The Station, Part 54

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

The Station, Part 53

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

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

The Station, Part 52

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 51

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 50

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 49

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 48

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

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

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