The Station, Part 43

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.