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.

The Station, Part 38 cont.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.