Orb

by Gary Tarulli

  Kelly hugged and kissed them both.

  From Kyle, I received a bewildered look when I said, “We have to know. Kyle! Bark!”

  It was Thompson, laughing with us, who said, “Give it up. He wasn’t taught that!”

  Imagining the Unimaginable

  IN THE PEREGRINATION of human experience, objective reality remains an elusive destination: Although what reaches our senses is incomplete, it is never-the-less assimilated and, with bias, judged.

  I claimed no immunity from bias when embarking on this journey. From the start, I never purported to be other than an honest first filter chronicling what were to be the remarkable, indeed the hard-to-believe, events of this mission. In this light, the relative merit (for more can never be asserted) of my accounting can best be evaluated when placed in context with what I have revealed about myself. For this reason there are passages within the body of this work that are of a personal nature.

  I may have earned your confidence. You may even choose to believe me when I herein write that on a worktable there did lay an empty juice container that I judged to be metallic silver. But if I compound the problem, if my description of the container color were to unexpectedly stray from the norm (perhaps the color faded in the light of the blue sun), your acceptance may not necessarily follow.

  In this uncertainty, I can only endeavor not to let words form an additional barrier between you and me.

  But what if the artificial construct we’ve accepted as reality completely breaks down; what if it disintegrates to become altogether indistinguishable from imagination and dreams?

  What then?

  Then, if we temporarily suspend disbelief, we together take one small step on a journey to understand something other than ourselves.

  We take one small step to understanding the Orb.

  In truth, there is no other way for you to accept the following.

  Summary of Verbal Report Submitted to Mission Leader Bruce Thompson and the Crew of Desio:

  My vision briefly pixilated and, in the blink of an eye, Angie and I passed through, and into, the Orb. I chose to remain seated. There was very little room to stand. Angie stayed calm and alert.

  A feeling of tension succumbed to one of mild elation.

  Encompassing and confining us was the unexpectedly transparent concavity of the Orb. I waved, signaling that we were unharmed. No response. I could only assume the entity was using its remarkable command of molecular manipulation to maintain an outwardly opaque appearance.

  Without forewarning, the Orb began enlarging, uniformly expanding several meters outward; simultaneously, there was rapid lateral movement. I expected to feel more apprehensive as I watched the shoreline and my crewmates recede, then disappear, into the distance.

  What was inside the Orb?

  Angie and I.

  I shall repeat myself:

  The inside of the Orb was Angie and I. Our bodies, my clothing, the air—the fleeting, infinitesimally small particles making up these physicalities were, of course, also present—and yet what was really occupying the interior of the Orb was the beingness of Angie and me, essentially filling the space more completely and utterly than air molecules filling an inflated balloon or neutrons packing a collapsed star. How I came to this exquisite sentience I do not know, but an undeniable feeling of expansiveness, a projection of conscious self, radiated outward from my being. The sensation was by no means unpleasant, and I came to the realization that this etherealness was a pathway by which the Orb could somehow sense and respond to Angie’s and my intrinsic nature. I proffer this unlikely thought with some conviction because I was aware of, could intensely feel, Angie’s mood—an exuberant and delightful mix of anticipation and happiness.

  As you will see, I would soon experience a startling extrapolation of this ability, this greater self.

  There is little else to mention regarding the interior of the Orb, only this: That unlike its unyielding hard exterior, the surface Angie and I rested on had the forgiving density of a soft rubber mat but with the transparency of lightly tinted gray glass. The composition of this unusual material is probably unknown to us, but I considered it bad manners to attempt gouging out a chunk for later analysis. I can tell you that the material’s clarity facilitated an unimpeded view in every direction—up into the bright sky, and down into the bottomless depths of the OceanOrb—thereby greatly accentuating the sensation of floating, which, in fact, we were. The panoramic vista, together with my newly acquired talent for totally filling the perfectly round space I was in, had me imagining, partly believing, that I was inseparable from the Orb as we went gracefully sliding across the planetary surface. I was gradually able to accommodate this exhilarating feeling; it never fully abated—not to the extent that I lost an indefinable connection to that which I desired to understand.

  The incredible smoothness, the nearly undetectable fluidity of our movement, made gauging the velocity of travel impossible. Indeed, some indeterminate amount of time elapsed before I noticed that all motion had ceased. By this juncture, all useful points of reference—the occasional stray cloud, a passing island, groups of Orbs—were long gone and I was left to speculate why we had so quickly and inexplicably been transported from the shoreline to the edge of nowhere. Able to withstand the energy of a laser, I seriously doubted the Orb was avoiding, as I so fondly remembered, the threat of being battered by Kelly with a tent pole. A more generalized wariness of anything human was a distinct possibility, but upon further consideration this explanation no longer seemed plausible, not only because the Orb had (again) accepted contact, but because, from the entity’s unique global perspective, we were not on the edge of nowhere. How could we be? Anywhere on the surface of a perfectly round planet always places you at the exact center of everywhere.

  Whatever the reason for our relocation, and whatever was intended for us, I had no alternative but to lay back and wait.

  And wait some more. The long period of inactivity was troubling. I felt the need to mark the passage of time. The sun was immediately overhead, telling me that approximately two hours had elapsed. I resolutely hung on to the belief that the Orb would do no intentional harm. But what if, as was exceedingly likely, the entity had a different concept of time than I? Or, more worrisome, no concept whatsoever? Well, then, in that continuum that I persisted on partitioning into something we call “tomorrow” I’d have an unhindered view of Desio leaving the atmosphere, with Angie and me left behind. Mind you, I was well aware of the many risks of attempting contact, but as time slipped on by I started believing that I’ve had better and brighter ideas in my life.

  There is irony, you’ll see by what follows, that this prolonged period when nothing appeared to be happening was the one occasion I talked myself into being apprehensive. And not just for Angie and me. I was worried that my crewmates would be increasingly concerned for my welfare.

  I decided this was as good a time as any to put to good use an object formerly classified by the mission engineers and physicists as “nonessential mass.” And, just like a certain violin and hunting bow, they could not have been more mistaken. Earlier, only Kelly, smiling, had spotted the stuffed duck protruding from my back pocket. Taking it was a spontaneous decision on my part, but when I held the toy up for Angie to see I immediately felt her happiness, intermingled with excitement, surge. There was, however, a small problem. The Orb had initially been accommodative—expanding in diameter to approximately three times my height. Nevertheless, the area we had to play in was circumscribed. The limited space did nothing to discourage us.

  Nor did it discourage the Orb. After a dozen duck tosses, I could both see and feel that with each toss the diameter of the Orb was slowly expanding! Twelve more tosses and we had a satisfactory space in which to play. Funny strange, this synchronicity of Angie, Orb, and me. From nowhere an idea entered my head. I paused to contemplate the nature of time and began to see it in a different way—that, for me, the simple and endlessly enjoyable act of tossing the
duck was defining time’s passage more satisfactorily than minutes and hours; that for an entity perhaps five hundred million years old it was even more consequential than the planet’s spin and solar sweep. My worries began to subside.

  What was happening to me?

  Who can say? Perhaps, to this point, only I was happening to me.

  But if not, was that not so much the better? Should I have attempted, as if I could, to maintain greater objectivity during my contact with the Orb? That would have been unproductive, for everything bringing me to this juncture—the strengths and weaknesses of my personality, our substantive conversations, all that we observed and surmised and wildly guessed about the Orb—cried out to me that the opposite approach was necessary. I had firmly decided that not acting dispassionately was the only idea that made any sense for me as a nonscientist. As a human. I was, after all, trying to establish communication with an entity whose principal open channel, at least thus far, appeared to be a form of two-way empathy. There were no precedents, no set ways to proceed. Rules get invented as you go. Better yet, don’t even try. I mention this as introduction to, and support of, what follows.

  I let myself fall asleep.

  How could I permit that to happen?

  Considering where I was and what I was hoping to accomplish, this feat, as I will describe, was easier than one would imagine.

  Playtime with Angie had ended. I had lain back to relax, letting her settle in beside me. The temperature within our space had remained surprisingly comfortable. The wall around us, which I judged to be a minimum of one meter thick, had taken on an agreeable blue-gray opacity, rendering a soothing, dusk-like quality to the interior light. The Orb’s gentle swaying and bobbing motion had a lulling effect. The only sound was quiet rhythmic breathing. Apparently the Orb had no objection to my dozing off and in all probability was actively encouraging my attaining a relaxed, perhaps a more open, state of mind. I naturally assumed it was my turn to be accommodating.

  Admittedly, sleep may not be the best description for what I experienced. I’m not sure what is. Waking dreams? A type of daydreaming, albeit uncontrolled? Whatever name you decide to place on it, a flood of memories burst upon my consciousness, one following in the wake of another. Some I had already half-forgotten, maybe deliberately so, yet every image and every word was recalled with great clarity and exceptional detail. Everything about this episode convinces me that it was deliberately induced for me to examine … no, to feel these recent moments in my life. This, you will see, was all too easy to do, for there was a common element, strongly felt emotions, in every memory:

  Hate: “You mean to use Angie as bait?”

  Ecstasy: “Did I hurt you? I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

  Rage: “Get off me you fucking bastard!”

  Fascination: “Do you see that? A little color when I swirl the water.”

  Guilt: “I’m feeling a little guilty. Have we been gone too long?”

  Excitement: “Aren’t you forgetting one thing? I’m at home in the water.”

  Hopelessness: “Even when we scale the walls between us we really don’t fully understand each other. How can we when we understand ourselves even less?”

  Amazement: “Kyle, try to phrase it correctly … the Ocean is the Orb, the Ocean are the Orb, the Orb is an Ocean.”

  Loneliness: “And as the tide rolls out and only the memory of this experience remains, not the feeling itself, a lifetime of questions are found strewn like pebbles on the shore: Does life have any meaning? Why do I feel so alone?”

  And the strongest memory of all, words I’ll never tire of repeating: “I want you to feel me say it. Kelly, I love you … I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  There is so much more I want to tell you, Kelly….

  And I am glad to see I have made some of you smile, Diana.

  But do you all see how the unusual strength of my recollection speaks to the intensity of those relived moments? Some are again receding into the background. If need be, I could access my recorder and recount many more: Sorrow, alarm, disgust, fright, surprise, loathing, lust … well, you understand. All were experienced right here on Orb. Every member of the crew seems to have been involved.

  What was the purpose of this … this … what? Emotional catharsis? The Orb, in the process of absorbing all these disparate emotions, was not only able to identify a point of reference between us but prepare me for what was to follow. This shall become clearer, but I’ll offer this much: That as all visible colors comprise white light so, to the Orb, do all emotions marry to become one. The point of our commonality. Joy.

  Joy. Happiness. Euphoria.

  And when I arrived at this point, all my recent memories, every last one that was inspired by a caress, a caring look, a laugh … all the words spoken by, or to, me; every encounter that prompted this welcome emotion came cascading out:

  “What do you dream about my faithful dog?”

  “It’s delightful! Nearly as warm as the Caribbean.”

  “Ah, there is a little bit of poet in you, Paul.”

  “Incredibly refreshing, the water. I feel euphoric.”

  “I could stay with you a lifetime.”

  There were more. Let me impress upon you that not a word needed to be spoken: I recalled watching Kelly sleeping peacefully, while Angie, in the midst of a dream, lay with her head and one twitching paw across her breast. I remembered all these things. And, while the succession of memories finally ended, the pervasive feeling of joy did not. I did not want it to.

  Something then prompted me to once again investigate the region below the entity’s saucer-sized point of contact with the greater OceanOrb. Previously, I saw nothing notable. Now, however, there was a shimmering disturbance resembling the waves of heat rising above a desert floor or, better analogy, the thermoclines that can often be seen while diving. These translucent waves spiraled downward and outward until they blended into, and disappeared within, the abyss. As best I could determine, they appeared to have no tangible substance of their own.

  Did I previously overlook these emanations?

  Apparently. Perhaps they were obscured in the brighter light of full sun.

  I placed my hand over the saucer-shaped point of contact. An inviting tingling sensation spread across my flattened palm. I had the opportunity to remove my hand from the spot. I did not. The sensation raced up my arm and through me. Completely. Utterly.

  Suddenly, I was outside the Orb.

  How is this possible?

  I simply left my body behind.

  Or should I say the Orb left my body behind, for I had entered the OceanOrb—slowly at first, along the nebulous pathway I’ve described; lifelines thousands of meters long providing a welcome respite and a means of returning to a reality I could more readily accept. I looked back and saw Angie, resting contentedly. I made my choice.

  I let go.

  Diana, do you recall what you told me about the silkworm moth detecting one pheromone molecule per hundred quadrillion of air? Well, I went sailing beyond that corporeal limitation into the space around me, billowing out like one solitary drop of dye, diluting into, but never lost, within a vast ocean. Once again, I have no real explanation for what appears impossible other than offering up that profoundest of mysteries, an unsolved riddle: That each one of us is both the sum and more than the sum of every single elusive particle constituting our mind and body. This was made manifest to me within the ubiquitous OceanOrb, where not only one drop, but not one molecule, not one atom, boson, or lepton goes unaccounted for or can be willingly separated from another. Is it so great a leap, then, to believe that when I was in touch with one part of the OceanOrb, I was in touch with every?

  That without moving, I went traveling?

  And, as in the vividest of my dreams, eyes were not necessary to see.

  And as I viewed this new world, I perceived things. Incredible things.

  I immediately ventured upon a grouping of tiny Orbs playfully bumping
into and nudging those that were a thousand times larger, the smaller Orbs’ excited behavior reminding me of frantic little tugboats as they went about nudging (rather successfully I might add) their much larger companions this way and that. All the participants were obviously engaging in some type of mutually enjoyable game because the huge Orbs, even when pushed far away, returned time and again for more. Certainly this is possible, would you not agree, Larry, when an Orb the size of a basketball can have a thousand times the mass of one the size of a mountain, depending on the molecular density both choose?

  Here and there I noticed Orbs taking special delight in showing off the splendid, near-infinite variety of colors they are capable of arraying on their glossy surface. Little did I suspect they also communicate among themselves this way. I arrived at this conclusion by observing the way two or more Orbs, when in close proximity, often chose to remain stationary while they closely duplicated each other’s appearance. This is no mere mimicry, for each Orb, in turn, creates modifications and enhancements that defy mere chance. Following such an exchange it was not uncommon to see the Orbs wander off in a specific direction (they have an entire planet to roam) or cooperate in some type of concerted activity. Admittedly, this is ancillary proof, but consider: That just as body language and quality of voice such as pitch and timbre give nuanced meaning to human discourse, so do color, shape and pattern, together with the direction, velocity, and intensity by which they ebb and flow across the surface of the Orb, facilitate their exponentially greater sophistication of expression.

  In fact, so exceptionally diverse and creative are the Orbs’ means of communication that, like all else they do, they seem to derive sheer pleasure from the pastime. I saw groups of Orbs resonating back and forth, their vibrations propagating elegant wave patterns which, depending on the phase of the wave, interacted in complex ways with the matter surrounding them. In a similar manner, other Orbs modulated their vibrational frequencies so they could be felt upon touch (as we did) or heard (as did Angie). These were forms of communication and excitation I could fathom; there likely were many others I could not.