Cardiff: What is it exactly… what we are dealing with?
Doctor Ghent descends the two steps outside the mess hall and walks toward the center of the plaza, which is clad with terra cotta colored pavers throughout. He notices Doctor Long as he is pausing a moment to take a look at the company patch sewn onto his shoulder. While drawing in a large breath of air, Long appears contemplative.
This job is the first employment that he has ever had; he had been so focused on his own academic future and the prospect of finishing school that this is the first that he has thought of the larger picture. Is he expected to lay down his own life for the good of the company? Lawrence had been around longer and seemed to be confident in his role.
Long: If it were I that had been holding on for dear life and Lawrence had been there, Lawrence would have dived to save me from falling.
Doctor Ghent remains motionless at the bottom of the steps as to not alert Long of his eavesdropping on the momentary monologue.
Long’s internal monologue continues. How meaningful is this life of his, one spent with a hard-fast focus on self, despite the costs to others? On his last day, would he be able to look back on his own life, and say proudly that this was the life he lived? What does it really mean to be a part of something bigger than him, and what does he get out of it? The compensation that was awarded Long for his part on this mission is a very impressive amount. What would his employer expect out of him in return for that compensation? Sure, he is here, but how could his time here be most beneficial to those who have enlisted his services?
A multitude of questions occupy his mind as the morning sun casts its light upon him. The warmth of the sunlight seems to breed thought and questions; at least this has been his experience in the past. After a long night of studying, he used to enjoy sitting on the back patio to eat his breakfast, the morning warmed him then, and it warms him now, although to a lesser degree now. He has ventured so far from home, but the memories of past events still occupy his every waking moment.
Doctor Ghent interrupts Long’s contemplative moment with a simple cough. Long turns to look at Ghent, both men are wearing the same suit as they have been ever since arriving. For the first time, the simple fact that he is a part of a team is not lost on him.
Ghent: Are you alright Doctor?
Long: Yeah, I’m fine. I am just thinking about things.
Ghent: Tragedy seems to lend an air of introspection to any given situation.
Long: I suppose you’re right. The irony of the situation is that Lawrence really bothered me, that is, until about the last day or so before he died.
I made a quick judgment about him, and it turns out that I was completely wrong the whole time. It just makes me wonder about what else I have all wrong.
Ghent: In my experience, some of the events that I dreaded the most were the most rewarding. Some of my students that I figured would be the best, ended up being lazy. The point is that we all make judgments; sometimes these judgments are actually what prevent us from seeing the best in others. Sometimes our judgments give us a hope for something that will not actually happen.
Long: So, you are just saying “don’t judge a book by its cover”?
Ghent: You and your clichés. Well, that is a good credo to live by too, but don’t limit yourself with a narrow mind. Try to look at the world objectively, look at it through someone else’s eyes for a change; you will be surprised what you see.
Long: Seems like that might be difficult to do, I would need a nerve implant and a lot of equipment…
Ghent: Would you be interested in hearing my opinion? You did not like Mister Lawrence at first because you two are so similar. Granted you are very different people, but your similarities were what divided you.
Long: Someday, when I am old like you, I want to be just as wise.
Ghent: I prefer the term: advanced in life experience.
Long: Right, I am going to remember that for the day that I am advanced in life experience too.
Ghent drops a heavy hand down on Long’s right shoulder in a reassuring manner, and resumes his walk down to the pond. With a deep cleansing breath, Long puts his hands in his pockets and walks across the plaza to the laboratory building. As Long walks into the lab, the lights begin to ignite throughout.
The intense light within the lab is soothing to Long, but he almost needs sunglasses to work in it. His samples, still sitting on the counter where they had been left the day before, all appear to be in order, and his report pulls up on the blue, frosted-glass control panel on the wall behind them.
Long walks over to the instruments on the counter, his microscope is laying on its side. As he takes a few more steps closer, he steps on something that he had not expected. He bends over and retrieves it off of the brightly lit floor; a shiny, hinged lighter is lying on the floor, the cap opened to the side to reveal the ashen wick.
Long: What an odd item to find out here. Oh well, maybe it was Lawrence’s.
In a no-nonsense manner, Long reaches for the control panel on the wall, and submits his report that he had put together the day before. With a quick chime, the computer confirms the report had been sent as requested. Long takes his various samples, which are strewn about on the counter and places them all in a metal container, which was housed just underneath the countertop. He grabs some cleansing cloths from a dispenser, mounted on the wall, and begins to wipe down all of the pristine countertops; any dust and dirt remaining is painfully obvious to anyone who might walk into the lab; the counters are perfectly smooth and clean, not to mention very well-lit.
As he finishes wiping down the outer counter, he turns to the center counter. “Odd. We don’t use this type of bag”. He reaches for the large plastic bag, crinkled and crumpled. The bag had hitherto remained unnoticed on the center countertop.
Long tosses the bag into the waste receptacle on the wall, he then prepares to exit the laboratory. A second chime from the control panel on the wall indicates that a new task has been sent. He walks back over to the control panel, a quick tap of his finger on the glass, and the task is displayed prominently on the screen.
TASKING
Dr. Long
Year 15 Day 41
Thank you for the report Doctor. You are tasked with another survey. Proceed to coordinates indicated on the attached satellite image, and retrieve samples from the rocks at the site. The site is contained within the great sand dunes west of your location. You will need the rig and the supplied cable mounted on its wench. You will be descending down the cliff face, and will need to do so at the coordinates which are also indicated on the map. All coordinates have already been loaded into the navigation computer on the survey rig. Due to the distance from the dome, and the anticipated speed of travel, you will not be able to make this journey today. Leave at first light in the morning.
–End of Task–
After reading the task, Long turns to walk back into the plaza, but stops just shy of the door. He returns back to the place where he had been standing when he read the message. He places his radio earpiece in its place inside his ear canal, and presses it smartly with his finger.
Long: Captain, how long does it take to relay a message back home?
Cardiff: Given our current distance from Earth, about fifteen minutes or so, why?
Long: So, it couldn’t be less, right?
Cardiff: Not unless it is relayed faster than the speed of light. It isn’t possible. Do you have an emergency message to relay?
Long: No, just curious. Thank you Captain.
Long retrieves his glass tablet from the carrying pouch, on the left side of his suit, and holds it up next to the control panel. The task and accompanying map move sideways off of the control panel and appear on his tablet. “Sounds like a good time”.
In the control room, Mendez navigates the computer, looking for Lawrence’s entries. After clearing away the unwanted entries from sight on screen, Lawrence’s photo appears above six small representations of docum
ents. The computer prompts her for the encryption key that is required to view these entries, both vocally and on screen.
Mendez sinks back to the backrest of her chair in defeat. Lawrence was certainly secretive, and she should have assumed that he would protect his entries with encryption. With present knowledge of her failed attempt, she returns her attention to the oddity upon her right arm.
The pain of her burn prompts her to pull back her sleeve to let it ‘breathe’. Her heart seems to sink in her chest as she takes a few minutes to consider the possibility that she can no longer discern fearful fantasy from a graver reality. More disconcerting to her is the pattern that seems to become obvious to her in the burn blisters. Three characters seem to stand out in an arbitrary, random arrangement, “EOS”. As she entertains the impossibility that might just be, she utters a simple phrase without emotion, “Stranger things have happened today”.
She reaches back to the control panel and finds the illuminated keypad. The three characters are entered quickly, and she submits the key. The next thing surprises her, yet is anticipated. The encryption key prompt disappears and access is granted to the documents behind it. With a shaking finger, she touches the panel to open the most recent entry. Her eyes squint in disbelief at the words written, as if by her own hand, on the screen in front of her.
Journal Entry
Jim Lawrence
Year 15, Day 39
Last night I had a continuation of the same dream that I have every other night. I just can’t seem to get rid of this irritation. How long do I have to suffer through it? Well, I am taking the advice given to me a while back, and I am going to write it down as I remember it… maybe it will help.
I found myself sitting at a long metal table, just like every other night. The ruins of a war-torn city lay around me in every direction as I sit in the rubble-filled street. The well-dressed masked man sits at the head of the table. He always appears the same to me. His plain white mask covers most of his face. I can only see his chin and mouth. His clean and pressed suit appears to be expensive, yet he sits at this table with me, surrounded by ruin and ash.
The sound of a missile flying overhead draws my gaze skyward. I watch the projectile fly by and strike a building in the near distance. More rubble and debris come to rain down from the sky around me as the building it struck is completely obliterated. Smoke and ember fills the air in this street. A young girl runs out of the building across the street from me, and I yell to her to go back inside. Of course, she never listens to me and continues to cross the street. Her tattered clothing is covered in soot and blood stains.
As the smoke blows around the barren city, I can see the toxic fumes begin to work on this poor girl. She appears to take little notice that her skin begins to peel back. The effect of the Huntra weapon is easily discernable; it destroys flesh and kills quickly. I have seen the victims all too many times. I once saw them on street corners, looking at me as I walked. I saw them outside my window at night; I saw them everywhere I looked. They thought I was crazy… I know what I saw.
The little girl approaches my table as the weapon takes its hellacious effect. Tears run down my unaffected cheeks, she places a solitary card on the table in front of me. She looks to my right, to the masked man. He nods his head and beckons her to turn the card over with outstretched hand. She reaches again for the card and quickly flips it over to reveal to me the picture printed on it. As embers cascade from the skies above, the picture is revealed to be a man on fire, the same thing it always is.
I look back to the masked man; his white glove erupts into flame. He stands up and begins to walk toward me with his hand outstretched. I cannot move in my chair. He reaches me, and very deliberately places his burning hand on my arm. The fire spreads from my arm slowly; it consumes my entire body before I am able to wake up.
I have blood on my hands. I fear that I won’t be able to rid myself of this curse. I put on a smile each day and face the day with as much vigor as I can, but I think I will not be able to endure this punishment for much longer.
–End Entry–
Chapter 15
Dust, flung into the air by boots as they shuffle down the dry path, settles slowly back to the ground in the low gravity. Doctor Ghent hurriedly jogs down the path to the pond as he makes his way back to his unfinished project. He reaches the large container that had been left adjacent to the bee colony. The metal latches on the black plastic container lay loosely, they hadn’t been re-fastened.
Ghent stoops down and places his fingers on the loose metal clasp on the container. After a moment of rubbing his hand along the edge of the lid, he pulls the lid open slowly. Metal cartridges are well organized, like books, within the container. Each shiny metal cartridge holds a part of their future existence inside the dome. Honey bees, placed into an artificial hibernation within the confines of metal and plastic, fill each cartridge.
Ghent carefully pulls each cartridge out of the lined container, and slides each of them into the slots in the side of the metal bee colony. A final item remains in the container after he finishes removing everything, a small red spray can. Ghent lifts the lid on the bee colony and places the spray can inside it. With his left arm, he holds the lid open enough for his right arm to reach the spray can, and then press the nozzle. Just as he finishes pulling his arm out of the opened lid, he turns around to look over his right shoulder. From the reaches of the previously unexplored dome behind the pond, the sound of coughing prompts him to find its source. His left arm drops the opened lid, allowing the metal lid to bang shut behind him.
His feet begin to tread through the wild grasses which line the ground on the other side of the pond. Large boulders and mounds of rock, meters high, fill the landscape on this side of the pond. Small crevices between these rocks allow Ghent to slide between them as he makes his way slowly around the pond. Loose sand on the rocks makes his ascent up the sides of a few of the rocks slippery and time consuming in his bulky boots.
Almost an hour of traversing the rock garden begins to take a toll on his endurance and energy. The afternoon sun warms the rock, and Ghent grows thirsty from his difficult journey thus far. He stands atop a boulder a few meters above the glass surface of the pond. Below, the pond beckons to him; his dry and parched mouth yearns for the sweet taste of the fresh water below. He stares into the pond and the smooth glass surface is broken by thousands of tiny bubbles as they surface evenly across the large pond. From the opposite side of the boulder, the sound of another agonizing cough resounds.
Ghent bounds to the other side of the boulder to look down upon the source of the noise.
Rocking back and forth in the afternoon sun is the figure of a weathered man. His old one-piece suit is red from the dust that covers it. Long and mangled gray hair flows past the shoulders and covers his face. From above, the man appears a lot like many of the men that Ghent had once become well acquainted with during his time on the street.
Ghent: Hello down there! Who are you?
The simple rocking motion does not stop, Ghent repeats his polite request again, and again no response is given. Ghent shifts his weight from his right leg, which is slightly behind him, to his left leg in front. He places his hand on his thigh to brace himself as he leans out over the edge of the boulder. He holds his breath for a moment to listen for the quiet sound of breathing from the homely man; no sound can be heard, it is so quiet that the only sound that can be heard is the faint sound of Ghent’s heart beating in his chest. Something oddly familiar about the figure intrigues Ghent. He squints his eyes to try and make out the face through the veil of long, mangy hair.
Ghent: Show me your face please!
The man stops rocking back and forth in his seated position. The gnarled hair stops waving to and fro as the head stops moving. The head slowly begins to look up toward the bewitched observer upon the rock. The thick greying hair persists in obscuring the face, even as it appears to look up toward Ghent. Ghent leans forward to make out the subtle h
ints of facial features through the mask.
The coughing sound that had first attracted Ghent to search out the source resounds again. Seeming as if to have originated in the throat as a low growl mixed with a phlegmy cough, the sound vibrates the bones in Ghent’s body, and the hair on the back of Ghent’s neck begin to stand out on end. The eerie sound is strangely familiar to Ghent; from where or when he can remember the sound cannot be recalled, yet images of a flashing light are brought to the forefront of his recollection. Ghent’s breathing becomes erratic and shallow as he begins to shift his weight back on his other leg again.
A strand at a time, the hair upon the face begins to slide back off of the sides of the face until only a faint cover remains upon it. Ghent stumbles backward at the realization of that which must certainly not be possible. A blank face, devoid of feature and form lay before him. What he had mistaken for folded arms and legs now appears quite plainly to him as nothing more than visual illusion and a clever deception. A single, patterned blob begins to move, revealing the illusion of clothes. The hairs upon the faceless head begin to float upward, looking almost as if it were impacted by static. Ghent’s boot slides on the grainy sand as he stumbles back away from the enigmatic figure. Both legs slip off the edge of the boulder quickly, and Ghent’s face collides with the rock. The smell of blood fills his nostrils. All goes dark; the sound of water splashing fades into the void within his blackening mind. The curtain of consciousness closes before him.
Deeper Into the Void Page 15
