Bridgers 3_The Voice of Reason

by Stan C. Smith

  He looked around, startled. He was in a darkened room. Light from a streetlamp entered through window blinds to his right. Red numbers on a digital clock glowed on a dresser to his left, reading 5:16 AM. He was lying in a bed. He had never seen this bed, but somehow he knew it was his. And the woman sleeping beside him was his wife. He’d met her in college and had married her seven years ago. Her name was Jess, and their three-year-old, Emma, was in the bedroom on the other side of the hall. He loved them both dearly, and a feeling of contentment swelled within him as he realized he’d been having a disturbing nightmare.

  The bedroom disappeared suddenly.

  Desmond looked around again, and again he found himself in bed in a darkened room. A different clock was visible, this one on the opposite side of the room. It said 5:16 AM. A warm, salty breeze drifted in through an open window.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” The voice came from a woman beside him. Her name was Marta. They’d met when he was on a study trip to Costa Rica, and he had moved from the U.S. to be with her. They’d been living together here at the south end of Playa Hermosa for almost three years.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Just a bad dream, I think.”

  The room disappeared.

  Desmond was staring at a television that was silently playing an old episode of Lost. A radio was on somewhere, with several people talking about earthquakes, rising death tolls, and a government that didn’t seem to care. Desmond’s left hand held a yellow plastic cup with ice and a few remaining sips of Jim Beam, but he knew the half-empty bottle was waiting for him on the counter in the kitchen. He touched his phone to check the time—5:16 AM. He’d been up all night. One last good bender. And why the hell not? He was going to die soon. And it wasn’t like he gave a shit about his job. He looked down at the table in front of him. Between an unfinished plate of spaghetti and the TV remote with dead batteries was his Ruger LCP .380 pistol. Tonight was the night he’d finally use it to put an end to all this. To hell with waiting for the world to implode. But first he’d have another drink.

  The TV, table, and pistol disappeared, along with the racking despair.

  Desmond was in his bunk room at SafeTrek. He was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, staring at his phone on the floor in front of him. Glowing numbers on the phone said 5:16 AM. He’d placed it there as a focal point. Weeks ago, Infinity had tried to teach him the meditative state called Mokuso. But now he was having trouble focusing. His chest heaved involuntarily a few times, and he had to close his eyes to fight off a full-blown sob session. If Infinity were here, she’d have kicked his ass for letting his emotions get in the way.

  He opened his eyes and tried focusing on the phone again. But images of Infinity’s last seconds kept pushing themselves back into his head. She had only been dead a week. They’d thought the destination world was reasonably safe, and more than half the refugees had already arrived, almost four hundred. Then out of nowhere the creatures had come. Hundreds of them. Winged animals with fur, like bats but with talons and teeth for tearing flesh. Infinity had simply been in the wrong place, standing before the refugees, giving a pep talk on something Desmond couldn’t even remember. The first wave of creatures had dropped straight down on top of her, and the rest had gone for the nearest refugees. Within seconds, over a hundred of the refugees had been ripped to shreds.

  Desmond couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t care that Infinity would disapprove—he broke down and allowed his sobs to take over.

  The bunk room disappeared.

  Desmond opened his eyes to new surroundings. And to the sounds of two inmates arguing. One was babbling about his right to eat his meals in peace. He might have been referring to the meals he ate here in the chow hall or to the ones he ate in the imaginary fairyland of his demented head. Desmond didn’t know and didn’t care. The other guy, his cell mate, was telling him to shut up or he’d bust the guy’s head against the wall.

  Desmond rolled to his side and put his arm over his ear. Lights-on came at 6:00 AM—365 days of the goddamn year. And this babbling halfwit was waking everyone at forty-five minutes till? The guy was apparently suicidal.

  Desmond’s mind started to wander. He knew that only idiots spent time thinking of how much time they had left, but that’s where Desmond’s thoughts went whenever he couldn’t sleep. Six years. Six years until he’d be up for parole. And then what? A job loading boxes on trucks or cleaning toilets? He balled up his fist and pounded his own forehead, trying to drive these thoughts out of his head.

  The cell and arguing inmates disappeared.

  A new scenario appeared, lingered briefly, and then disappeared, followed by another scenario, and another, and on and on. In each, Desmond found himself in his own body but living as a different version of himself. In one scenario, he was crying in a darkened hospital room, questioning why he, of all people, had developed colon cancer at such a young age. Then in another scenario, he awoke to see a wheelchair beside his bed, and within seconds he remembered that a distracted driver had taken both his legs when he had been only seventeen. One unfamiliar version of himself after another. There were numerous versions where he was lying in bed alone, and even more versions where a wife or girlfriend was sleeping beside him. In some scenarios, bridging technology had been discovered, and Earth was dying. In others, humans had never even discovered the Outlanders’ radio signal.

  Some of his lives were desperately lonely, while others were full of loved ones. Some were bitter and filled with thoughts of violence, while others were at peace with the world. A lifetime of accumulated memories, both good and bad, accompanied each scenario, flooding Desmond’s consciousness with layers of thoughts and emotions, only to disappear and be replaced in the next scenario. Again and again.

  Abruptly, Desmond was back in the mongrels’ bubble, sucking oxygenated fluid into his lungs. He had no idea how much time had passed, although in many of the hundreds of scenarios he’d experienced, he had been aware that the time was 5:16 AM. Was it possible that all of this could have happened in less than a minute?

  “Better now, for you and for us,” the mongrel voice said. “Now you know—and we know—who you are, who you ain’t, who you wish to be, and who you fear becomin’.”

  Desmond’s mind was still reeling from the sensory and emotional onslaught. He tried forming words in his mind. “What was that? Why?”

  “We reckon it’s easier talking to folks when we understand who they are and who they ain’t. Acquainting you with variants of yourself does the trick without a hitch, as we can learn much from your cogitations regarding each variant.”

  “Those were actual alternate versions of me? Did I just travel to all those alternate universes?”

  “The particulars ain’t important. We now know from whence you came. And we know who you ain’t. What we don’t know is what to do with you and your herd.”

  Desmond tried to focus his thoughts. This was his chance. He had to convince the mongrels to provide for the colonists. He closed his eyes and concentrated. “That is why I wanted to talk to you. I have a proposal for you.”

  “Speak your piece.”

  Desmond considered how to begin. “I understand that you came here in the same way I did, by bridging from another version of this world.”

  “You’re correct.”

  “And I understand that you destroyed the cities and roads and houses. You destroyed everything.”

  “You’re mistaken. We destroyed nothing. This world suffered ruinous disfigurements. We transmogrified said disfigurements into elements more suited to the natural state of the land.”

  “Millions of people lived in those cities.”

  “Yes, but the land don’t accommodate herds of such unnatural size. Them folks were needed to replace valuable fertile elements of the soil. They are now in a form more fruitful to the land’s natural abundance.”

  The stark matter-of-factness of these words threw off Desmond’s concentration. These creatures apparently didn’t
blink at the thought of converting millions of people into fertilizer. The colony’s prospects were starting to look hopeless.

  “Your herd ain’t suited to the natural state of this land,” the voice said.

  Desmond knew that his next words might determine the colony’s fate. “That’s what I’d like to discuss with you. It is important to you to observe the creatures of this world in their natural state, is it not?”

  “You’re correct.”

  “I understand. I, too, like to observe creatures in this way. But I want to inform you that you are missing out on observing one of this world’s most fascinating creatures. Humans.”

  “We accommodate human herds.”

  “Yes, but reducing them to herds doesn’t allow you to observe the most fascinating aspects of human behavior. I want to tell you a story I think you’ll like. On this world, during the last million years, numerous species of human-like creatures existed at the same time. They were all different, each species having different diets and behaviors. My species—humans—appeared about two hundred thousand years ago. At first, humans were similar in many ways to the other human-like species. In fact, we even interbred with some of the other species. But as time passed, certain aspects of humans’ brains allowed us to develop language and complex social relationships that made the species highly adaptable to a variety of conditions. In fact, these social relationships are a product of the process of adaptation that shapes all creatures living in their natural states.”

  The mongrels were silent. Good—Desmond had their attention. He continued. “These relationships gradually became even more complex, with each member of a herd contributing to the herd’s well-being in a different way. One of the most amazing aspects of human herds in their natural state is that certain humans are responsible for teaching the other members of the herd. Other species teach their young, but not like us, not by designating certain individuals for that specific task. Once humans began doing that, their advancement and social relationships evolved in new, even more fascinating, directions.” Desmond paused. “Do you understand my story?”

  After a moment, the voice said. “We understand your words. We don’t understand why you prattle on about such things.”

  “I’m explaining that you are missing out on observing one of the most interesting creatures of this world in their natural state. You think you are restoring things to their natural order, but you aren’t. You aren’t allowing humans to behave in natural ways. Instead, you’re making them pretend to be something unnatural. You’re making them much less interesting than they could be. So I have a proposal for you.”

  “Perhaps you would care to make your proposal soon?”

  Desmond hesitated. He had assumed the mongrels had learned to speak English from the local humans, but he hadn’t expected sarcasm. “Okay, here’s my proposal. I would like you to see that you have an amazing opportunity to observe humans in their real natural state. This is an opportunity you’ve never had before. And it’s an opportunity the others of your kind do not have. Only you, in this specific bailiwick, have this opportunity.”

  “Stop prattling and spit it out.”

  “I propose that you take advantage of this opportunity by allowing my herd to interact with the herd of your bailiwick. My herd is from a different version of this world. This is why you, and you alone, have the opportunity to observe what I’m proposing. My people are highly skilled at social interactions and forming relationships that benefit an entire herd. They can teach your humans to do what you have forced them to forget—to behave the way humans behave in their natural state. You can observe this phenomenon from the beginning. I think you’ll find it fascinating, because I think that you are like me—you are lovers of all things natural.”

  Several seconds passed in silence. Finally, the voice said. “That’s a proposal worth chewing on. Problem is, if we abide such behaviors, soon the herd will take up practices that ain’t good for the natural state of the land. And then where will we be? Smack dab in the midst of where we started.”

  “But that’s where you’re wrong,” Desmond contended. “Can I tell you another story? I’ll keep it brief.”

  “Proceed.”

  “On my version of this world, some people realized we had reached a critical point at which we were destroying the natural state of the planet: pollution, overpopulation, habitat destruction, and loss of biodiversity. Those of us who truly understood that this was happening worked hard to come up with ways to live without destroying the natural state of the land. We devised ways to live comfortably without overusing natural resources, by becoming stewards of the land. We built domiciles that existed side by side with native plants and creatures. We figured out how people could live in close proximity to each other, benefiting from the complex interactions humans need, without destroying natural resources. And we learned the best ways to teach this knowledge to others.

  “The problem was, many other people simply didn’t listen. Too many people were indifferent to these teachings, focused instead on gaining power and wealth. Or perhaps they simply failed to see an obvious benefit to changing their ways. But here, this world, the people of your herd will listen. They will not be indifferent. And they will see an obvious benefit to changing their ways. Because their lives depend upon it.

  “My people can teach these things to your humans. This is what humans do when allowed to live in their natural state. I am requesting that you allow this to happen by providing sustenance to my herd and your herd as they learn together how to sustain themselves in ways that comply with your standards. Do this, and you will get to observe marvelous things.”

  That was it, the best argument Desmond could come up with. The mongrels would either accept it or reject it. The colony’s fate would hinge on this moment.

  After a few seconds, the voice spoke. “You’ve said a mouthful, no doubt about it. Now we’ve got a proposal for you.”

  For a moment, Desmond was frozen by fear. Finally, he said, “I’m listening.”

  “We’ll entertain your proposal, but first you and your herd gotta prove you can do what you claim. Come feeding time, which ain’t long from now, you must convince the herd of this bailiwick to go along with your clever plan. If they agree, then we’ll accept your proposal. That there alone will make for fascinating amusement.”

  “All we have to do is convince your herd to do this? And then you’ll provide sustenance for both herds combined?”

  “You’re correct. Such deliberations between the herds should be revealing, as your bearing and conduct will bespeak your aptness in achieving what you’ve promised.”

  Desmond felt overwhelmed with disbelief. His plan had actually worked? He hadn’t dared to think much beyond this moment.

  One other important detail came to him. “Will you please allow our herds to speak aloud in your presence, so that my group can have a chance to convince the herd to agree?”

  “We’ll allow it.”

  Seriously? Was it really going to be this easy? Desmond took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with fluid, and forced it back out. This had the same effect as a breath of fresh air, helping him to relax slightly. He decided to push his luck and see if he could learn more. “I’m grateful for this, but since you now seem to know a lot about me, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?”

  “Proceed.”

  “I told you before that our world is dying. It’s collapsing in on itself due to strange, unexpected particles created by an alien bridging machinery.”

  “Yet you’re still using said machinery.”

  “Yes, because we know the process has gone too far and cannot be reversed. Now we’re using the bridging devices to move as many of our people as possible to alternate versions of our world. It’s the only way we can save our species.”

  “Perhaps you should be moving the nonhuman critters of your world instead, as they are not guilty of destroying your world.”

  Desmond hadn’t expected th
is response. “Well,” he said, “in our world, we value human lives above the lives of nonhuman animals. Just as you seem to value your own lives over the lives of the humans who live here.”

  The mongrels didn’t reply to this.

  “Anyway, I wanted to ask you, did you come to this world for the same reason? Was your home world destroyed by the bridging machinery?”

  “No.”

  “But you were using the bridging machinery—didn’t the particles it emitted start consuming the core of your planet?”

  “No.”

  Desmond waited for an explanation.

  “Our bridging machinery does not produce the particles you speak of,” the voice said.

  How was that possible? Desmond frowned. “You can use your bridging devices without damaging your home planet?”

  “Yes.”

  A horrifying thought occurred to him. “We believe that the civilization that sent instructions for bridging machinery did so with the intention of destroying other worlds. We call that civilization the Outlanders.” Desmond paused.

  “Is this a question?”

  He swallowed some of the fluid. “Are you the Outlanders?”

  Several seconds of silence.

  “No. We learned of bridging machinery as you did, by receiving instructions.”

  “Then how did you use it without destroying your world?”

  “We studied the instructions and ascertained the key.”

  “The key?”

  “The bridging machinery’s key lies within the instructions, for those pertinacious enough to ferret it out. This allows certain civilizations to use the bridging machinery without spiteful consequences. Those civilizations unable to ferret out the key… well, fate befalls them. It’s a rather grand approach to thinning the herd.”

  Desmond struggled to comprehend the enormity of this. There was a key? The calculated cruelty of it all was staggering.

  “Your human companion is making a nuisance of itself.”

  Desmond swiveled and squinted at the bubble’s outer membrane. He saw a blurry shape just outside the membrane, either waving its arms or striking the bubble. “That’s Infinity. She’s probably worried about me. Please don’t hurt her.”