by E. R. Torre
“No. What you see before you is an augmented holographic representation. I’m sorry, Captain Desjardins, but I could not join you on this journey.”
“I’m not a Captain. Not anymore.”
“You are the Captain of this vessel.”
“I have no crew or control over my destination. By Hades, I don’t even know my destination.”
“That will be explained.”
“When?”
“When the time comes.”
“If you can’t tell me where I’m going, can you at least tell me how long before I get there?”
“Fifty years.”
“Fifty…?” Desjardins whispered.
“There are other things we need to talk about.”
“Fifty years,” Desjardins repeated. “I’m trapped in this ship for fifty years?”
“David, we need to talk about the nature of your being,” Saint Vulcan said. “Do you know what you are?”
“A clone.”
The hologram was quiet.
“I figured that out a few days ago,” Desjardins said. “It was the only thing that made sense. What did you do, transfer the thoughts and memories of the real David Desjardins into this… this duplicate body?”
“We call it Project Geist. It does exactly as you say, copying and transferring David Desjardins’ memories into—”
“This husk.”
“There were controversies.”
“There always are with your projects, Saint Vulcan.”
“We kept the second part of the equation a secret.”
“Second part?”
“Project Geist allows people to record their memories up to that point in their lives. We never revealed the fact that we could then export those memories into other bodies. In time, people will figure it out.”
“What happened to David Desjardins? The real David Desjardins?”
“He lived the rest of his life peacefully on Onia.”
“I’m to take your word for it?”
“No.”
The hologram before David Desjardins changed. The feminine features blurred until a new image, that of an elderly man, appeared. David Desjardins recognized his older self.
“Hello, David,” the hologram said.
“Shut it off,” the young Desjardins yelled. He ran through the hologram. “Shut it all off!”
The hologram disappeared. Beside the young Desjardins reappeared the image of Saint Vulcan. Her body moved with him though her legs remained still.
“The message is for you,” Saint Vulcan said.
“I don’t care,” Desjardins replied.
“Don’t you want—?”
“How long have I –the real me– how long has the real David Desjardins been dead?”
“David Desjardins died two hundred and ninety six years ago, shortly before this vessel embarked on her journey.”
Desjardins stopped. That information hit him with a force he could neither explain nor understand. He doubled over, hands falling to his knees.
“You are David Desjardins in every way.”
“No I’m not. David Desjardins was an old man who lived his life and died lonely and unloved hundreds of years ago and I’m…I’m nothing.”
The young Desjardins swung at the air. The Saint Vulcan hologram said nothing more.
Desjardins walked away.
10
David Desjardins kept to himself for the next few days. He ignored Saint Vulcan’s hologram and it, as if sensing his need for solitude, kept her distance. Nonetheless she remained ever present. She was an electronic ghost haunting him from beyond.
Was Saint Vulcan still alive? he wondered when the despair was manageable enough for him to consider such thoughts.
She has to be dead.
Just like the real David Desjardins. Then again, everyone thought she was dead after Pomos.
David Desjardin’s clone walked aimlessly around the empty ship. He continued mapping locations, more determined than ever to find the landing bays and a possible escape. Now and again the Saint Vulcan hologram appeared before him and asked how he felt or if he had any needs. The expression on her face never changed, even while waiting for a response David Desjardins was unwilling to give.
What I need is a way out of here.
Desjardins’ latest maps made him more certain than ever there had to be at least one landing bay and, hopefully, transport craft on board. If he couldn’t find one, he thought more and more about hacking the ship’s central computer and gaining control over her.
In either case, then what?
If Saint Vulcan was to be believed and the ship was on the tail end of an over two hundred year journey, gaining control over her meant he faced another two hundred year journey returning home… or at least someplace close to home. He was better off continuing the fifty year journey to the ship’s current destination.
No.
His only hope of escape within this lifetime lay in the possibility this ship not only carried a transport craft, but, even more importantly, its own Displacer.
“You should talk to me,” the hologram of Saint Vulcan said.
David Desjardins ignored the electronic ghost and continued to an elevator. He stepped inside. The Hologram didn’t follow him.
When the doors opened on a lower floor, the Hologram was there, waiting for him.
“Please,” it said.
David Desjardins shook his head in disgust.
“Fuck you.”
His anger was suffocating. His body shook so much he felt he was about to black out. He fell to his knees and took several breaths.
Finally, he laughed.
“David?”
His laughter continued. It bordered on hysterical.
“David?”
“I’m fine,” Desjardins said. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem—”
“As fine as anyone could be arguing with a computer program. Might as well yell at the toilet.”
“I’m much more than I appea—”
“And I’m much less than I appear,” Desjardins shouted. “The real joke is that you and I aren’t all that different. We’re copies of the originals.”
The ghost closed her mouth. All was quiet for a few seconds.
“I’m getting out of here,” Desjardins said. “I will not be trapped in this… this cell… for fifty years.”
“It would be better if you accepted your situation.”
“The hell it would,” Desjardins shot back. “You anticipated this, didn’t you? You had to. No one in their right mind would accept this sentence.”
“You are correct.”
Desjardins’ eyes narrowed.
“Is this part of some test?” he asked. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Your reactions are logical.”
“Did I pass the test?”
“Yes.”
“What did this prove?”
“That your temperament is adequate. You display a proper emotional reaction and an even better adjustment after the fact.”
“Will this trip really take another fifty years?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t expect me to sit around here all that time alone without going crazy.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“We’ll talk again, David.”
With that, his electronic ghost disappeared.
11
The papers David Desjardins found and used to take notes and make maps were soon used up. He found no other paper and resorted to scratching floor plans on the ship walls.
By his count, over a month passed since the last time he saw Saint Vulcan’s hologram.
At times he appreciated the loneliness, as it gave him the opportunity to meditate and think. It was when he was at his most calm he reflected on the extraordinary peace around him. The loneliness would eventually drag him down, but at least for these moments he welcomed it.
Toward the end of the month, the good feelings turned sour.
He wondered if being trapped in this ship was a punishment for his inaction at Pomos. He felt the cold touch of despair and guilt.
How long can I go on like this?
Desjardins found hundreds of rooms designed for individuals and very large groups. There were sections built for storage and others intended to be laboratories. There were rooms built with heavily insulated sterilization walls, as if meant to house biological and chemical experiments or test weapons.
Maddeningly, not one of them carried any of their intended equipment.
After each long day of exploration Desjardins returned to the ship’s bridge and spent the remainder of his waking hours working on the central computer. Again and again he tried to make it past the ship’s security features and reach the heart of the system.
Again and again he failed.
He found an astonishing array of entertainment in the computer’s databanks. There was music from all corners of the Empires as well as all eras. There were holo-vids, including features not yet released when he was an old man living on Onia. There were entertainments, from the simplest puzzles to elaborate first person adventures.
He could spend years entertaining himself with them.
But David Desjardins ignored these diversions and kept his focus on breaching the central computers.
In time he realized perhaps this too was part of the trial Saint Vulcan was subjecting him to. Maybe she expected him to break the codes and prove himself clever enough to control the ship on his own. While he worked the computers these internal programs were charting his progress, analyzing every keystroke and missed opportunity while judging the success or failure of each action.
Or maybe they just want to see how paranoid I can get.
After a while, he gave up for the night.
He suspected all he was really doing was wasting time.
A week passed and then another.
David Desjardins dimmed the lights of the cockpit lower than their already low evening setting and fell asleep. He slept soundly, his belly full and his needs met.
His frustrations, which reached their peak a week before, eased. Instead of focusing on either escaping the ship or gaining control of her computers, Desjardins began using the entertainment programs. He allowed hidden speakers in the ship’s corridors to play soothing music while he explored. He read books. He played holo-vids. He had the food dispensers make increasingly elaborate meals.
After another month, he again felt restless.
Despite all the comforts, each night when he returned to the cockpit and stared at the central view screen and saw the same distant star before him, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the many years left to travel.
One night he returned to the central computer and, for the first time in a while, tried to crack through its security codes. As the hours passed, his optimism grew. He was making more progress than he ever had before.
This time, I’m going to break in.
David Desjardins wasn’t sure how long he worked, but at one point he realized the dimmed lights around him brightened. A full day and night passed and he remained on the computer. He discovered subroutines and minute coding sources and pushed past them and into what he hoped would be the central program.
The dim lights grew even brighter. Here, in the early hours of what was dawn, he was certain his hard work was about to pay off.
Desjardins couldn’t keep a triumphant smile from making its way onto his lips.
He found a set of hidden subroutines. He loaded them up. They were long and would take a while to sort, but Desjardins had nothing if not time. He pulled up the very first file, eager to see what Saint Vulcan kept from him. The first words appeared on the screen. He read them…
…and then the computer shut itself off.
For several seconds David Desjardins stared at the blank screen. The smile on his face was gone long before his brain processed what just happened. When that realization hit, a rage built like a hurricane within him. He sprung from his chair, sending it crashing back, then stumbled away.
How could you?
This was Saint Vulcan’s doing. She left him to his own devices and gave him the tools and opportunity to find the information he wanted. And just when it was within reach, she snatched it away.
She fucking…
The screens came back to life and David Desjardins froze.
Before him were images of the sandy white shore of a beach. The beach’s water was light blue and crystal clear. The impeccable white sand was beautifully manicured and, like the water, too bright given the night sky above.
The night sky.
Desjardins stared at that sky and spotted that star, his destination, in the far distance.
The beach was an artificial construct. It was somewhere on the uppermost level of this starship.
“That’s where you want me to go?”
David Desjardins rubbed his face and hurried to the central elevators.
When he got in, a familiar computer voice asked him where he wanted to go.
“Take me to the beach,” he said.
The doors closed and the elevator was on its way.
12
David Desjardins’ body trembled.
He could hardly wait for the elevator to reach the desired level and, when it did, he rushed out.
The view before him was breathtaking. He walked onto what looked like a genuine wooden deck. He reached down and felt it. It was a hard plastic replica that was smooth to the touch. To his right and left were bathrooms, automated towel stations, and food dispenses. The food dispensers were colorfully adorned to look like restaurants. There were seats all over the deck, ready for masses of people. People that were, of course, not here.
Desjardins walked past it and reached the deck’s rear. Before him was a wide staircase that led down to the beach. He walked the stairs and, on the final step, hesitated a moment to look around. Rock formations lay at the far right and left of the beach. Though the formations looked natural, their surface was very smooth and formed stairs which led to three distinct levels meant to be used for diving into the deeper waters. To the side of the rocks was another café, this one dispensing drinks. The café was built in faux weathered wood and projected the image of a laid back tropical island paradise.
Desjardins removed his shoes and stepped onto the incredibly white sand. It felt very soft and comfortably warm. The smell of ocean water was pleasant and not overwhelming. If he didn’t know he was on a starship, he would swear this was a real beach.
He walked to the water’s edge. The water was dead still, though Desjardins was certain he could command hidden machinery under it to make waves and create turbulence. Above him, the stars shined down. He could barely detect the tinsel glass that covered this beach paradise. He was certain that if asked, images could be projected on it.
Blue skies, a sunny day.
With just a few words…
For the moment, David Desjardins didn’t say them. Only on a ship as large as this one could such an entertainment structure be built for the many passengers meant to inhabit it.
He kicked at the sand and, after his initial incredulity passed, found the anger once again building up in him.
“Is this another test?” he said.
He was nothing more than a lab rat in an incredibly large maze.
“What am I supposed to do here?” he yelled.
The anger grew until he could no longer contain it. He ran into the water until it covered the lower half of his body. He smashed his fists against the still liquid.
“Waves!” he yelled.
The hidden machinery below the still surface come to life and the water showed mild ripples.
“Stronger!” he yelled. “Make the waves stronger!”
His commands were heard and obeyed. Increasingly larger waves crested around him, smashing into the rocks and the shore.
“Stronger!” he repeated.
Soon it was as if a heavy storm lashed out
on this small piece of paradise. David Desjardins was battered around and his body pushed back toward the shore. He fought the waves and coughed after swallowing salty water.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he said. “Show me blue skies!”
The tinsel glass changed, hiding the stars and outer space and replacing it with a beautiful blue sky.
“Show me clouds!”
The skies darkened.
“More!” he demanded. “I want a storm!”
The skies grew darker still. There were flashes of lightning. The wind around him kicked up.
Desjardins took the fury of the waves and demanded more. His energy faltered. When one particularly large wave hit him, he fell under the water and was slammed against the sand. He was helpless and in danger of drowning.
Am I better off?
The waves crested and he looked up. He saw the cloudy sky and the storm overhead. He felt the last bit of air leave his body.
It’s for the best, he thought.
For that moment, he welcomed the darkness.
When he came to, he lay on the sandy beach. The fierce waves were gone and the waters were calm.
David Desjardins moaned. He coughed and spat out water before pulling himself to a sitting position. He faced the artificial sea.
He was cold. Very cold.
Desjardins got up and stumbled to the café. Beside it was an automated towel dispenser. He removed his wet clothing and used a towel to dry himself.
You tried to kill yourself.
He stopped, dimly recalling being under water before reaching up and gasping for air. He recalled telling the computers to stop the waves.
You tried but you couldn’t do it.
“No I couldn’t,” Desjardins said.
You’re a coward.
“A prisoner and a coward.”
David Desjardins walked away from the towel dispenser and sat before the shore. He remained there for over an hour, staring at the tranquil sight. His mind was a blank, yet in that emptiness, thoughts stirred.
You may be a coward, but you are no prisoner.
The realization proved startling.
David Desjardins’ mind was suddenly filled with memories of being an old man on Onia.
