. So would these primates. I can only hope that whatever they are eating, won’t give me another bout of sickness like the one I had so recently. Somehow I doubt I would survive an illness that severe.

I see a lot fig-like fruits in some of the larger trees. Unfortunately, they’re too high for me to reach. After all that I’ve been through, a little tree climbing is definitely not out of the question.

The Station, Part 38 cont.

2007-06-20T07:00:00.000-05:00

I see another chamber, this one is unfamiliar, but what it contains is not. There is no mistake this time. No misidentification. It is Frontier. My Frontier. She stands upright, seemingly floating in space. A complex crisscross of silken strands supports her 300 meter frame. And she is still alive. Her green and red navigation lights blink on and off. Golden light from various ports spill into the chamber, causing some of the silk to glint as if bejeweled. The strands are not taut, leading me to believe that wherever she now resides, there is no gravity. Where is she then? If there is no gravity, is she still within this Whale? I’m thinking very hard, trying to visualize what I can’t see—the area below Frontier. The image shimmers and shifts, Frontier loses focus and in my perspective, she rises. I see below her now, just beyond her lowest deck. And what I see is blackness speckled with countless tiny points of light. Open space. She has access to the outside! And that means she can transmit an unblocked signal. But where is she? Where in hell is she?! Of course, the hologram! I see that one glowing point has replaced another. This one is near the bottom, far from the former. For all I know it could be hundreds if not thousands of kilometers away. But if she’s there, and my body sleeps far above, perhaps there is a way. After all, it means I must find the Tunnels Wide, the one that I know now to go down. And that would make for a much easier journey. I make several attempts to trace a path from where my sleeping body lies down to the bottommost chamber. It’s more difficult than I thought. In my excitement I lose my way. So many tunnels. I don’t know how much longer I will stay asleep. But I focus. I think so very hard about what I have seen here, committing all that I can to memory. I just need to remain asleep for a little longer…

No…I want to…stay asleep….stay asleep…

First Tunnel Wide for down, then Tunnel Round for horizontal, then a long Tunnel Wide, another Tunnel Wide, damn it; how am I going to recall all of this after I awaken? I can’t be frustrated, can’t let the distance make me lose hope. I will get to her. I will! Just keep following the path downward…

Tunnels…so many tunnels…so far to go…thought…was so close…

Hell, some kind of junction or hub about three fourths of the way down, hard to see around the intertwining of paths. But there’s a null point in the middle of all of it. A null point that is ovoid in shape. Is that where my dream self is now? Is that my crucial clue? I backtrack is oh carefully trace my way through the tangle, getting closer…

See it…see it…need to see the last pathway…

The Station, Part 38

2007-06-19T07:01:00.000-05:00

I’m in the dream state. Or sleep lesson perhaps. I don’t know just yet. Let’s see where it takes me. This is much more…engaging now that I have a semblance of control. Or rather, just a preconceived awareness of my state of mind. So where am I? This is definitely not a natural place, artificial or not. It’s the smallest place I have ever been as yet, but a dramatically huge place still. I stand in what looks to be near to the center of an oblate spheroid. The curved walls showcase a variety of images, most of which are of places that I have no way of comparing to the whole of my experience. Utterly alien. Other images I recognize. Places where I have been. The dark cavern of non-trees, the beach where I witnessed the rebirth, the ritualized place full of immense mushrooms that weren’t mushrooms at all. But now I see there’s so much more. It is only now that I grasp the true size of this leviathan, this whale that has seemingly swallowed worlds. There are literally hundreds, if not thousands, of artificial environments that are now home of a multitude of species that must range in the millions. I am momentarily overwhelmed.

I pull my eyes away from the vast cacophony of images and focus my attention on the holographic display on the floor just a few meters away. It is much taller than myself, and much wider. An oblate spheroid as well. Within it, I see much smaller shapes, undoubtedly representations of the myriad of environment chambers that are housed within. In contrast to the blues that represent the chambers, there is an array of red lines that snake throughout the whole of the object. They travel upward and downward slopes and some are horizontal. None are vertical, yet each connects from chamber to chamber. One could travel these lines from chamber to chamber and always have a path to any other chamber. It’s the ultimate in accessibility. These are the tunnels. I have found the roadmap I have needed.

I think of where I really am, near the mountains on the far side of the Earth-like savannah, and as if in response, one of the environments in the hologram glows brightly. The walls of displays morph into one gigantic single display. I see the stream flowing with its cold water. The lush vegetation and on the ground near it, what used to be a human being, sleeping peacefully. He is dressed in the white undergarment of an excursion suit. His body is almost too tall for the suit, as his suits leggings are stretched to their limits, the sleeves exposed skin that should otherwise be covered. The overall body is so thing. The long hands have six fingers. But it’s the head that is the most unfamiliar. The hair white, where it should be nearly black. The face is sunken, but not to the point of emaciation. The lips have thinned almost to the point of nonexistence. The nose is smaller as well, wider, with nostrils that are practically invisible. I don’t recognize this person at all anymore. But I know this creature is supposed to be me. But that person in the oversized image is no longer Robert Bradley. That person has gradually faded away, buried inside a new being that is only now showing itself to my former self. I can only hope that this relationship is to be a peaceful coexistence. I only have hope as there is no control.

I think of Frontier 2, my only means of salvation, now just a distant hope. I wonder how, if I ever did find her again, what voice would my rescuers hear. I hear no change, but then most of my changes have most likely occurred within. The outside alterations are but the tip of the proverbial iceberg I suspect.

And with the thought, the holographic display glows in another place, and the image around me remolds itself once again.

The Station, Part 37

2007-06-18T07:06:00.001-05:00

Water! It’s ice cold and wonderful! I’ve drunk my fill for now, and gotten a chill for my trouble. But I don’t care. As I lay here in the soft moss near the small stream, I’m looking at my slightly distended belly which makes a gurgling sound any time I move. I probably shouldn’t have gulped it down like I did, but after having tolerated the horrible moisture derived from those roots, this water here, so cold and so pure, is impossible to resist. Blame my lack of restraint on deprivation.

While I wait for my stomach to settle I’m taking a real hard look at my new hands. The sixth fingers are longer than the pinkys now. I guess being on the end makes these new fingers the pinkys then, doesn’t it? They’re fully formed, nails and all. Still feels a little strange, but it now looks as if they have always been there. Almost normal. The rest of each hand has changed structure to accommodate. The palm is slightly wider and the rest of the fingers have shifted and thinned. In fact, my hands look more suited for the trees now; the long fingers would be great for swinging in the trees. All I need now are the overly long arms and I’d be set.

I’m so thin now. Even distended, my belly is all but gone. My arms and legs have thinned out to the point that I almost don’t recognize them as my own. And yet after my initial panic at these changes, the more pronounced they’ve become. The calmer and more interested I’ve become. You could say that I almost look forward to what’s coming next. What new features I may sprout in the coming days. No, it’s more than casual interest—this is the beginnings of genuine anticipation.

I haven’t had any of my incredibly vivid sleep lessons. That’s what I’ve come to know them as. Because they aren’t dreams, these visions of inhabiting exotic forms and sensing through foreign organs. They only come through my unconscious, while my mind is more receptive to influence. When I sleep I learn a little more about this place. Some is right there at the surface after I wake. More is buried beneath I think, in the subconscious, waiting for it time to rise. I get hints of this at various times. When I have feelings that are incongruent with my circumstances. The gain of a finger and the loss of a toe for example. And the overriding compulsion to eat strange fruits that common sense should tell me to steer clear. It has direction and purpose, and is not a random collection of abnormal behaviors. Even just minutes ago, when I dipped my face directly into the cold stream to drink, I could feel the push to do so. The hidden instruction was given; the thirst was already there to reinforce the directive. And today, as realization has come over me of this invisible teacher, guide, driver, whatever you want to call it, I have felt better for it. I’m not as lost, not as nearly confused, just more interested in what purpose this place has for me. I plan on sleeping here. I’m not nearly as tired as I think I would normally be, considering all the walking I’ve done and the lack of a substantial meal. More bodily changes I’m ever more aware of. But if I just clear my head, and stare at that blue sky, I’ll make it happen. And this time I’ll be expecting to take another one of those incredible trips. Let my next sleep lesson begin.

The Station, Part 36

2007-06-15T06:55:00.000-05:00

The new fingers are flexible now. Not very strong yet, but I don’t think for long. The sensation of having six fingers on each hand; it’s not right yet. My hands are uncoordinated. My brain is unused to the choreography of one to many digits. I’m going to have to get over that. They’re perhaps my most important possessions right now. As for my feet…well, the absence of one toe hasn’t hampered my ability to walk.

As I’ve been nearing the mountains, the terrain has taken to an incline. Not too steep, but perceptible enough to where I feel its strain. The vegetation has been changing as well. Instead of the grasses of the savanna, I have been encountering more greenery. Shrubs, short trees and the like. That means more water. There must be some nearby. I haven’t had a decent drink of water in at least two days. The onion water has kept me going, but it’s the kind of taste you put up with only when you have exhausted all other options. It will be good to have choices again. The temperature has dropped somewhat as well. It has never been truly that hot, nor has it done the damage to my skin that a normal sky and sun would have done. So that means I was right about the ultraviolet radiation. I have no sign of sunburn. I’m thankful for that. On the flip side of that, I wonder how the absence of that factor has affected the life here. On every planet, radiation is a constant; just a matter of degree as to its severity. But here, this place is almost idyllic. Other than the Australopithecines, I have seen herds of animals from a distance. Antelope by my guess. Some large giraffe like creatures that were just too far way for me to properly identify as well. But I’m sure that it too was formally a species of Earth origins, just like the rest of them. If any other large mammals such as predators or other form of animal carnivorous life was here, it has remained curiously hidden. The grasses are tall, and creatures such as lions, jackals and hyenas, as large as are, would have no trouble keeping out of sight. But that may not be the case at all. Of all the animal species I have encountered in this particular chamber, none of them have survived into the modern era back home. I would guess that goes for the smallest creatures such as birds and insects as well. Especially the insects. As thorough as the fossil record has become, we still have but a fraction of that order’s full catalog in labs and museums.

Enough with the ecological analysis. There’s more immediate and important concerns at the moment. Namely the water problem. There are none of those onion-like roots here. But water can’t be much further ahead. Just have to keep going. I’m seeing more examples of that otherwise extinct animal life. Some kind of small primates have been following my progress. I mostly just hear their chattering among the ever denser tree line. Every so often I see the flick of a tail or an arm reaching for a branch. But then one will leap from one tree to another, only to be quickly followed by other members of the troop. The leader is the one in front I suppose. But when they do reveal themselves, they are no species of monkey I have ever seen. Their shape is somewhat familiar, like a langur or macaque. Perhaps it’s a representative of the Mesopithecus family. Just one more tidbit of information I shouldn’t have, but there it is. They are indeed shy, but their curiosity is getting the better of them. After all, how many opportunities do these little beings have to see a human being? But then is that what I truly am anymore? I am something even other human beings have never seen before. Would you recognize me as one of your own?

The Station, Part 35

2007-06-14T07:01:00.000-05:00

I can’t obsess over these changes to my body, no matter what. If anything, they haven’t handicapped me, only caused brief delays in my progress. The itching isn’t so bad, just a minor distraction really. The nubs on my hands—they’ve gotten larger. They’re definitely fingers. Small protuberances that are rapidly catching up to the rest of the digits. I think I can even see the beginnings of fingernails. The rest of my fingers, even thinner now, are also shifting to accommodate the new digit. And I checked my feet not too long ago as well. I have a grand total of eight toes now. If you were to see my feet now, you’d think they had always been that way. What is happening to me?

I’ve been so focused on my body’s changes that I didn’t realize how far I’d gotten. My strides are longer, the walk actually is easier. I should be much more fatigued than I am. Perhaps the gravity is lighter here. But probably not. If anything, the gravity has fluctuated very little. I can tell that just based on my travels. I’ve never felt especially lighter or heavier no matter where I’ve gone. But lately, it’s been less of an effort. One could argue that I’m in better shape, but not this much better over so few days. The human body just doesn’t work that way. Human. The word doesn’t seem to apply 100% to me anymore. Maybe something just slightly under that. I’m not the same person I was when I first arrived here. I’m becoming something else.

It was the fruit I suspect. That single, perfect fruit that I had to eat. Like my life depended on it. I did something, introduced something into my system that is making its way around, setting up shop, and reconfiguring. It all seems so simple now. The Australopithecines and their guidance. Their leading me to the fruit tree. They were just doing a job. Incredible. So who signs their paycheck?

And the fruit. Well, what could that have actually been? Certainly not a natural occurrence, as if anything about this whale was natural. It was planted, grown, or whatever, specifically for me to be lead to. No, I’m not being egocentric about this at all. Just analytical. I’m putting the pieces together. The shoe fits so to speak. Think about it, the man apes could just as easily taken that fruit before me if they had wanted to. But no, they had no interest in it. And afterwards—that was just a slice of hell if I had ever experienced one. It was when I took that first bite, which was when I think I truly gave up something of myself. I signed a pact, and signed it in blood. All of my blood. And all of my body it seems. But they will not have my mind. That is off limits. That is where I have to draw the line. So, it’s acceptable that they have taken control of my physicality? No, not by a long shot. This is a violation, no bones about it. But I can’t do anything about it either. I just have to fight them with what’s left. And that leaves the real thing that makes me…me. Oh, and by the way, the skin behind my ears has hardened. Almost as hard as my skull. And when I touch these spots at the same time, I suddenly feel like all direction is lost. Not vertigo. It’s more like my covering them simultaneously blocks out the world and I’m no longer a part of it. It makes absolutely no sense, I know. And only when I block them at the same time. Experimenting, I noticed that covering just one with a hand, making contact with it, just makes me nauseous. What the fuck is that about. I really wish I had a mirror right now. But then again, do I really want to see what I’ve been becoming?

The Station, Part 34

2007-06-13T07:07:00.000-05:00

As for the good news—my hands and feet still itch nearly as bad as before. I haven’t had to stop to scratch my feet for some time now. That’s something of a relief.

There are some strange bumps on my hands where the itching began. Not on my smallest toes however. I don’t feel them anymore. I don’t know what to make of either of these two phenomena. The bumps on the sides of my hands don’t hurt, but are tender to the touch. And another thing I have noticed; my hands just look a little different. Thinner somehow. Or longer. That may just be my imagination at work. I have lost weight. And rather quickly at that. Not that I was anywhere obese, but any sign of the gut I once had is now gone. The flat stomach I that saw as a teenager is now back. I have a lot of exercise and a forced diet to thank for that. Fortunately, my clothing is programmed to conform to my body, but even that has it limits. For the first time I’ve been here, I have developed a concern for my weight loss. I really shouldn’t be losing any more weight at this point. It wouldn’t be healthy. And I can’t afford to be weakened by lack of nutrition. All the more reason to be heading for those mountains.

But my hands. They really bothering me. I keep looking at them like something’s going to happen to them if I don’t keep my eyes on them at all times. As if the next time I see them I won’t recognize them as my own. Why am I so concerned about this petty thing? I don’t know. But what I’m really looking at are the bumps. They are near perfect mirror images of each other. This is no random infection. This change has a purpose. I just know it. I’m afraid to know just what that purpose may be.

The bumps have gotten bigger. And yes, I was right. My hands have indeed gotten thinner. No, the hands are longer. The fingers are thinner relative to the palms. Just what the hell is this? And the bumps have, for lack of a better word, sprouted ting pink nubs. No swelling, no pain. Just the same tenderness as before. Definitely not an infection. And all of this has happened within a mere two hours. Wait a minute. I haven’t checked my feet either. What the hell’s been happening to them while I’ve been obsessing over the hands? I’m talking my foot coverings off. Oh hell. I don’t know whether I should scream or cry. My little toes are…shrinking. Receding back into my feet. They’re but withered remnants. At this rate, they’ll both be gone by the end of the day. Goddamn it all, what else? I know they’re just toes, but they’re my fucking toes! Yeah, it’s stupid. Why am I crying about this? I don’t care. Fuck you for thinking anything other than this is fucking scaring the shit out of me. The human body is not supposed to be doing what it’s doing right now! So fuck you of you don’t think that there is something profound about all of this!

I’ve just stopped walking for now. I just need to think. I need to process what is happening to me. I’m shaking like a virgin on her wedding night. It’s fucking pathetic really. I’m sitting here just wondering what else is going to start growing or fall off. I have eight toes. And as if something were making up for that loss, I’m soon going to have twelve fingers. It’s fucking hysterical, don’t you think? Twelve fingers! What else is am I going to get? If an ear falls off do I get and third testicle? Imagine the size of my nutsack then! Ha! I’d be Chief Bigballs! Get it? Hell, who needs two ears anyway?

And anyway, the skin immediately behind them has begun to itch. I want to cry.

The Station, Part 33 cont.

2007-06-12T07:13:00.000-05:00

It isn’t helping that, for some inexplicable reason, my hands and feet have begun to itch. Some kind of allergic reaction I suppose. It’s a deep, persistent itch that no amount of scratching has been able to alleviate in the least. Even stranger, the itching is in very specific parts of my hands and feet. The sides next to the pinky finger and the smallest toes of either foot. Weird huh? I’ve had to stop several times already, take off my footings and scratch the toes raw. My hands aren’t that much better. Now they’re raw as well. Even with the interruptions to scratch, I think I’ve made good progress toward the mountains. I can se more details now. The snow capped peaks are more visible and I can see the clouds that hang over them. All that water, and still so out of reach. But water must downhill here too. I just know I’ll find a river or stream, and when I do, I’m bound to fins more life. As bizarre as the things I seen have been, there’s one thing that is consistent among them. The rules of life. It all has to breathe, eat and breed. I’ve seen all of these rules being followed. Seems life in this universe of ours is all working for the same Mother Nature.

Some of these things I remember from the dreams. Yes, they’ve come back. And I wish I could play back what I may have said during my fever. But then again, it was probably no more than incoherent babbling. Still, the images are vivid again. I think its starting to sort itself out in my mind. The brain is wired to seek out patterns and order to things. And when it can’t find that order, will make an order of its own. That’s what might be happening now. My mind making sense of all the things it has had no prior experience with. But there’s more to it than that. There’s a collection of knowledge building. It can’t be anything other than that. My unconscious mind has been processing all that my senses have provided it and made conclusions that make the most sense. Sure, that’s what I’d like to believe—my mind doing all of this. Providing previously forgotten knowledge and suppressing formally easily recalled memories. Who am I’m fooling? There’s something else going on. There’s an outside influence at work. It’s changing me. I’ve been dancing around it for too long and it’s time to recognize this. The dreams, the facts that I have, but I shouldn’t, are being given to me. I know more about the varied inhabitants of this place than I do about our own world. Feeding and social customs, deaths of generations and births of new ones. I know their perspectives of life inside this strange, strange world. I know that none of us really belong here. We are all going someplace else. We all want to get to that place, and not one of us knows what or where this place is. And they are all waiting for their protector, friend, caretaker, guide and all those other things they need to show them the way. And He is not answering them anymore. No, these things I know are not mere dreams. There is too much sense to be made of them. I’m being instructed in the most invasive way possible—direct input into my mind. If it can add whatever it wants, can it not take away as well? I’m forgetting things. Easy things. Important things. And it’s scaring the living shit out of me. I have absolutely no control. It will happen again and again, I’m sure. Whenever I sleep. What will it add, and what will it sacrifice in its stead. And why must it sacrifice anything? Who the fuck are they to decide what they can take away? Why can’t I simply keep all that I am and the additions? Is it some kind of payment, or what they would consider a fair exchange? I don’t give a fuck either way. Because they never once asked my permission. So they can go fuck themselves for all I care. I’m getting out of here.

The Station, Part 33

2007-06-11T07:06:00.000-05:00

I’m still focused, no matter how may detours I’ve taken, voluntary or otherwise. She’s my way out of here. Not for the food or water or regulated atmosphere. The transmitter she carries is the key. If I spend more time with it, modifying it, I could boost the signal further. Maybe even to the point it can pick up incoming transmissions. I’m going through the schematics in my head, mentally kicking myself that I didn’t do this sooner. Damn it, I became far too distracted by my surroundings. As wondrous and frightening as they are, they should not have deterred me from my goal as much as they have.

Like the body, the mind needs it own exercise to stay sharp, focused. I’ve been slacking evidently. I’m having some trouble recalling some of the basic system specs for Frontier’s comm system. Probably in part due to recent events I mean really, can you blame me? This place would get to anyone. Just look at what I’ve seen in the past few days and how I’ve lived. In a fucking space suit no less. Now that I’m out of that damn thing I feel so much freer. I didn’t realize just how much of a prison it was. And when I say free, I mean free from fear. Microscopic xenoforms with all manner of horrible diseases were a real fear les than a week ago. And now I don’t give a shit. I just don’t. Hell, I ate some native fruit without a bit of hesitation. Now, would I have done that the day I donned the helmet? No way in hell. No way. And that my friends, is something that is completely new to me. A part of my persona that I didn’t know I had—the daredevil. Laugh if you want, but eating that fruit was far more daring than walking across the Grand Canyon on a tightrope. How’s that you may ask. Well, the guy on the tightrope practices and practices before he gets on that rope, so he knows what he’s doing. Can’t say the same for me now can you? Yeah, thought so.

I think that once I’ve found Frontier, and I will find her, whatever I haven’t recalled by then will come back to me in a flash. I know those systems like the back of my hand. I just need the right kind of stimulus. In the meantime, I can’t let my surroundings get the better of me. From now on, I’ll be forgoing any exploration I feel takes me away from my primary goal.

What’s wrong with me? I’ve been walking towards these mountains, learned a little more about myself and this environment and more. But it’s these other lapses in memory. Forgetting names that I shouldn’t be forgetting. Basic functions of station operations. Other things I may not be aware of yet. It’s prompted me to go as far back in my memory as I can. And that has become harder. There shouldn’t be this much effort as I have made to do so.

The Station, Part 32

2007-06-08T06:54:00.001-05:00

My head feels like its gone ten rounds and my limbs are all cramped up like I’ve put them through a marathon. But in light of all that, I feel better. I don’t think I’m going to die. I’m not really sure if I ever really came close. But one thing’s for sure. It was one hell of a ride. Don’t remember much. Mostly just a jumble of images and sounds. Hallucinations fueled by fever. A fever which is gone now by some miracle. I’m not going to question that too hard. That was pure misery. But what was the cause. Most likely the fruit. The lone fruit I plucked from the only tree in a place where I’m sure it would otherwise not exist, if not for me. How’s that for narcissistic?

I’m parched. Need to find some water. Without the suit, there’s no moisture to recycle. Not that it matters. There was maybe a day’s worth left in it. But there’s water nearby. I think the man apes have already shown me where it is. Under my feet no less. I don’t have any digging implements but the man apes didn’t need them either. The hard part will be finding the root.

Eureka! That took less time than expected. Now how did she do it? She peeled away some of the outer layering. Not as easy as I expected. Her fingers must be especially strong to be able to do this so quickly. It’s taking me a while just to peel off the first layer. I don’t know how the hell they ever figured out there was water in these otherwise unappealing roots, but I’m glad they did. Otherwise, I’d be in a heap of trouble right about now. Wish I could do this faster. So damn thirsty. Ah! Finally. The first layer’s off, and the second and third came off almost without effort. So that’s the trick. Get the hard outer shell off and the rest is sake. And it’s surprisingly moist underneath. So she just squeezed it over his mouth…

Ugh. Awful. Tastes like a water mixed with onion. But it’s wet. And that makes it good. Not a lot of water inside, but it’s a start. Not to worry; where there’s one, there’s more. Yup. Right over there. I’m pretty good at this. Already, I’m feeling much better. My headache’s fading and my throat is far less scratchy. The ache in my arms and legs had subsided considerably too. Remarkable what just a little water will do. My man ape friends just might be proud of me if they knew I was helping myself. Speaking of whom, I wonder where they went? And why all of a sudden is it important to me that some man apes are proud of me? It should be more disturbing than it is, but I’m still thirsty. But I think I’ve gotten the hang of the onion-radish-canteen things. Gotta come up with a better name for these little life savers than that.

Wish I had pockets in my remaining clothing. I would take a few of these water onions—that’s what I’ve decided to call them—with me. Oh well. I’m pretty confident that I’ll discover more on the way. On the way to where you ask once again. And the answer is always Frontier. Why would you ever doubt the answer would change?

The Station, Part 31 cont.

2007-06-07T06:55:00.000-05:00

So I know I must be dreaming, because this is not possible. I’m home. I would know this house anywhere, even if it is in the wrong place. In this ancient field of golden grass. The white slanted roof with the solar panels. The fusion generator to one side. The sliding doors that open into the backyard. My acacia is here too. And the grove of tropical trees. So out of place here. I see someone coming out of the grove. A man. Tall, thin, with a short beard that is so out of fashion it’s almost ridiculous. I know this man. It’s Dad. He’s carrying something over his back. Greenish yellow things. Bananas. He and Mom grow them. No synthetic fertilizers. Just dirt and sweat as dad would say. He looks so young. He’s never looked young to me. We must be the same age now. That can’t be. Oh yes, of course, the dream. But it’s so real.

The back doors open and this pretty young woman emerges. Her hair is long and blond. It shines in the artificial sunlight. I know this woman. It’s Mom. Her smile can dash away any sad thoughts in an instant. And it’s contagious. I can’t help but smile. And neither can my father, who grins back at her. He puts down the bananas and hugs her. She pulls back a little but still holds his arms. She says something to her, but there is no sound. But her words make him laugh and they hug again, even tighter. My father puts a hand on my mother’s stomach. I think my mother is crying now. But she looks so happy. They both look so happy.

Not my memory. You’re just making them up for me! It’s not fair. Goddamn you, don’t replace my memories! I would never, ever know of this particular day!

And now they’re gone. No, there they are. They’re dressed differently. There are more plants and trees in the yard. There is my swing set. The picnic table. It’s set with plates and napkins and such. I see fruits and vegetables from the garden. My mother and father are at the picnic table, sitting across from one another. Every so often my mother turns away to look at something next to her. I can’t see what it is. Then I see a small arm and hand reaching out and pick up a piece of fruit. My mother picks up a napkin and hands it to the unseen small person, who could only be me. They look so happy.

I don’t remember that at all. Is this another made up memory? I can’t tell…but it could have happened…

They’re gone again. Replaced by three small boys. Two are in my acacia. The smallest is still on the ground, looking pensive. One of those boys is me. The other two are my neighbors and friends. They are brothers. The brother on the ground. He wants to get into the tree with the others. Me and his big brother. We encourage him. And the smaller boy struggles. Finally, he finds the strength and willpower to pull himself onto the lowest branch. I and his older brother cheer. And then the little boy cheers with us. We are all so very happy.

That didn’t happen. That never happened. That little boy never got into the tree. He was never, ever in that tree. Now I know it’s a just a farce. You’re just mixing up everything. Stories I’ve been told, things that I wanted to happen, but never did. Just leave things where they are!

The Station, Part 31 cont.

2007-06-06T07:02:00.000-05:00

My arms and legs feel like weights. Head hurts. Have strange thoughts and stranger sensations. All in my head. All in my head….

I am told by the Elders that we once lived someplace else far away, a place we shared with strange EatersofPeople, EatersofPlants and NotPeople. That they are now gone. No, we are the ones that are gone. Taken from our home to another AlmostHome. And that we would live in this Almost Home until another Home could be found. Our kind was dying while the NotMen were thriving. That is why we are here. It is our salvation and second chance, because He believes we deserve another chance. He feels we are worthy. I have never seen the old Home, nor have I seen the NotPeople. I was born here. So this is my Home. It is everyone’s home. It is good here. We have food. We have water. We have each other.

I am told by the Elders that we once had to hide from the EatersofPeople and NotMen. The first would take our weak and young, and even the strongest of us at times. We were just food to them. But the NotMen. The ones who looked like us, but were not us. They lived differently than us. They ate plants and the EatersofPlants too. They would kill us, but not for food. They killed us and left the body to EatersofDead. No one but the NotMen know why they did this. But There are no EatersofPeople or NotPeople here, just EatersofPlants. This is good. But some of us think this is bad. He takes care of the absence. The Balance. Without the EatersofPeople, the Balance is no more. These Elders say that when the time comes, we will have long forgotten how to live with other EatersofMen and NotMen. And we may all be gone. That is why the Elders tell the stories that the EldersofElders began. To not forget. To always know that to live is to die. To die is so to let others live. I do not understand why this is good. We all live here. Is this not good? Doesn’t He take care of the Balance? What more do we the People need?

Oh my head. My head. Too much to see. Too much to take in all at once. What did I eat it? My head hurts so much. Make it stop, please just let die and make it stop…

Our kind dies today. And, by my womb, our kind will be born anew tomorrow. I see them on the beach, just now pulling themselves out of the protective moisture of the sand. These males represent the best this generation has to offer. Those that survived the trials and achieved adulthood. Now the final test is upon them. I am almost there my males. They are so eager. Their last and most noble act, the one they have been waiting for their entire lives is about to begin. And I am central to that act. Once I have reached them, they will fight will every ounce of their being to become one with me. Most will destroy each other and their own bodies in the effort to reach me. Of the few that reach my body, they will be among the Better of the Best and will be remembered by the Next of Us. But in the end, only one, the Worthy, will become one with me. He will meld with my womb and give his essence to me, merging with my eggs, becoming the seed that will give birth to the next of us. The as for the rest of them, they will have given their lives in the most noble of ways. Their bodies will not go to waste. As for me, I will have my own final task. I will seed the waters with my young. Most of them will be males. A few of them will have the special gift I give. These females must earn the right to become Mother, just as I earned the right. And she who earns that right will wait for her time. The time when the males have matured and become ready to fulfill their destined role. I will not see the day. It is the way of things. Once my task is completed, my body will to waste. It will provide the Next of Us the food they need to begin again. It is the Way of Things.

Burning up! Get outta my head! It’s too fucking much! I’m only one man! Can’t you see that?! Too many memories! Too much to know! I can’t carry all of this. What about my own memories? Where will they fit now? Can I keep them? Please, can I keep what is me? Please?

The Station, Part 31

2007-06-05T07:00:00.000-05:00

I’m getting lightheaded. Stomach’s still hurting. The pain has passed into my extremities. There’s an alternating sense of muscle cramps and numbness. Can’t pass out. Keep walking, Bradley. Find a place to rest. An acacia is here. Thank the stars for that. Thick branches will block sunlight. No grasses immediately around the base, but I’ll be invisible to if I lay down. Oh, that sounds so good right now. Just laying down in the shade. I’m so hot. Feel like I could just fall asleep forever. It’s cool under here, and darker. Just going to lay down here…

It’s so peaceful here. Like home used to be. They have recreated what used to be in nearly every detail. The right amount darkness as it should be. The feel of the earth around my holdfast. The taste of the air. The air currents themselves however, are not quite as they should be, but in time, with our help, He will perfect it. By then, why will be want to leave? We will have had all we need and more, that being His protection. Already some of us have begun to grow children. It is early for any of us to be doing so, but in reality, what is there to stop them? If we were home, now would be the time to be growing and fortifying ourselves for the impending fasting days. We don’t have though days anymore. Most of us are thankful for that. He has done this for us. There are a few that do not believe that the abundance that surrounds us is ultimately beneficial. Without the hard times they point out, how will we know the true value of what has been given to us? Those thoughts are few, and even fewer of us listen to them, especially those who have chosen to have children here. When these children separate from the bodies of their parents, they will be the first to have known only this place. And He will have always been. In that, these children will be different. What that means for The People I do not know. None of us do. Of this place we know only what He has told us. Will that change when the first new child awakens to awareness of itself? In time we will all know the answer. I should feed now. Although in some way, the food seems easier to catch and lacks something. Not nutrition I am sure. It came with us to this place at the same time. It is perhaps the last remnant of home. A home that is now gone. But I must not dwell on the past. I must be thankful; my people must be thankful. If not for Him, we would have perished with our world. The People would have been one with oblivion. But He has given us a second chance. But is power, however great, must be finite. He didn’t take all of us. He took enough of us to begin anew, somewhere else. At first I thought that this new place was here. But we have been told that this is but a temporary home until another, more suitable world can be found. Until the day He took us, I and The People thought there was only us. We were the entire world. We have since been blessed with the knowledge that there are many, many worlds and some of them have their own People. Far fewer of them are worlds in which we can live, but He is searching. He says He will one day find a new world for us to make our home, and then we can thrive as we did before. Yes, I believe Him.

I still have not fed. I must open my arms to the sky and wait for the food that floats in constant abundance. That wait won’t be too long. It never is anymore. And that one aspect of living here is something to which I am ever ambivalent…If He would return to live among us as he has done, perhaps I would be reassured. But He has been absent for many cycles. I wonder if He no longer wishes to be one of us as He has done. Perhaps we do not interest Him as before. Where is He?

The Station, Part 30 cont.

2007-06-04T07:14:00.001-05:00

While I ate, my guides disappeared. I think their job was completed the moment I saw the tree. Listen to me. Their job. But that has to be it. They led me here with purpose. My certainty was so complete. I had convinced myself that I’d locate Frontier, just as I had thought I had foreseen. That was just a dream. I see that now. Because of all these vivid dreams I have been having, the one of the station has been the only nightmare. It was also the only one that didn’t leave these more than merely vivid sensory impressions as the others have been doing. No memory-like impressions of flight, or seeing through other eyes. Or tasting the glowing fruits of immense mushrooms that weren’t really mushrooms. The nightmare of the station had none of these left over. That’s where I must have gone wrong. I got the prediction wrong. But that’s okay with me. I think it’s better that I realized why I got it wrong. It’s one more layer of skin I have peeled from this onion. I have a distinct feeling that I’m going to have to peel away many more layers if I’m ever going to get to the bottom of this. The question now is, what do I do?

How could that have ever been a question? What the hell is wrong with me? Find Frontier of course!

I’m feeling kind of strange. No, more like I don’t feel that good. After I ate the fruit, I wandered around a bit, looking to see if I could spot any sign of a new set of tunnels. I thought briefly about retracing my steps and just taking yet another detour. But what is the rush after all. I mean, the temperature is pleasant enough, the air is breathable and apparently there’s food edible to a human. But it’s that last bit that I’ve begun to form doubts about. It could be nothing; merely my system beginning to adjust to a different type of subsistence. Or not. On earth, there are plants with bright red berries that look good to eat, but are deadly poisonous. Caterpillars that are brightly colored are so as to warn off predators that they aren’t good to eat. Just because something’s is attractive doesn’t necessarily mean that it is safe. I may have fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book of evolution. I may be jumping the gun a bit here, but on the off chance things take a rapid turn for the worse, I wanted to report while I was still lucid. And while I still have my wits about me, I’m going to keep doing what I’ve been doing since the moment this all started—tell you as much as I can.

The strangeness I mentioned earlier is still with me, but more pronounced now. It went from a nervous feeling in my stomach to a mild ache. Isn’t that a classic sign of food poisoning? So few cases are reported anymore that it’s hard to say. I think I may also be running a slight fever. That symptom I’m more familiar with. But I’m not entirely convinced that it isn’t just because I’ve been exerting myself somewhat more. I’ve decided to try one direction now, toward the mountains. I’d estimate they are about two days walk from here. I’m going there because it’s my theory that I’ll find fresh water there. Maybe more food. That has to take priority. Water’s the big problem right now. Two days without it is really stretching it, even in this temperate climate. I wonder if it rains here. I’d imagine so if there is plant life this abundant. And I’m also wondering about sunburn. Does the light that comes down include ultraviolet radiation? If I’m lucky and it doesn’t then great. If not, sunburn is another problem. I may have to change my strategy. Find cover during the day, and walk at night. One thing I’ve noted; I haven’t seen any more of the fruit trees. And that has me wondering just what it was doing there. And why the man apes brought me to it. I wonder about this all the time now. All I’ve come up with are guesses. But the one thing I do find most sensible is that I’m being manipulated. Not by the Australopithecines specifically. I think they were acting as middle men of sorts. But for who or what? Damn, my stomach isn’t happy with me at all anymore. Not a bit. I’m really starting to cramp up. No nausea or dizziness. But I really want to sit my ass down. Not in the open. If I can’t get up again for a while, I don’t want to be this exposed to the elements.

The Station, Part 30 cont.

2007-06-01T07:00:00.000-05:00

My guides. Or do they just let me follow them? Then they wouldn’t be guides then, would they? They haven’t moved aside yet, like in the dream. And I’ve realized something else as well. In the dream I was still in the excursion suit. But I’ve changed the scenario by removing it. That shouldn’t affect the outcome though. But I wonder if my decision to do so was a reaction to the dream. My way of somehow negating the reality of it by supplanting my own. Then it wasn’t a wholly rational, practical choice I made. I had more time left. I could have possibly made it further along. Saved myself. What am I talking about here? I’m in no immediate danger. I was worried about microbial contamination, which is still a strong possibility. But here, on this false Earth, that is probably not going to happen. I practically belong here. After all, my own biology is descendent of something more or less identical to this. This giant chamber with its duplicate mountains and false sky. My man ape friends have moved aside. It’s the dream happening. But for real this time. Frontier will be just over the ridge. But I don’t see her. Just a tree.
It looks completely out of place and yet it belongs here. Yeah, I know. That makes absolutely no sense at all. But trust me. This is how it appears. So what does it look like you ask? Nothing really out of the ordinary for a terrestrial plant. There’s a thick trunk that braches off in three more or less symmetrical directions. Smaller twigs hold healthy looking dark green oval leaves. All very ordinary you would think. But then there is the single fruit that hangs from it.

It’s so perfect looking that it can’t possibly be real, but of course it is. More like the sim fruit people use to decorate their trees for houseguests. It’s perfectly spherical about the size of a grapefruit, and with not a blemish upon it. Its orange hue isn’t the bioengineered caricature you would see back home either. This one is more natural, and therefore, more lifelike. It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. And within a second of seeing it, I have never been hungrier in my life. I have never been starved, just as no on Earth starves anymore, so I don’t really know what that would really feel like. But people have addictions still and that means people have withdrawal. That must be what I’m feeling right now. The mental and physical effects of substance deprivation. It is horrible, this feeling. To be addicted, the slave to something otherwise insignificant. Yet this fruit, which I have never seen before, is suddenly my master. I have to eat it. I just have to. It’s an imperative. My imperative. If this is my end, please forgive me for my weakness. Don’t let my parents know this is how I ended. I’m going to eat this damn thing now. It better taste fucking horrible. Why do you ask that? Well, like my mother once told me, if it doesn’t taste good, then it’s probably good for you. I hope you’re right, Mom.

I tasted wonderful damn it. Then I guess that means I’m fucked. But it was wonderful. I ate the whole damn thing, skin and all. Like apple, except not so hard. More like a melon, but with a citrus tang. It was really like the best of all fruits, combining all the attributes of all of them into one absolutely perfect food. Like it was meant specifically for me. Tailored to my exact tastes. My hunger has been satiated. I’m not full, just satisfied. But if another one was presented to me, I suspect that the pangs would return instantly, the gnawing hunger that won’t go away until I’ve done my bidding as the obedient slave. I suppose I can thank who or whatever for supplying just one of these foods of the gods.

The Station, Part 30

2007-05-31T07:09:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 29

2007-05-30T07:00:00.001-05:00

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 28

2007-05-29T06:57:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 27 cont.

2007-05-28T11:35:00.001-05:00

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

I’m home.

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

I’ve found her. I’ve found Frontier.

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

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

It’s inside me! Ah— (Unintelligible)

The Station, Part 27 cont.

2007-05-25T07:08:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

The Station, Part 27 cont.

2007-05-24T07:00:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 27

2007-05-23T11:18:00.001-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 26

2007-05-22T07:00:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

The Circus is Coming!

2007-05-21T09:16:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Short Story Break #1

2007-05-21T09:13:00.000-05:00

Hey folks!

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

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

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

A. David Smith

The Station, Part 25

2007-05-18T06:54:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

The Station, Part 24

2007-05-17T06:59:00.000-05:00

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

The Station, Part 23

2007-05-16T07:12:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 22

2007-05-15T06:44:00.001-05:00

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 21

2007-05-14T06:59:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

The Station, Part 20 cont.

2007-05-11T07:10:00.000-05:00

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

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

The Station, Part 20 cont.

2007-05-10T07:09:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

The Station, Part 20

2007-05-09T07:10:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 19 cont.

2007-05-08T06:53:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 19

2007-05-07T07:09:00.000-05:00

20/6/2207

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 18 cont.

2007-05-04T06:53:00.001-05:00

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

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

The Station, Part 18

2007-05-03T06:54:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

The Station, Part 17

2007-05-02T06:58:00.000-05:00

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

The Station, Part 16 cont.

2007-05-01T06:58:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

The Station, Part 16 cont.

2007-04-30T06:59:00.001-05:00

In this dream, I was out of the excursion suit. Out of any clothing for that matter. And it didn’t feel wrong at all, unlike those dreams we’ve all had about being caught at school or work in just our underwear. This was vastly different. Clothes would have felt cumbersome, unnecessary. It was just me, moving through one of the tunnels with ease. There was no exertion on my part. I felt like I’d been doing this all my life. And I was completely at home. The tunnel was just like all the others I had explored in waking life, but this one held no trepidation and no apprehension about what may lay on the other end. My purpose was clear: to visit a part of my domain and some old friends.

The tunnel ended, opening into a vast cavern that I had seen many times before, one of my favorites. It was beautiful and sad all at once, a reminder of an earlier time now long lost to the ages. It was a vast forest. Like no forest you’ve ever seen. This one held beauty on a staggering scale. Trees that dwarfed even the Redwoods were spread over a forest floor of stunning greenery. I moved into this garden and let the delicate leaves of undergrowth brush against my naked arms and legs. Each contact was like the warm embrace of loved ones not seen for ages. I glided through this underbrush and into a clearing of curled grass. I sat down to wait. I knew they would come. They always did. Somehow they always knew I was here long before I ever saw them. My wait was not long. I heard the sound of large beings moving through the tangle of leaves. I heard their low, cooing drone of pleasure. And into the clearing they came.

The eldest always appeared first. His bulk was a disguise for practiced grace. He stepped into the clearing with authority and laying his eye upon me, he lifted his two massive arms high signifying to his followers all was safe. The rest of them came in precise order of rank, the young that were still dependent of their mothers clinging to their mothers’ backs. They were truly magnificent. And they thought me fascinating. These towering beings surrounded me like children surrounding a wise teacher, anxious for tales of distant lands and morals. Their huge bodies began swaying, their hands gesticulating rapidly. They were all talking at once. And I couldn’t follow every question. They wanted so much to know of me—I had been gone far too long. But I welcomed the attention. I wanted to answer ever inquiry. Looking between two of them, I could see the elder, his muscled back straight and proud, his gaze directed into the forest, watching. He was always performing his sworn duty: to protect his people. He had no time for leisure. I very much admire and understand this being. We are more alike than different. We both are protectors.

The questions were asked and I began to answer each one calmly, methodically, with knowledge I didn’t know I had. With each answer I received a sign of satisfaction and thanks. Once every answer was given, mothers let their young explore. Even so young their smallest children were easily my height and twice my weight, but were ever gentle. Some were shy and decided rolling in the grass would be more to their liking. Some of the bolder ones made their way to me and carefully inspected me. One daring youngster touched my face and ran away. His mother cooed a laugh. I have always enjoyed these visits. I vowed to return more often.

The Station, Part 16 cont.

2007-04-27T07:10:00.001-05:00

I’m stepping away from the wall again, just for the hell of it and look at the tunnels I’ve already explored and those I haven’t. They all look alike. All of them are vaguely oval shaped, with no discernible markings on the surrounding wall. I’m looking from one tunnel to the next. Feels like I’m playing that game from childhood. You know, the one where you have two pictures that at first glace look identical. Then you are informed that there are some differences between them. Of course they’re all very subtle things that unless you were looking for them they would otherwise be missed…missed like the fact that some tunnels entrances are slightly wider then others…son of a bitch. How the hell did I miss that before? I’m a damn idiot. The shapes alternative. I’m going back to take a better look, but yeah, they are definitely different. There’s at least two, no, make that three different oval variations. One is taller and thinner, another is almost but not quite round, and third wider than the rest. Now I have to think. All the ones I’ve tried on this side have been of the first two variations, the one I was going to try next is the third. Holy shit, I think I’ve figured it out. Have you? Well, why didn’t you say so? Damn, I could have saved myself a hell of a lot of time if I’d seen this sooner. I hope. Still haven’t proven my theory yet. But if I’m right, I think I’ve just read my first extraterrestrial road signs.

I just entered my latest tunnel, the one that is wider than the rest. So far it’s been a horizontal walk, but I’m betting my paycheck that it will start to slope down. It will. Watch. Okay still horizontal. Come on, don’t make a liar outta me. Bradley, you’re a freakin’ genius. You out there, you all owe me a paycheck. She’s sloping downward. And not too steep this time. Looks like I’ll be traveling down and farther out this time, away from that inner sea. I wonder if I’ll be below even that place. If so, it may mean I’ll have to do some backtracking. But if I’m also right about Frontier’s whereabouts, I’ll be on the same level as she. And if I’m correct in assuming the shapes mean what I think they do, I just need to find a tunnel that is of the roundest shape. I’m getting closer, people. I’m going to find my way back to Frontier and get the hell out of this space suit, take a hot shower and eat some solid food. Tunnel still isn’t sloping that much. Must be going pretty far out then. Could be a rather long walk back through one of the lower levels. I still left a beacon back at the beginning, just in case. Just in case. I’m not even going to consider that possibility anymore. I’m not going to kick myself for being so dense about the tunnel shapes. I’m now beginning think that there’s a lot more subtlety here than meets the eye. And perhaps it isn’t meant to be subtle at all. Maybe it’s blatantly obvious to something other than human. Of course, it would have to be. I’m not supposed to be here. If I thought more like them then perhaps this place would be very easy to navigate. It can’t just be tunnel shapes that provide direction. Reminds me of that dream. Didn’t mention it to you before. I’d forgotten about until now. Something about my discovery jogged my memory of it. I usually don’t remember dreams, but this one was very vivid. Maybe more vivid than any other dream I’ve had before.

The Station, Part 16 cont.

2007-04-26T06:57:00.001-05:00

These non-trees remind me of something. Their delicate limbs open and close in a rhythm that has something of a mesmerizing effect on me if I stare at them too long. There’s a higher density of those floating bugs. More variety of shapes as well. And here’s the small ridge I fell down before. At least it’s an easy climb back up. Now I came look back and take a better look. If memory serves, the depression where the non-trees live is the depression where Frontier used to be. Has to be. The shape and size about right. It’s just been filled in somehow. Like the station fell through and the hole was filled in. I don’t know what kind of technology is capable of a feat like that but that has to be the answer. That means Frontier is below the grove somewhere. And that means I have to go down again. I’ve been down already, but that was on the other half of this chamber. I think I can then eliminate all those lower tunnel entrances in that half and concentrate on those on this half. And more specifically, tunnels that go down. I can see there are about maybe fifteen to twenty tunnels low enough that I can reach unaided. This could take a while. But I got the food and water for about five-and-a-half days left. That should be enough. Maybe I’ll get unusually lucky and hit upon the right tunnel on the first try. Yeah, like I’ve ever been that lucky before. Knowing my record with good luck, if there’s twenty tunnels to choose from and only one is right, I’ll take nineteen guesses. So, I’ll be methodical about it. I’ll start with the low tunnel furthest away, place a beacon and take a walk. If that tunnel doesn’t slope down after a time, I’ll turn back and go to the tunnel closest to that, mix and repeat. Sound like a plan? It isn’t elegant, but hell, what else could I try? Don’t hear you coming up anything brilliant. One more drink of water and I’m gone.

You’d think that who or whatever built this place would think to put of some kind of signage. Like, “For ocean view, take this tunnel” or something. Otherwise, you’d have a bunch of space tourists wandering about aimlessly, trying to find a bathroom or the tiki bar. Okay, I’m getting a little peeved. Come one, this is the eight tunnel and so far, I’ve gone up, straight, straight, up again, straight, etc. etc. Which one of these fuckers will take me to the damn basement? I’m tired. Fuck, this one goes up. Fucking damn it! I’m turning back. I think I need to sit down and eat some fucking gourmet paste.

I’m letting myself get frustrated. I knew it would be like this. But I’m on the clock here people. I breathe earth air and drink earth water. I can’t afford to get this place’s version of Montezuma’s revenge if I try the local watering hole. Get it? Give some kind of hint!

The Station, Part 16 cont.

2007-04-25T09:52:00.000-05:00

I’m almost there now. There’s a cawing noise from around the bend, not unlike a crow, but deeper. I’m slowing down, going to be cautious about this. There’s the reason for the caws. Scavengers. Like a cross between parrots and pterodactyls, blackish feather like covering with naked, heavy beaked heads. Black even in the atmosphere of deep red. They are about a meter high. No eyes but deep recesses in their beak that must be nostrils. They have flippered feet and arms. I suppose they swam here. Some float out in the surf. Some are on the beach. All of them are pulling and tearing at the corpses. Another parallel to earth ecology at work. Nothing goes to waste. One of the vulture-analogues just literally appeared from inside one of the bodies, holding in its beak some morsel of viscera. It’s all very calm. No internal squabbling more the tastiest bits. I suppose there’s plenty to go around. No reason to get testy with each other. There’s even some kind of crustacean lurking about as well. They seem to be satisfied with stating on the sidelines, at least for now. Perhaps they wait for the vulture things to have their fill, and then move in for the other parts. They have heavy claws that look like they could crack bone. That is, if the dead giants have bones. I think I’m done here, but I feel strangely satisfied that I came here. Like it was the right thing to do. I needed to know more. I’ve seen enough of this particular world, at least for now. I need to get back to the real task. Frontier is just beyond one of these tunnels. And I will find her—today. Now I really need to decide my method. This place is finite in size. It’s only a matter of time.

The beacon is doing just fine, putting out a strong signal. Back into the tunnel I go. Damn it, I’d forgotten I was going to be a steep climb back. This is going to use a lot of oxygen. Hold on, I’m going to stop for a minute and think this through. Bear with me. I know that back the way I came, where Frontier should have been was a grove, no more like a forest of tree-like creatures, although they were more like animal than tree. No, they were animals. Nothing like trees. Feeding off of tiny floating creatures. Do I really want to go back there? Yes. I need to retrace my steps. Get my bearings. I’m reading the beacon at the other end. I’ll bite the bullet on this one. Oxygen be damned. If Frontier is nearby, which she should be, it won’t matter that I’ve used too much O2.
Damn, I’m tired. Wheezing like an old man. Feel like one, too. But I made it. Goddamn it, I fucking made it. I hope I never have to do that again. Here I am again, back in the darkness. Odd, it doesn’t seem as dark as before. There’s a bluish cast to the chamber, allowing me to better see the spread of the land. The feathered trees are here and now there seems to be more of them. Probably just because I can simply see more. No station of course. That would be too convenient.

This has got to be the same chamber. Has to be. The inner walls are the same, at least they look the same. But the rest, well, I don’t know. But how can an entire comm. station just disappear like this? Okay, granted I don’t know how I got inside here in the first place, but there was no sign of a mechanism of any kind, like a crane or something, that could lift it. Nothing…unless…hold on, forming a thought here. The crevasse. The crevasse. It could have slipped down. It didn’t look wide enough to swallow Frontier whole, but I didn’t count on it being able to widen. If that’s true, where the hell did the non-trees come from? And there should be an even wider crevasse. Time for a stroll back through the grove to test out my theory.

The Station, Part 16

2007-04-24T06:47:00.000-05:00

19/6/2207

Can the day really be over already? If I didn’t have a chronometer I would have sworn it wasn’t even close. But computers don’t lie they tell me. I missed an entire sleep cycle with all my running around. Curiosity, fear and adrenaline can keep a body going only for so long. Just sitting down now, I think I could pass right here. I’, still on the beach, well away from the newly dead bodies, the casualties of the strange orgy from the red night before. I made a lot of assumptions about that, not exactly sure where it al came from, but I do think I got a lot of what I saw right. I was never the best biological sciences student. Never had a real drive or interest in it. I suppose I absorbed more than I thought over the years. My teachers would be proud. I can hear a chorus of “I told you you’d need this someday” flittering through my head. Okay, you win imaginary teachers. You win.

I know I’m not supposed to, but I’m going to eat something before I finally decide to bed down. Just a little paste. Got hungry and wasn’t going to do anything about it until I’d slept. But my stomach didn’t agree with that decision and has been making some noises in protest. Somehow I think I’ll burn off the calories, and then some, tomorrow.

Okay, I feel better now. I’ve picked a spot on the beach to take a nap and dimmed the faceplate to block most of the green light. The place I’ve picked is close to the wall, by the tunnel opening. I wonder how good a sleep I can get inside this tin can. Well, based on how exhausted I feel it shouldn’t be a problem. I do have some concern over security though. I’ve seen things in this place, while nothing overtly hostile, is still a big unknown. There’s no real satisfactory solution to that. The best I can do is to rely on my suit’s proximity sensor alarm and hope for the best. It’s meant for space-going objects, but it should work the same in a gravity environment. No sense worrying about it too much. I’m going to have to sleep sometime. Might as well be now. I’ll set the alarm radius for maximum. If anything gets curious about the snoring bipedal creature on their stretch of beach, I’ll know about it right away.

You know, the sand feels very soft, even through the suit. Must the contours of the sand grains. Not a course one among them. I wonder what sort of environmental action shaped these minute peddles? Ancient wave action? Wind? Who knows? Lying next to them with my helmet pressed into it I can see their colors. They look uniform when you’re standing up, but down here, so close to them, there are subtle color variations. And look at that, there’s something living among them as well. Little crablike beings climbing in between grains that, at their scale, must be like boulders. They can’t be more than a millimeter long. Probably even smaller than that. I’ll take a guess and say they’re the cleanup crew for the beach, helping clear these beautiful sands of any detritus that makes its way into their home. They must be really good that then, because I don’t be a bit of seaweed or other flotsam anywhere. But then again, I could be entirely wrong about them. I could be entirely wrong about the giant mollusks that all lie dead or dying back there on that stretch of curved beach. I think before I start back exploring the tunnels later I’ll take another look at them. See what has transpired during my time off. Something tells me their story isn’t over yet. Just one more chapter in a very long tale. I just started reading the book somewhere in the middle.

Good morning. Or is it evening? I don’t know. I woken up to a deep red sky. Everything is bathed in it. The sand looks like countless rubies. The ocean, well, that might as well be blood. It is not what I would ever want to wake up to. But I feel refreshed. More so than I thought inside the suit. I’ll have to mention that to its designers someday. I think they’d like that. Although advertising it as “the excursion suit you can sleep in” might not go over well with Navy R&D.

Breakfast is over. Before I head back into the tunnel, I want to take another look at the carnage from last night. I don’t know why I’m this interested but it’s not too far a walk. I won’t stay long.

The Station, Part 15 cont.

2007-04-23T06:54:00.000-05:00

That was exhilarating I tell you. I’ve seen something no human being has ever seen before. And it these events may have been repeated millions of times, right here on this very beach. And one lost, naked ape from a small blue planet just happened to stumble upon it right when it was about to happen again. Somehow I feel good. Can’t exactly explain it, but it was the closest I think I’ve ever come to having a religious experience. Just don’t tell anyone I said that, okay? Wouldn’t want people to think I was getting a little soft between the ears or something. I think its time to go back, start looking for Frontier again. I’ve got six days of air left on me. Beacon signal’s looking good and strong. Been one whole earth day already. It flew by. Time at once stands still and flies by here. There’s a different standard on which to tell time other than my suit’s chronometer. Six days. Now let’s see about getting some sleep…

The Station, Part 15 cont.

2007-04-20T06:48:00.000-05:00

It’s rising now, coming up into the shallows, blocking much of the sunless red light. It’s a mountain range of undulating flesh. The smaller ones on the beach are literally quivering. Is that excitement I see, or is it fear? I guess it’s the former, they would be fleeing already. This is something they’ve wanted to happen. They called the mountain to them. The massive thing and its much smaller look-alikes are calling to each other in rapid, staccato fashion now. Something’s changing in the larger ones. I see an opening forming from seemingly nothing. Giant, vaginal-like and cavernous. The line of creatures on the beach just thrust themselves into the waves almost in unison, as if cued by a starter pistol. I can see that the small ones far outnumber the large ones. Wow, it’s complete chaos now. The small ones are sliding and smashing into ones another, clamoring for a choice spot I guess. The squeals they make are so pig-like, it makes my skin crawl. Tight clusters have formed, roiling balls of flesh that are tumbling towards the gargantuan counterpart, right toward the immense vaginal openings. Some lay still in the surf, perhaps injured or dead. Casualties of the brief conflict. It’s survival of the fittest even here. The openings have become just mere slits now. A cocktease! Oh, I suppose that was a little out of line. Go ahead, write me up for violating official comm. channel protocols. And then come on in and get for disciplinary action. I dare you. No takers? Fine then. You’re missing out on something truly remarkable.

These balls of flesh have writhed their way up to the, well, I guess it must be female, and are climbing their way up their sides. Little boys trying to find their way back into the womb, quite literally it looks like. They’re concentrated around the slit now, I can make out wounds on many on them. The very short journey from beach to female really takes its toll. Even now, they’re still jockeying for a prime spot, ever closer to the slit. As they do, some fall off into the water, but they don’t stay long. A few lay still where they fell, probably too exhausted or injured to make a second attempt.

Something else is happening. An appendage of some kind has erupted from the middle of the slit stretching outwards and upwards like a smooth tentacle. The end is flatted and rounded like a spoon. The smaller males are bleating frantically in that piggish way. It sounded pleading, desperate. The tentacle appears to survey the vast crowd of tiny males on the female’s belly, looking them over carefully and methodically. Reminds me of a uniform inspection. It looks at each and ever one of the remaining ones. They’re the strongest, the ones who had what it took to get this far. She wants the very best. That must be it. And there it is. I think she’s chosen her boy. The tentacle has dipped down and scooped up a male in its cuplike end. Its withdrawing into the slit. And both tentacle and one lucky guy are gone. The bleating has stopped too. The losers are crawling back down now, into the water. The female rumbles, shaking off the stragglers. Apparently she has no time for slowpokes. She has her mate literally inside her. In her womb I surmise. Like the journey of the sperm to the egg on a grandiose scale. I would bet my paycheck they’re making babies right now. Making the next generation that will one day sit on this beach and wait for a female to approach like this one has. The rejected males lay in the water, most not moving or making a sound. I think they’re all dying now, their purpose served for this generation. It’s up to the happy couple now. The mountainous creature is moving off again, back towards the horizon. Maybe she’ll lays egg out thee somewhere. Maybe she gives birth to live young. Who knows? I’m making lots of assumptions and have very few facts other than my eyewitness testimony.

The Station, Part 15 cont.

2007-04-19T06:42:00.000-05:00

Oh great. Just great. Now what am I gonna do? Just how the heel am I gonna get back? I just turned around. Those trunks, well, they attached to something all right. Something huge and dark. And they aren’t any kind of shellfish I’ve ever seen. I was right, they were buried, and some of them, hell, damn near all the ones I’ve strolled past, are either out of or are just now pulling themselves up out of the sand. There’s no analogue to any earth creature I can use to describe them. The closest ones are green, probably due to the ambient light. The trunks are attached to a long, sloping head. No eyes. There’s no neck either. The bodies are barrel shaped, with a stumpy arm-like appendence on either side. The opposite end is a flattened wedge. A flipper maybe? They’re all about the same height. They’re all lining up…hey! The sand is bulging up near here. Gotta go. I’m retreating back towards the wall. There’s a tunnel opening nearby that I’m going to climb into for now. All these creatures are waking up or something. For all I know it’s dinnertime. I do not want to be around for that.

I’m at the new tunnel now, well away from the emerging creatures. All the ones I can see are out or are on their way out of the surf. It’s almost dark now. I’ve switched my light back on. Wonder if they’ll notice that…

Except for my light, it’s almost completely dark. I can see just a couple of the creatures now. There’s an arrhythmic bleating noise coming from up and down the beach. It’s low and drawn out, the various creatures beginning and ending their particular portion at different times. The whole thing is quite the cacophony. If I’m not mistaken, those sounds are directed towards the sea. I’ll bet it really carries, as sound tends to do that over open water.

It’s been going on for quite some time now…I really haven’t kept track of exactly how long. The darkness was very brief to my surprise. Surprise is comes to me very frequently of late. A new color—red—has replaced the black. It has cast everything in a hellish glow. If it’s possible, it all appears even more alien than before.

On the other hand, The bleating sounds haven’t been all that unpleasant. A little while ago I was actually almost lulled to sleep by it. But the thought of sleeping within such a short distance between myself and this unknown snapped me back to wakefulness. Ever since then I have been standing in the relative safety of the tunnel entrance, ready to bolt if there is the slightest trouble. But I have yet to be noticed, the creatures’ low soundings towards the alien sea their one and only task. And now I think I’ve started to discover the fruits of their labor. There have been return bleating from the sea. Deeper, more urgent. The new sounds come from beyond the horizon. Something huge, I picture in my mind’s eye. A breaching whale. But an altogether different kind of whale. This one has a sloping head, odd forelimbs and a protruding trunk-like breathing tube.

I wasn’t too far off. I know because they’re here now. It’s crossed into view. To see it from so far off it must be truly monstrous. Like a mountain moving in the sea. It’s also incredibly fast. What I assume is its head forms a chain of rounded peaks that has symmetry like a jagged crown. It must be just a matter of minutes before they get here. I have the urge to run now. I don’t know if I want to be here. I can drop another beacon right here and take my chances on this new tunnel. It’s just the flight or flight instinct kicking on it that reptilian part of my brain. But I’m the naked ape now, and I can make that ancient decision when I want to now. Instinct be damned.

The Station, Part 15 cont.

2007-04-18T06:36:00.000-05:00

It’s the closest I’ve felt to being back home since I left. As a kid and teenager, I used to spend a lot of time at the beach. I lived just minutes away from one of the best in the world, at least in my opinion—in Panama City Beach. I first visited it when I was just walking. One of my very first memories is standing in the surf, watching the water splash up around my legs. I can even remember feeling scared of it a little, like the water was coming to get me. Everything is so much bigger looking when you’re a toddler, but I’m sure one or both of my parents was just a couple of feet away, letting feel like a had a little freedom by letting walk on the hard, wet sand.

I remember being older too. Those are some of my fondest memories. Mom and Dad letting the Autopilot take me and my friends there by ourselves. Always had to take the videophone too though. That always annoyed me. You know, adolescent angst and all. Felt like my friends and I would spent entire summers there. I don’t think wore more than a pair of pants for months. Good thing skin cancers are a thing of the past or I’d be long gone by now. Took my first real girlfriend there too. Tried and failed to get laid there. She wasn’t nearly the beach bum that I was. She had a thing about sand. Said it got everywhere. Kinda the point of sand, isn’t it? When I had gone off to the Academy though, Panama City Beach started becoming more and more a series of fond memories.

This beach is not much like Panama City, but oddly enough, it has relaxed me. It’s really odd though, to be standing on this alien seashore, inside who knows what, wearing a spacesuit. What a holo I must make. Something out of an oddball comedy on a popular vidstream.

You know what? I’m hungry. I’ve been drinking water on a regular basis but I’ve been so wrapped up in my situation that I haven’t even bothered to access the meal menu. Bringing it up on the HUD. So let’s see what’s on the menu…Good grief, who picked these? Chicken salad, spaghetti, egg salad, fruit cocktail, pumpkin pie. I’d really like to know how these made it into the finals for “favorite flavored meal paste for when I’m stuck in a spacesuit that recycles all my body waste. Yum, yum. All right, what’ll it be pal? Never really liked chicken salad. Alright, for your appetizer, sir we have a lovely fruit paste followed by a hearty spaghetti paste, and if, it pleases our guest, a lovely pumpkin pie paste, just like Mom used to make. Is that funny at all? Forget it. I’m dialing up my lunch. I’ll just sit here and watch the waves and clouds for a bit. Nothing like sucking up a meal like a toothless old man.

When the food tastes like this, it’s really easy to not overeat. I think it’s designed that way. We don’t want our personnel to enjoy themselves too much now. I’m walking again. I’m just starting to see shapes in the surf now, still a ways off. Long, smooth, like very large, fat serpents. They aren’t moving. No wait. There is a little movement. I’m slowing down, keeping my distance. The ends taper into a snout of sorts, I think. No, they’re not really serpent-like. More like elephant trunks. The ends open and close every few seconds. For breathing perhaps? I can’t see the other end of wherever these things are, as they apparently disappear into the water. Whatever they are, they must be huge. And there are a lot of them. They’re lined up more or less evenly spaced along the shore and they all appear to be about the same size. The ones closest to me don’t seem to notice me approaching. I’m stepping back further, closer to the wall and intend to go around them. No discernible movement other than that regular slow undulation. This close up I can see these things are huge, about five meters long. The small end opens and closes. I think it’s the way they breathe. I’m about ten meters away from them. I really don’t want to get any closer than that, so don’t bother asking. Up and down, up and down they go. Like giant blind elephant trunks. The rest of their bodies disappear into the soupy green water, making it impossible for me to see what the other end looks like. Whatever they are, they either don’t know or don’t care if I’m here. I hope it’s the latter. I’m going to stay further up the beach from here on out, or at least until they are no more trunks to avoid. They seem to go on forever.

As I walk past them, I’ve started to notice something. These creatures’ bodies don’t disappear into the water. Rather, they’re buried under the sand at the shoreline. These trunks may serve as a sort of snorkel. Like giant clams or oysters. They have some kind of appendage like that I think. Should have paid more attention in my marine biology course at the Academy. Makes me wonder just how big these things are if I’m only seeing this much of them. And why are they buried? Is this just what they do day after day? Something tells me this is a temporary thing they’re doing. Like they’re waiting for something. Shellfish can’t survive on the surface for too long. They would be picked off by predators in no time. I don’t want to think about what might want to eat these creatures that bury themselves in the surf. I’m already scared enough. And while I’ve been musing over this strange ecology I’ve also noticed that it has gotten darker in here. The sky is fading and everything is taking on a darker green. I think it’s time to turn back. I don’t want to be here if this place becomes completely dark. The entrance to the tunnel sounds a lot better to me right now.

The Station, Part 15 cont.

2007-04-17T06:50:00.000-05:00

Nothing. No station. She’s just gone. I’m going into a new tunnel then. Wish me luck.

I didn’t even spend much time choosing a tunnel this time. Just found the closest one, placed a beacon, and starting walking. This tunnel’s a bit larger than the last I think. More oval in shape with a higher ceiling. And this one almost immediately started sloping downward. More steep than is really comfortable. It’s going to be a bitch to try and back up here if I have to. Not that there seems to be a reason to anymore. On the plus side, the floor is rougher than the last tunnel, giving me some more needed traction. I’m happy about that. After scaring the shit out of myself back at the non-tree grove, I’ve been on guard more, paying more attention to the topography. I’ve left the outside audio pickups at maximum, and I’ve just started to pick up a hissing sound from up ahead. It comes and goes in a regular sequence as far as I can tell. Kind of like machinery. There’s even the beginning of a faint light. I still need the suit’s light for now, but maybe I’ll be able to shut that down soon.

As you’d expect, the sound is getting louder as I get closer to the source. The light level is increasing as well. To experiment, I’ve shut off my flashlight and it turns out I have enough ambient light to guide me now. And the tunnel’s width just increased by quite a bit…and there’s a lot of light coming from…yes it’s an opening. Gonna put down a beacon before I do anything else…

Incredible. You’re going to think I’ve lost it. Or the oxygen mix in my suit has gotten too high. I don’t care. You can’t answer me anyway. I’m standing on a beach. Beyond the crystalline sand is what I can only describe as an ocean. Above the ocean is a sky. I know, I don’t believe it either. But there it is. More green than what we’re accustomed to, but it has wispy clouds slowly moving toward a horizon line and beyond that, who knows? The hissing sound I heard before is the sound of small waves crashing to shore, which is surprisingly lustrous. Like gemstones. I have some of that sand in my hand now. Up so close, every grain looks like a tiny, polished stone. Like tiny versions of river rock. No hard edges at all. I’ll bet it feels incredibly smooth between bare feet. I’m almost tempted to take off the suit’s boots and try it for myself. The ocean itself is green was well. I can’t tell if that because of the sky or the water itself, but that’s the only thing here that would appear more or less normal on earth. But the light. There’s no obvious source for that. It’s not painfully bright here though. And there are no shadows that I can see. Apparently the light is coming from everywhere. Or perhaps this sky is the light source itself. Everything has a greenish hue about it. It reminds of the air before an intense thunderstorm, when the barometric pressure drops and the wind begins to pick up, that weird time right there, when everything takes on that odd greenish hue. Looks like that here, without the wind. And what is creating the wave action? That implies a current is out there. Is that being generated artificially? No way to know at the moment. Well, I have three choices right now. I can turn left, I can turn right, or I can go back the way I came. The beach seems to stretch along the wall on either side, so, not knowing the size of this new environment, it could go for miles. I can see holes here and there on the wall, which is much more visible now in the odd lighting. Didn’t think to look at it as I came out in here. The sight of the beach and ocean monopolized my attention. Now that it has my attention, I can finally see it in all of its glory. It’s jet black even under the green light. It reached up and up, fading into the sky past my visual range. Going back to eye level to can see that more holes, presumably more tunnels, are dispersed in either direction. Again, some are too high to reached but others I can easily just step up a bit and walk into. I’m going for a walk. I choose…left. Why not? I don’t seem to be getting any closer to finding Frontier. It’ll give me time to think.

The Station, Part 15 cont.

2007-04-16T06:51:00.000-05:00

Are you still receiving? Hope so. I just stepped off something and fell. I’m not hurt. Suit’s fine. I’m just startled. Fell down a small slope. There’s a tree. Well, it looks like a tree. Why is there a tree here? Where’s Frontier? She should be just ahead. Now there’s tree in my way. I don’t understand. It has a trunk, and it’s sprouting some kind of feathery branch-like growths from the top. The truck is odd. Not like wood. More like skin. Wonder what it feels like—whoa! Holy shit! As soon as I touched it, the whole thing shot straight into the ground at lighting speed! That was incredible. My heart’s going a mile a minute. There are more of them. It’s like a grove. Where Frontier should be there’s a bunch of these things. I can see the closest one’s branches swaying very slowly. These branches are opening and closing in a grasping-like fashion. I can see something flitting in and out of the light around the branches. Looks like some kind of insects. They look kike flattened centipedes, translucent and about 15 centimeters long. They’re not really flying, more like drifting, as if they were at the mercy of a current. I guess the air in here isn’t absolutely still like I thought. The tree just caught one of those insect things. Some of the little leaves; tendrils really, are curling around the floating thing. I’m beginning to think that these trees aren’t really trees. They must have been underground when I first got here and popped out after I had left. Maybe my presence disturbed them. But that doesn’t explain the lack of holes in the floor when I was here last, or this slope. There was definitely no slope before. There’s enough space between the non-trees to move through without touching them. I’m going through now.

More non-trees and no sign of Frontier. I’m trying not to lose control. The station has to be here. I only went down the one tunnel. No possibility of making any wrong turns. This is the right chamber. I know it. I’m traveling in a more or less straight direction towards the middle of the chamber. The non-trees are taller here, and somehow look older, more weathered somehow. There are more floating thing sin the air as well. Those centipede-like creatures and more shapes are appearing now. They are look-alikes to moths, jellyfish, and shapes that have no analogue to earth forms that I can think of. All of them are ghostly, transparent and float about aimlessly it appears. Enough sightseeing. Where the hell is Frontier?

Jesus, fuck! Jesus fucking Christ! Where the fuck is she? She’s supposed to be right here Right here! Just more and more tree-things! Where the hell could entire space station go? Goddamn it! Tell me! Somebody tell why I’m being fucked with!

No, I’m not going to lose it. I’m going to calm down and rationalize this. I went down the tunnel, found the glowing mushroom valley and turned right around to find this. This has to be the right chamber. I just changed while I was away. But how? And how could the Frontier be moved? There’s no sign she was ever here. No debris, no disturbances in the ground. It’s like she was lifted out of the crevasse by giant hands and taken to who knows where. Speaking of which, where is the crevasse? Should be here too. It’s just flat, lichen covered ground and the non-trees.

I’m going to search this entire chamber now. Make one search thorough search then I’m off. Look for any sign of where Frontier might have gone. I only have so much air, food and water. If she’s not in here, I might be in some serious trouble. Can’t waste time walking in circles. I’ll have to try another tunnel. The last one ended in more or less a dead for me. Unless I learn how to fly that chamber is off limits. There’s a lot of choices. Dozens in fact. More if I, again, learned how to fly. I’ll pick one at random, leave a beacon. I’m so glad I brought these little wonders with me. I have about twenty of them. That should be more than enough. It’s not like I have chalk to draw arrows with. Although that would be very useful right about now.

Nothing. No station. She’s just gone. I’m going into a new tunnel then. Wish me luck.

The Station, Part 15 cont.

2007-04-13T06:53:00.000-05:00

Another sound, different. Somewhere above. Up near the roof of the valley. It’s gone now. A quick rustling. It’s far too high for me to make anything out except for what looks like mist or fog. Hell for all I know it could be rain clouds for the mushroom things. Of all things, the very first life outside found the earth is a glowing toadstool. I’m assuming they’re alive. They could be strange mineral formations or something. Yes, I definitely heard something up there now, above or inside that mist stuff. A raspy rustle. Don’t know if I like this. Can’t see anything up there. Maybe I should get a move on. Can’t see a way down into the valley. Perhaps I should take that as a sign to head back to the station. I’ll try another tunnel tomorrow. The beacon signal is still going strong. Like I need it as it’s a straight shot back out of here, but it’s still a comfort knowing it’s waiting for me at the other end.

Maybe it’s just me, but the tunnel doesn’t seem to have the downward incline that I thought it would. Guess I’m more tired than I thought. It feels more even than it should, but inside it’s obviously no different. Same smooth dark wall and floor. At least I didn’t eat any of the rations or use much of the water either. And the water is recyclable, you know what I mean. Beacon’s still going. No problem there, just a little further…I keep thinking about those fungi-like things. I don’t want to jump to conclusions about them, but I saw them. They looked very alive, not carved from windblown rock or grown like a stalagmite from mineral deposits. Organic is what I’m trying to say. What rock makes noise anyway? And the noises from the mist enshrouded roof, what about them? I’ll sleep on it after a shower descent meal—there’s the beacon. Hey, where are Frontier’s navigation lights? Where are the goddamn lights?! Calm yourself, Bradley. Not the end of the world, yet, soldier. Probably a glitch in the power distribution system. Frontier is straight ahead, you know that.

I’m shutting the beacon down. I’ll recharge it tonight. Not that it needs it. These things will last for weeks, but always, always leave the station with everything at full charge, right? It is in the regulations book. Well, the sooner I get my ass moving, the sooner I can eat.

Wait a minute. Just wait one damn minute. What is that? I gonna stop talking for a minute. Listening…

There’s a pulse. A throbbing sound. Sounds like it’s coming from everywhere at once. No, not exactly a sound. I can sort of…feel it. Like the feeling you get from extremely low base. But there is something audible about it. Nothing looks different, but it’s too damn dark to see much clearly except for….the floor. The floor is different. It’s still smooth, but there a new texture to it. I’m bending down to take a closer look. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this stuff was algae or lichen. It’s all around. How could I have missed this before? I’m going to take a sample.

I really don’t know what I’m going to do with it. I don’t think there’s a single microscope on board. Guess I’ll just store the sample in—SHIT!

The Station, Part 15 cont.

2007-04-12T06:32:00.000-05:00

18/6/2207 con’t.

Wondering where I’ve been? Thought I lost my nerve and decided to stay home? I hope you have more confidence in me than that. No, I just made the walk to the wall with my mouth shut and just listened. On the way all I heard was the sound of my own breathing and footsteps. About halfway there I stopped for a few minutes. I even held my breath for a few moments and just took in the absolute silence. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place with no sound like this. It’s the sound of the dead. Briefly took my morale down a notch. I dumped that thought and made my way here. Where’s here you ask? I’m right in front of the wall. Well, more like five meters away. Let’s not get too technical right now. Now it’s a guessing game. This is where I find out about how long I will be outside. All these opening look the same to me. Most are out of reach, but that still leaves a generous choice of paths to take. Let’s see, how should I do this? Eeny meeny miney mo. Yup, very scientific. Or, how about the one directly ahead? It’s just about a half a meter above the floor. Easy to get into. I like convenience. Here we go. And I’m not gonna look back at Frontier. Yes, of course I’m lying. I’ve looked back twice already. Can’t fool you.

Didn’t think it was possible, but it may be even darker in here. Fortunately the tunnel is high enough for me to stand up in with headroom to spare. I’m touching the sides again. Smooth. No sharp edges at all. But before I go further, I’m placing a beacon at the mouth of the opening. The first of my breadcrumbs. Hope I won’t really need it. Beacon placed. Now, let’s do some exploring.

I’m looking up ahead and I can see that the tunnel goes in a more or less straight line path for a ways. I’m making my way through now. Sound is muffled in here. My footsteps aren’t nearly as jarring. Starting to slope upward a bit now. No change in the tunnel size or texture. Hope this doesn’t get too steep or I’m going to have to turn back. The suit isn’t designed for this. Now if things went zero g all of a sudden, that would make the suit happy. Alright, we’re leveling out again. Rather anticlimactic, I know. Remember, I’m just the messenger people. Debating whether I should place another beacon, but I have only so many of those. And I’m still getting strong signal from the first one. Okay, I’ll save the next beacon drop for later. Hmm. Tunnel’s sloping slightly up again. Wonder what causes that.
I’m huffing and puffing a bit now. Suit’s not too heavy, but it does work against you in gravity. The tunnel’s slope lasted longer this time. Gonna need a break soon. Don’t want to needlessly exhaust myself. Taking a breather and water break. Wonder if anybody else feels like a hamster when they drink from the suit’s helmet tube.

Sitting down and looking down the tunnel I can see that the sloping continues past where my light penetrates. The good news is the way back is going to be a snap. I could practically roll my way down. This occurred to me: Since starting out, there has been no sign of a deviation in direction, no side passages and no change in size. It’s all very precise. Not knowing exactly what the surrounding material is makes it hard to guess at what it would take to shape this tunnel. Non expert that I am, I would think that even modern drilling machinery would have a time cutting through this stuff. Well, enough random thoughts for now. I’m feeling rested. Come on feet, let’s get going. I’ll get back to you when something changes. Right now I think I should talk a little less and concentrate my energy on walking. I’ll pipe back up if something changes. Bradley out for now.

Bradley here. The tunnel has ended. I’m in another….crap, I don’t know what to call it. A valley? It’s narrow. It has a gradual curve to it like a crescent moon. That’s what I can see from my vantage point. I must be oh…fifty meters above it. And there are colors down there. Glows in a myriad of colors. No discernable order to it. It’s providing a good amount of psychedelic looking light to the place. I’ve turned up the suit’s ambient audio pickups to maximum. I’m listening….yes, I’m not imagining it. There’s something making sounds down there. My pulse is going a mile a minute now. Gotta calm it down, Bradley. Take a breath. Damn, I wish I could send in a sound file to you. You should hear this. Fuck, it reminds me of whalesong. The valley walls below might be amplifying it like the chamber holding Frontier does. There. Yes. Almost like a young woman singing. That’s in there, too. Turning up my visual pickups. What’s down there… Huh. They don’t even look real. Like a fantasy painting. Reds, blue, oranges, green, purples, all bright colors. Like giant mushrooms. Roughly uniform in size. Most are round, others are much narrower. They’re all absolutely still as far as I can tell. The tops of the larger rounded ones have some kind of pale bumpy protrusions on their tops, something like pimples. Not a very elegant way to put it but that’s what came to mind. Are these…creatures…are they making the sounds? Enhancing the image more…yes. Covering the entire valley floor. Some of them must be huge. Would you believe it? Giant mushrooms. Incredible...I would love to get a first hand look at them, but I don’t see an obvious way to get down there, not without some serious climbing gear. And I don’t have any of—

The Station, Part 15

2007-04-11T06:58:00.000-05:00

18/6/2207

I don’t know if I can pack any more gear. Fortunately, I’m in good shape and all together the equipment will be a manageable weight. I’ve got the signal booster pack, flashlights, miniature beacons, medical kit, food and water for three days and most important of all, the portable sensor which will map my progress as well as keep a permanent fix on Frontier in case I get turned around in one of these tunnels. This could be a really short trip, or it could be the first part of a much longer one. I have no idea. These tunnels may go fifty feet, or fifty miles. If they’re more like the latter, well, I only can only carry so much food and water. I’m talking like I’m actually excited about this. More like scared shitless. What I really want right now is a damn gun. It would just feel good to have some solid protection with me. Hell, I thought of bringing just a good old fashioned wrench along. Not a very effective weapon but the psychological effect would help. Something heavy and solid in my hands that can do damage. For the caveman in me you know. But there’s only so much I can carry, and I don’t want first contact to involve a bludgeoning. I’ll forgo the wrench. I’ll be leaving in about an hour. I want to make some final checks to the excursion suit because no matter how good the air out there may be, it’s still an alien atmosphere. The good news is technology now allows us astronauts access to oxygen packs that can last a week. I don’t know how many lives have been saved by these little wonders. I remember that starliner incident from five years ago. There were what, three hundred people involved? The ‘liner had been equipped with a bunch of these newer O2 packs. For something like two days, these people lived on these tanks until a rescue vessel finally reached them. Only three people died and those deaths had been caused by the initial engine failure that caused the accident. Had this happened a few years before, a lot more people would have died. And that was the incident that altered the spaceline routes, too, remember? That’s all it takes sometimes, just one tragedy to get the rules to change. Takes longer to get to the Outer Colonies now, but at least it’s safer.

Enough chit chat about recent history, and let’s get this show on the road, shall we? But first, one good meal and a shit and then I’m going hiking. Did I say that out loud?

The Station, Part 14

2007-04-10T06:33:00.000-05:00

17/6/2207

I ought to kick myself. I’m such an amateur about this. Really ironic. The guy who’s in charge of a space station trying to contact extraterrestrial life has no idea what to do. We, I was expecting a signal. A goddamn signal for crying out loud! There’s no signal here. No pattern of noise for me and the computer to ponder over. It’s so freaking silent outside I want to scream and bring out whatever’s got me stuck here. Why am I here? Why?

Sorry, just getting frustrated. I know what I have to do. I just don’t want to do it. I really don’t. Fuck, I don’t even want to say it. But I will. I’ll fucking say it. I need to explore the tunnels. I need to go into them and see where they go. How else will I get out of here? If there is a way out. How else am I going to find out what this leviathan really is? I need to think and prepare for it. This time I’m bringing more equipment. I’ll take sampling equipment and I am sure as hell taking along a portable signal booster. If nothing else, I’m going to find a way to get a mayday to the outside. I may have been successful with that already, but I want to be damn sure that I see with my own eyes that signal go out.

The Station, Part 13 cont.

2007-04-09T07:04:00.000-05:00

Okay, enough of that. Back on task, Bradley. I’m taking a short walk along the wall and I’m seeing more of the same. More of that strange texture and more holes. These ho9les are roughly uniform in shape and size, some are low enough that if I boost myself up, I can get into it. With a ladder I can reach a few more. But the majority of holes are far too high to reach. I’m looking into one of those opening right now. The sides are surprisingly smooth, like polished obsidian. I just ran my hand along it and felt a slightly wavy texture. Very smooth. No bumps or holes or ridges that I can find. Looking inside it seems to hold a horizontal path for maybe….25 meters before it slopes upward. At least that’s what it looks like. Part of me wants to take a walk down this tunnel but there’s another part of me that is screaming FOUL at the same time. I think I’ll defer to that latter side of my psyche for now and continue to explore the outer side.

I’ve left the tunnel entrance and now walking alongside the wall. I’m finding more of these tunnels. They’re all still about the same side and shape and most of them are out of reach. If there wasn’t gravity here, I could’ve really used one of the repair pods in the station’s hanger. But they’re zero g craft only. Just small ion pulse drives and maneuvering jets. What I could really use is somebody to watch my back. I know I’m probably being paranoid about this, but wouldn’t you be? I’m inside some form of extrasolar structure, with no apparent way out and nobody to discuss this with. The silence of this place is really unnerving, so I’m going to keep talking to not try and go insane from it.

Walking and talking does seem to help. On the first day when this…event happened, I was speechless. Nothing made sense. I went about my business as usual, everything checking out and then the darkness surrounded Frontier. It was so unreal. I had nothing to say. I just started going from viewport to viewport, hoping like a fool that my eyes were playing tricks on me or that this was some really bad practical joke dreamed up by bored personnel at Command Central. But I really knew all of that was pure bullshit. Sorry. Please excuse the French. The memories are still very fresh. But really, I’m not feeling the anger right now. I don’t feel the sense of abandonment I had when no one answered my repeated hails. In my moment of panic I had no idea the signals weren’t penetrating the rock, or whatever substance this thing is made out of. It must have approached at some incredible speed, and know that I’ve replayed the event in my mind several hundred times over, I think that whatever I’m inside, it’s likely impervious to our standard scanning technology. I mean really, if this had been a normal stellar body like an asteroid or comet, the proximity sensors would have been screaming long before it got anywhere near to Frontier. If there had been that danger of collision, I would have had plenty of time to fire up the thrusters and get of the way. So Central never saw and Frontier never saw it either. Was it just the nature of the thing’s makeup, or a deliberate masking of itself? No way to know right now. What really bothers me though, is not that none of us saw it before now, but the how the hell did the station wind up inside this structure? There are no openings that I see find aside from the roughly man sized holes. Nothing that would accept an object the size of Frontier.

I’m not seeing a lot a variation here, much more like a variation on a theme. The room has a lot in common with the cathedrals of antiquity. Those places were people used to go find answers to their worldly problems. The history texts said they used to find solace and comfort in knowing their God was there for them in these places.

Not that I find any solace or comfort here. No, it’s more like this place is grand and meant to awe those who visit it into thinking that a great and mighty power resides here. That’s what I think this place might be meant to do. Well, if that’s the intent, well, hell it’s sure working like a charm on this soldier. But is it for me specifically? That would be highly presumptuous of me now, wouldn’t it? I mean, really, do I really think this whole event was designed to impress one particular individual? No, not really. Assuming this has a purpose and isn’t some purely natural phenomenon, it’s not meant for one naval particular lieutenant. It’s more like it’s meant for whoever sent out the signal. One source is what matters. The sender is irrelevant.
Listen to me, I’m rambling. I’m doing nothing but speculating here, without really giving you real events as they happen. Admittedly, not a lot is happening. I’m continuing my walk around the inner wall and seeing those hole and other formations I have already mentioned. I think it’s time I went back to the Frontier and gather my thoughts about what I’ve seen.

The Station, Part 13

2007-04-06T06:51:00.000-05:00

16/6/2207

I’m suited up. I’ve checked and rechecked every seal and every sensor. I want nothing out there to get past me. And I’ve triple checked the headlamp that’s built into the helmet. I’m bringing along an extra handheld flashlight, just in case. The helmet microphone is working apparently as I see my speech is being transcribed in real time by the suits translation program. Good. I’m not about the try and type using the portable keyboard. These gloves are not coming off. I don’t care what the sensors tell me about there being nothing harmful in the air. And just on the one-in-a-million chance, I’m sending real-time visual feed out too. Maybe you all will have one hell of a movie night. It’s pitch black out there, and even with the station’s navigation lights still active I want to be sure that if I turn down a dark bend in this Leviathan, I’ve got light all the time. Forgot to tell you earlier, that’s what I’ve name it. Leviathan. After the whale that swallowed Jonah. At least I think that’s what it was called. I’m not well versed in Biblical myths so forgive me if I’ve gotten that wrong. Not that you or anyone else really cares about that stuff anymore. But I couldn’t just keep calling it “it” or the “thing”. Think that’s appropriate.

I’m walking to the airlock now. Can’t say I’m looking forward to this, but what else am I going to do? Maybe I should wait to you guys and then we can form a proper exploration team, but by then I think I might have gone stir crazy. What would you do? I mean, this is the whole reason I’m out here right? Discovering intelligent life and all. Listen to me, talking as if I’ve already found something. (laughter) Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but hell, it’s better than thinking about being a full-grown man pissing into the excursion suit diaper is just ridiculously funny.

Okay, I’m at the airlock now. Opening outer door and going inside. Haven’t seen this part of the station since coming aboard. Seems like a million years ago now. Could use some knick knacks or something. Pressurizing now…and…opening outer airlock hatch.

Okay. And now…drum roll please…I’m stepping out. Wow! Did you hear that? No, wait. Sorry. Of course you didn’t. You’re reading. I’m talking to you like you’re listening. When I put my boot down, there was one hell of an echo. Scared the shit out of me. I should have thought of it before. This place is acting like a gigantic sound board, bouncing sound all over the place. It’s not a vacuum in here by any means. I’m going to tread lightly from here on out. That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind. Heh. You knew it was coming. Speaking of stepping, the ground, for lack of a better word right now, is just as black as everything else, smooth, with rippling that makes be think it’s volcanic in origin. Hey, is there a geologist in the house?

So, where to from here? If you can’t see what I see right now, I’ve trained the helmet light straight ahead away from Frontier and towards the far wall. I’m activating the suit’s visual enhancements and getting some magnification. The far wall looks much like the ground, except there’s a series of ovoid dark patches that are irregularly spaced apart. Can’t tell much else about them right now. I’m walking now. Damn that’s still a loud echo and I’m practically tiptoeing. Hey, I just realized I’ve never looked up. Heh. My light only stretches so far. Too dark. Nothing to see. Moving on.

The ground is sloping upwards slightly. But not so much that walking’s still relatively easy. Which is good, because as efficiently designed as this suit is, it’s not at all meant for mountain climbing.

I’m approaching the far wall now, and I can make out more details. There’s a somewhat different texture to it, like it was molded or something, kinda like how they used to make walls in homes and other buildings in the days before nanocrete. It’s not all that uniform as I see large patches that looks like they were applied with a huge brush, other places appear to be completely smooth. I need to get closer.

It is so quiet in the here. My audio pickups to turned up to maximum and I other than my own speech and the footsteps, there is nothing else. It’s like the whole world is asleep and I’ve gotten up way too early. It reminds me of a time when my parents took me to a cave back home on Earth. We had shuttled over to a small nature preserve near his hometown in Florida. What was called again. Habana? No, Havana. Yeah, that was it. Knew it was a Spanish sounding name. Anyway, he took me to this cave in Havana, Florida. A tour guide took us down into this cave and it was so quiet. It was the middle of the day, and down there it might as well have been midnight. To demonstrate how absolutely dark it was in this cave, he shut down all the artificial illumination in this one room, and the since that day, I’ve never seen darkness that complete. And the other people on the tour must have been just as impressed as me, because nobody talked. All you could hear was their breathing. I thought then, what if you didn’t have any light with you, how could you ever find your way out of a place like that? I guess you didn’t. That’s what’s it’s like in here. Except I’m not turned my light out to see just how dark it can get.

I’m just a few feet from the wall now, and it’s not exactly what I expected. Those dark pock marks I might have mentioned earlier are actually holes, oval and about ten feet in height. The walls look like cooled molten rock similar to the floor, but the texture is certainly different. More like a sculptor’s interpretation of what molten rock should look like. I know that’s probably hard to imagine from your vantage point out there, but I have no idea what you see on your side. Uh…think of black clay being smoothed by hand, and I think you get the picture.

I just turned around and looked back at Frontier. She just a faint whiteness out there with her nav lights blinking on and off in their normal pattern. If, God forbid, I loose both of my lights, I can at least use the green, white and red coming off her hull to find my way back. You just keep on blinking there, girl.

The Station, Part 12

2007-04-05T07:31:00.001-05:00

15/6/2207

I’m going to do it. I’ve thought about it and gotten the shakes. Stopped thinking, got the shakes under control and then thought about again. Less shaking this time. I took more readings before I bunked down. Nothing new to report. So I’ve decided to open the airlock. With a excursion suit on. Atmosphere or no, I’m taking no changes. Could be exobacteria or some other nasty out there that sensors can’t detect. Life signs. On the outside chance that these messages are actually getting outside and you are receiving and reading them, I’ll keep on transmitting via the in-suit comm. unit. I’ll be relayed to the station first of course, and then the signal will be boosted before being sent out. Just keep reading and please find a way in. I’d much rather not be doing this alone. I plan to start my walk tomorrow morning (assuming my nerves don’t get the better of me) I’ll be making another transmission then to let you know. Bradley out.

The Station, Part 11

2007-04-04T06:50:00.000-05:00

14/6/2207

I think I have learned all I can from here. Just out of morbid curiosity I’ve gone to the main hatch, which (and this can’t be pure chance) sits right above the floor of the object. I stood at the door, pondering whether if I opened it what would be the last thing I saw. The last thing I smelled. Oh, don’t think I’m suicidal. Not even close. I’m scared, but I want to get out of this. But I also want to know what has happened to me. I just had those thoughts as I stood at the hatch, knowing that six inches of alloy and a pocket of atmosphere separated me from whatever lay out outside in that darkness.

I’m back in the main control room now though, taking reading right now. The results show an atmosphere out there. I think there’s gravity as well. There is a particle density that rivals that of computer clean rooms in there. But there an oxygen/nitrogen mix that I could breathe. Some trace gases as well. It’s not Earth air, but damn close. Absolutely no air currents. And dead quiet. I’d say I’m feeling some more fear now, but it’s mixed with a growing excitement. I really didn’t think that would happen. Where the fuck am I?