Through a Mythos Darkly

by Glynn Owen Barrass

  1975

  Monday, May 12, 1975

  We had representatives from different colleges and the military come talk to the advanced classes this morning. It looks like I might get to graduate early, and maybe even get into the Air Force. When I asked them how I could join the space program, they had me work a few word, number, and spatial puzzles, and they were just like the ones I’ve dreamed about! I solved them pretty quickly, and the Air Force lieutenant said I showed lots of potential. I felt good about that.

  But wouldn’t you know it, afterward, Mr. Waite had a bunch of us who did well on the puzzle tests start on some new advanced calculus problems. DAMN, they’re hard and confusing, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get through all this. I get the feeling that if I’m going to make it into the space program, I need to understand this crap. I just wonder if it’s going to be worth it.

  Wednesday, August, 6, 1975

  Wow. President Marsh activated the space weapon system today and wiped out North Korea. Even without China behind them, like in the old days, they had become a threat to the Global Government. According to the news, this was a “pre-emptive strike,” to make sure they wouldn’t be able to develop countermeasures against our systems. There’s been a lot of unrest on the other side of the world, and Dad says there may be more strikes like this coming up. I’m starting to understand why he and Mom have been so afraid of a large-scale war. It is kind of scary to think about. The Space Array can target small areas, big areas, whole countries, all with pinpoint accuracy. Yep, scary. But impressive. When we get out of school, Joe Albemarle wants to go to work on those systems. I guess that’d be pretty cool too.

  Monday, September 15, 1975

  It’s official. I’ve got enough credits to graduate in December instead of having to wait till June. I aced the aptitude tests for getting into the Air Force.

  Come January, I’m in. And I’m going for the space program.

  1976

  Sunday, January 4, 1976

  This may be the last time I write for a while. At dawn, I’m off to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio for eight weeks of basic training, and they made it very clear I’m not allowed to keep a written record of what goes on there. Lots of classified stuff, I guess, particularly if you’ve already got a job code for when you graduate BMT like I do. I hear the physical training can damn near kill you. Fortunately, I’m in pretty good shape, since I’ve always done a lot of trail hiking and bike riding.

  The Raiders lost to the Steelers today. I hope that’s not a bad sign, ha ha.

  I’ll stow my diary with the others in the lockbox under my bed. Hopefully, back soon.

  Saturday, March 5, 1976

  I made it. Hell of a time, but I made it. I’ve got 24 hours before I ship out to Edwards AFB in California. I’m assigned to the 6514th Test Squadron, where I’ll be trained to work on a bunch of new guidance and propulsion systems. Apparently, all that puzzle work I did in school is exactly the kind of background I need for this job. I don’t know whether it’ll be exciting or anything, but some of it is top secret. I can’t write any more than that because the intelligence office finds out about everything, and I don’t want to screw up advancing to the space program. I think things are actually looking good for that. I’ve been recording everything in my life almost since I learned to write, and these past few weeks have been an adjustment, in all kinds of ways. I guess everything is a trade-off, as they say. At some point, I hope to get back to it, and by then, who knows what kind of stories I’ll have to tell?

  Till then.

  1980

  Thursday, September 13, 1980

  Well, I’m back home for a brief time, and no matter what, I’ve got to record this.

  Since I last wrote, I’ve worked at designing and operating new guidance systems for aircraft—and spacecraft—and have racked up lots of hours in F-15s and F-16s. After a few more rounds of training, I’m scheduled to begin test flying a new variant of the XR-29, which is designed to go beyond our atmosphere. It’s called the XR-33, and if it’s successful, it’ll be able to fly into space under its own power, rendezvous with Space Array or other satellites, return to Earth, and land like a regular aircraft. My flights—at least at first—will be suborbital, but I’m hoping that I might yet actually fly into outer space.

  There’s a larger version in the works that will more than double the 33’s transport capacity. That one’s still a couple of years off, I expect, but I know where all this is leading—at least in part.

  It’s finally come out: I know what “Yuggoth” is. I know where the Nylgarr came from. I can’t write about it all now; in fact, I should never, ever write it, but I have to. I’ve got to preserve my experiences, what I’ve learned, the things that are happening. But not yet. If even this much were to be discovered, I’d be court-martialed and lord knows what all. Someday, though. Someday soon, I hope.

  1985

  Thursday, May 2, 1985

  Dad died yesterday—heart attack. He was only 57. I’ve gotten leave to come to his funeral and take care of as many affairs as I can in five days’ time. Glad to find my old lock box still here, and everything inside untouched. I should probably take the thing to a safe deposit box and lock it away, since I don’t know whether Mom’s going to stay here. It feels strange going back and reading some of the entries in these old books. So many good times here. So many weird times, even scary times. But this was a good home. My dad was the best anyone could ever have. I hope his last days were happy.

  As for me, I’ve done it. I’ve flown into outer space. Only once so far, in the XR-33, now the ST-51A, but I am assigned to pilot one of the next generation transports that will be carrying construction materials up for the new space station. The idea is that, once the station is completed, we’ll build an entirely new vessel (parts of which I helped design) in space, with the station as the CP. That ship will be powered by HWD cells so it can make a trip of 3 billion miles in just about nine months.

  In four years, Yuggoth will reach its perihelion of 3 billion miles.

  We came up with HWD—or HyperWave Drive—cells in the past decade thanks to our association with the Nylgarr. Yes, although the Nylgarr evolved here on Earth, their roots go back to Yuggoth, which we know as Pluto. The originals arrived eons ago, as seed pods on meteorites, but only in recent years have they come in greater numbers and made intimate contact with certain “sensitive” individuals.

  People like me.

  Physically, the Nylgarr are almost all brain. They have ways of transferring thoughts and feelings to those of us who are susceptible to their influence, even though their thought processes and sensibilities are alien to us. Certain of the Nylgarr’s ancestors and our ancestors interacted in ways I don’t even understand, but they produced mutations among both species. Those mutations have become relatively common on Earth. Like Mr. Tsugaroo and many of the teachers and trainers I’ve had over the years.

  I have too much to do to spend any more time writing, but I needed to get these thoughts on paper while I still have the will to do it. I just hope I can keep these diaries safe, at least for the next four years. After that, I doubt it will matter much.

  Because I will be navigating the first spaceship ever to travel to Yuggoth.

  It is the Nylgarr’s desire that our races come together, and that is why they began forcing interactions over the past couple of decades. I don’t know the reasons for this. I’m sure there are those in the government hierarchy that do. I can’t say that I completely trust either the Nylgarr or the government.

  But I do what I do for me, not for them. I feel it is my destiny to undertake this venture. And undertake it I will, even if the purpose behind it is not my own.

  Needless to say, time is of the essence, if we are to reach Yuggoth at its perihelion, September 5, 1989.

  1986

  Tuesday, January 28, 1986

  I’m adding this entry because we have suffered a setback I’m not sure we can recove
r from. The ST-57B exploded before it reached orbit this morning. No one knows the cause yet, but the mission was to begin construction of the space station, so this is definitely going to push back all our plans for Yuggoth. We can’t change its timeline, though, so I’m sure we’ll press on the best we can. The Nylgarr are appearing in greater numbers than ever before, and they’re affecting more people, much as they affected me. They have a way of enhancing the intelligence of people who have natural proclivities for mathematics and science, all for reasons of their own. It makes us better and stronger, but I still don’t know why they do it. The ST-57B disaster seems to have upset them terribly. It’s almost as if the ship and crew belonged to them.

  I’ll keep trying to write as much as I can, whenever I can. I have to do this as much as I have to be on the mission. Something tells me that, someday, all these events I’ve recorded may be important. If not to me, then to someone.

  Friday, July 4, 1986

  I flew the ST-57C into orbit today. The space station construction has finally begun.

  1987

  Friday, December 25, 1987

  What a Christmas present! As of today, Space Station Constellation I is operational. Construction of the first spaceship to Yuggoth is underway. It will be called the SY-3 Unity, with a projected launch date of December 21, 1988. We’re currently engaged in testing the new cryo systems, which don’t appear to be as reliable as we had hoped. If they don’t function as planned, we may need to modify the crew compartments, and considerably more supplies will be needed. We’re coming up on the deadline for making the decision one way or the other. Whichever way things work out, the mission is on.

  1988

  Tuesday, December 20, 1988

  Tomorrow is the day.

  There’s no cryo. The entire crew will be awake for the entire journey. We’ve trained and trained for this, but I know it’s going to be a challenge.

  I admit I am afraid. But I am ready.

  Saturday, December 24, 1988

  Here I am. Three days into outer space, well past the moon’s orbit, on course for Yuggoth with my hundred-plus companions. I’m no longer sure of what I am doing or why. But it is too late. I am here, and there is no turning back.

  I’ve learned more than I ever expected—or wanted to know, really. It wasn’t expected. I was in a testing session with one of the Nylgarr—measuring my reactions to extended periods of solitude—but there was something odd about this one. I could feel the thing’s influence, as is typical, but with this one, there was something more, something different. It revealed to me the purpose of our mission, of the partnership that has been established between its race and mine. They deemed it time to inform the crew, or at least some of us, I suppose, about the true objective of our mission. However, in retrospect, I’m certain the thing did this because of some capricious nature or base instinct. As if it wanted me to know, when it was all too late, that everything I have worked for in my life was never actually for me, or even for my home. It was all for them. The hell of it is that the thing knew me well enough to know I could never betray the mission or my devotion to this calling that led me here, beginning so many years ago.

  There are numerous races on Yuggoth, though only a relative few members of any individual species. The Nylgarr are the most populous. It was one of those races that intercepted Apollo 11, and took the astronauts back with them, so they could study human beings. Since the inhabitants of Yuggoth have massive intellects but limited physical capabilities, they began to exert their influence on us. Not to better us, as at least some of us have thought for so long, but to use us for their own purposes.

  Specifically, for their defense.

  Thousands of years ago, another race from somewhere in space—I don’t think even the Nylgarr know where it came from—attacked Yuggoth and devastated it. The Nylgarr believe these invaders will return again soon. We were vain enough to believe that our advanced science was at least partially our own, but it was only because of alien influence that we built space ships that can travel incredible distances, and constructed weapons, like the Space Array, which have more destructive power than anything ever devised by humans—or that could be devised by humans.

  Because of their physical limitations, the Nylgarr and other races couldn’t create this weaponry themselves, so they used us, manipulated us. And now, we’re taking all these systems, these components, everything the Nylgarr and those others need to defend against another attack, straight to Yuggoth. When our mission is complete, we will have created an impenetrable bulwark against an unknown enemy. An enemy perhaps even more alien than the inhabitants of Yuggoth.

  I know that some in the government are aware of this reality and consider our partnership with the Nylgarr a reasonable, even desirable thing. When it comes down to it, that enemy, whatever it is, is as likely to attack Earth as Yuggoth, which means that, without the Nylgarr, we would be just another doomed race. Indeed, we are partners in an interplanetary venture, but far from equal partners. As I discovered even back in middle school, the Nylgarr’s mental influence is subtle but strong, and I know that if we were to attempt to turn our weaponry on Yuggoth itself, our brains would burn up. They didn’t expand our minds without leaving themselves a failsafe. I remember Jack Curry, back in Aiken Mill, who tried to resist them, without ever really knowing what he was fighting. He ended up a vegetable.

  I’m entering this into my personal onboard log, and I’m debating whether to save it or just delete it. I’m sure it would be used against me, should the Nylgarr or the Air and Space Force desire it. I suppose I should simply accept the situation for what it is and carry on with the mission as planned. Is anything really different? I’m fulfilling my lifelong dream, achieving what I considered my destiny. I have accomplished far more than I could have imagined all those years ago when I thought it would be “neat” to become an astronaut. And yet, the sense of betrayal is profound. This was my dream, my personal challenge, and now it feels as if I am no more than a pawn, a cog in some vast machine, one in which my personal drive and ambition mean nothing. But I guess on some level it’s always been that way, even before the Nylgarr.

  The one thing I do have in my power is the thing I suppose I most dread. I helped design some of this ship’s most critical navigation systems. It would not be a difficult procedure to override the system safeguards and send this ship, not to Yuggoth, but into infinity. It wouldn’t take us long to reach the point of no return. Still, I know if I did this, I would be taking not just my life but the lives of the men and women who came willingly on this voyage.

  I don’t know whether the Nylgarr revealed to the crew those secrets that they revealed to me. None of them act any differently, or show any indication they consider themselves betrayed, as I do. For all I know, to them, this is a grand and glorious mission for the defense of an ally, who have aided in our advancement not just for their defense but for ours as well.

  Maybe the Nylgarr don’t know me as well as they think they do.

  Good God. I can feel something in my head. They know now. They must know.

  Their failsafe.

  Apparently, I have very little time to make a decision. I guess it no longer matters whether I delete this log entry. They know, and now my life is basically forfeit. Still, if I act, to seal the fate of Yuggoth, I’ll be murdering over a hundred human beings. And what if there is some kind of retribution against the people of Earth? How many brains might simply burn up without any discernible cause?

  It feels almost like a migraine coming on, but it’s hot. A very hot pressure.

  My dad once said my generation had a lot riding on it. He didn’t know the half of it. The fate of at least one whole world rests on my decision. And I only have a few moments to make it.

  Do I take them with me, or do I die in vain? Whichever way it goes, this will be the last entry in my life’s story.

  So goodbye.

  Plague Doctor

  Tim Waggoner

  THEY�
��RE INSIDE ME. MULTIPLYING, GROWING, FILLING ME…MILLIONS upon millions of tiny voices joined in dark song, sharp and discordant, and all the more beautiful for it. Their song is more than sound, though. It’s the heat blazing at the core of my being, roasting me from within. It’s the throbbing ache deep in my muscles, that’s settled in my bones like corrupted marrow. It’s the thick rattle in my throat whenever I try to draw in air, the heaviness in my lungs, the bubbling of infection…

  And it is glorious.

  Bellwether, Ohio. October, 1918

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

  I try to keep my tone light, a smile on my face, but my voice sounds strained to my own ears. Sarah doesn’t seem to notice, though. As sick as she is, she’s fortunate to be conscious at all.

  She tries to open her eyes but can only manage a pair of thin slits. When she speaks, only her lips move. The rest of her body remains motionless.

  “Throat…hurts.”

  These words are more breathed than spoken, and they are accompanied by a phlegmy rattling in her lungs. She’s six years old, but lying there in her bed beneath several layers of thick blankets, she looks more like a swaddled infant, just as she did after I delivered her and placed her in her mother’s arms. Except her face was red then, and she cried loudly, as if determined to let the world know it had a new soul in it. Now her face is pale as chalk, her voice so soft as to be barely audible.

  “I’ll get you a drink.”

  I pour her a glass of water from the small pitcher on her night stand, but when I bring it to her lips, she’s too weak to swallow it. Water trickles from the corners of her mouth to dampen her sheets, and then she sputters and chokes. This sets off a series of deep, racking coughs. I help her sit up and then I pound on her back with the flat of my hand. She expels nothing, but eventually the fit subsides, and I help her lie down once more and I draw the blankets up to her chin. She closes her eyes.