The Station, Part 77

EPILOGUE:

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 76

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 75

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 74

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 73

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 72

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

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

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

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

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

The Station, Part 71

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

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

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