Synopsis: The story of a poor soul lost, angry, afraid, and trapped. If only he would have turned around, maybe he would have been able to save himself.
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A flicker of light made it’s way across the cave, reflecting from a thrashing claw, invisible in the darkness. The light hit with a splash against a stalactite and then onto the others behind it. Another shimmer, and another, subtly reflecting against the far side.
A monstrous sound reverberated it’s strength throughout the walls of granite, stone, and minerals. Like the sound of a rock screeching against another under water. Resembling an earthquake. It wailed and struggled with the force of a thing afraid. It stopped. The silence allowed for another sound to come through. A screeching. A high pitched squeal like metal on metal. Pulsating at an unmeasured pace. It did not stop.
Again the sound a rock would make in desperation, made the cave shake. The light ceased to flicker and the stalactite falls dried up. A darkness shifted near the reflecting point. Something shimmered. It was more of a shine than a shimmer. The shine of a beast‘s coat, a black shine.
From that shining of light, the outline of a mammoth figure was shown, practically the same shade as the darkness, so that a shade-blinded person could not see it. The outline remained without the light, in a way that if you looked towards it’s center it would disappear, blending into the void. The outline was only visible because it moved.
More movement. The thing, as it now appeared to be, thrashed and fought, tearing at the wall, hoping to find a way. No rumble came. The cave seemed not to care. The only sound was still the horrid screeching of metal. Then it stopped.
The shimmer of light danced on the things back as the top of it rose…and fell. The thing seemed to notice the light but ignored it in its rage and desire. It was like the moon reflecting on the waves after a raging storm. The thing put forth its last effort and moaned, almost crying, like that underwater sound of rocks clashing. It was obviously exhausted.
The moan seemed to be like that of a last breath. It had had enough of the event and fell to the ground, leaving the light behind on the wall, which fell onto the scene of struggle. It revealed the scarred rock, painfully scratched, with hatred and toil. The beast had given up. It was beat, forsaken, and hopeless. It stared into the darkness now realizing its doom.
That little light moved with the moon and grew until it had set itself upon the fur of thing, now far from life. More time passed and the light grew over the face of a beast, a great Black Bear. Pearl fangs lie under black lips and pair of glaring eyes sat stiff from death. In the reflection of those dark pits you could see the stream of light flittering with dust as if in mourning.
The light flowed from a small hole surrounded by stones and rocks, small enough to move with one push. The hole was at the top of a collapsed tunnel that could have easily been dug out. If only the bear had turned around, maybe its life would have been better ended.
Don’t ignore the light.
“Daddy, where do the crows come from?”
“Well, let me tell you:”
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“Oh, my is it hot out today. It‘s hot out everyday. Why is it always so hot?” And so went the ramblings of the faun-like creature named Nicker. He was about four feet tall, had a long face which was full of hair, especially on his chin, and wore clothing made from who knows what. Nicker had horns that rose out of his skull and wrapped gently around his ears, and they were white, standing out from his drab, dirty clothes; white as could be. Below Nicker, walked his slow four footed friend, Yipa, a donkey...of sorts. Yipa wasn’t too much bigger than Nicker but he had a shorter face and his ears weren’t as long as the average donkey‘s. Yipa also smiled, all the time, parading his pearly whites.
“Yiyiii, Yipa!” exclaimed Nicker in a loud voice, “I see something on ahead.”
“Yipa, yipa, yipa, yipa...” replied Yipa in his quiet, raspy, breath-like voice.
“Yoyo, Yipa,” said Nicker, and Yipa began to trot. Nicker’s strange clothes, with their extremely long pockets that were inside out, started to blow in the wind with the sand from the dessert floor, which annoyed Nicker very much.
“Curse these clothes! I can’t stand it when they blow—em ugh ophu...” The long part of Nicker’s shirt had flown up and got in his face. “Woahh!” He leaned too far backwards, trying to get his shirt down, and fell off. Nicker rolled on the ground and, after about three-hundred-sixtieths (ten minutes) of the day, finally got unstuck from his clothes. Items of relatively no value now lay every where around where he had rolled. Nicker stood up and, seeing the items scattered, screamed, a high pitch girly scream. “Oh, my! Oh, my! Oh, my!” he repeated as he gathered them together. “Yipa! How could you— Huhhhh!” he took in a deep breath, ran up, and hid behind his steed. He could now see what he had seen earlier much clearer. There was a man in a black coat sitting on a log. “Who do you think it is?”
“Yipa, yipa, yipa—”
“Shhhh! I didn’t mean for you to answer me, Yipa! You don’t have to reply to everything I say. It’s called a rhetorical question. Hmmm...” While Nicker was deep in thought, contemplating what he should do with this new adventure in his life, the stranger was thinking too.
The man suited in black was watching the desert, and thinking. He was pondering. He was in deep thought about....about ...he couldn’t remember. He just remembered blinking as if he hadn’t done it for a while and seeing the desert stretch out before him as if it were the first time, light glinting off of some wet footprints in the dirt. He knew what he was, or thought he knew, but he just couldn’t understand what he was doing. He stood up and walked towards the dark pool he had just noticed out in front of him, kicking dirt over the wet prints he had noticed before. The surface shimmered with a dark sheen. He stuck his hand in; just water. Then the ripples from his hand revealed something, and image. He saw the reflection of something very small going in circles above him. He looked up; it was a crow, a small black crow, and it was cawing repeatedly. Caw! Caw! He stared at the crow nearly getting dizzy and wondered what it was doing. Then he wondered again what he was doing. Then he sat down.
A small distance away Nicker had decided to stop and set up a camp, since his donkey was being stubborn, and wouldn‘t let him go on and meet the stranger. With reason! Everything that Nicker made the camp with came either out of his pockets or out of his tiny saddle bags: the cloth for his tent, his cooking wear, and the logs for his fire. Yipa even had to carry his own food. The water they found. Actually, that’s what Nicker “specialized” in.
After getting all these things out and set, Nicker reached inside the pocket that he kept all his small utensils and tools, to try and find some matches, but he couldn’t find them. “Oh, great!” he said, “It’s getting late and I can’t find the matches. They’ve probably been blown away by now.” He looked in the direction of the stranger and after a little coaxing from Yipa with a couple “yipa”s went to go and meet the stranger. What an odd site he must have been, with his pockets and clothing dragging along behind him. His pants, oddly enough, were shorter in comparison and didn’t drag, and they were held up with a wide belt. Nicker was very modest, however odd.
When he got close enough to take a good look at the stranger he stopped. It was definitely a man. He was wearing a long, black leather jacket with some sort of array on the back, like tassels or something, his pants were black leather with the same look to it as the jacket, and it all shined like his clothes were oiled with something. And he had boots, sharp looking boots, with metal on the bottom that glinted in the sun, and a hat, a sharp looking hat that was pure black. The overall look scared the pajeezers out of Nicker. He hadn’t met to many strangers in the Shrali dessert. He made a face of disaster, and ran back to his camp, pulling his pants up even further to keep from tripping over them.
“Yipa! Yipa!” he cried entering the camp.
Yipa was kneeling/laying on the ground and was watching an ant’s slow progress across the dessert floor when he heard his master calling. He turned his head and neck to look at Nicker come running, dust flying behind him. When Nicker was next to Yipa he collapsed dramatically and started to talk in-between breathes. “Yipa. You wouldn’t believe what I saw. It’s a man and, and he’s got all black on, and, and it shines, oh, it shines like its on fire! He’s got boots too and they’re sharp like they could hurt somebody.”
Yipa resumed his attention to his insect friend, trying to ignore his masters whiny ramblings. When Nicker realized that Yipa was no longer paying attention, he beat on Yipa’s chest and started wailing how horrible the creature was, but when he began to beat, he was surprised when Yipa turned and nipped him on his ear. Nicker, not being so insulted before, was awestruck, his mouth hanging wide open; Yipa laughed, “Yipa, yipa, yipa...”
Tears began to well up in Nicker’s eyes. He fell on the ground and began blubbering something about being hurt. Yipa stopped his snickering, stood up, and walked over to his master who had stopped rolling, but was still crying there in the dessert dirt and sand, his hands over his face. Yipa leaned over his master and licked his hands since he couldn’t get to his face.
Nicker stopped crying, put his hands to his side and looked up at his companion who was bearing his teeth as always. Yipa walked down to Nicker’s tiny feet and grabbed onto his pants with his teeth, and began pulling towards the direction of the stranger. “No, no, Yipa!” Nicker shrieked. “No, no.”
After he’d been pulled about ten feet, Nicker jumped and said, “Fine, but you’re coming with me.” and pointed at his steed. Yipa just stood there. “Oh, don‘t complain. There‘s some water there for you after the long journey.” Yipa started to leave. “Haha!” Nicker cried, as he jumped on Yipa’s back. “Let’s go.” And so they went, in the direction of the stranger.
A few minutes later, the two of them reached the spot where Nicker had gotten to before running back. “Here’s where I stopped.” Nicker said. In reply Yipa started to go slower, and not too far closer he stopped. Both of them stared at the black figure, sitting there motionless. “Maybe it’s a scarecrow.” Nicker whispered, but as soon as he finished, the stranger looked up. “Eee!” Nicker shrieked and hid behind the hair between Yipa’s ears. Yipa watched the stranger and then began to adventure forward. Nicker just peered out between fuzzy hairs. When Yipa thought that he had gotten close enough, he stopped again. Now he was only about twenty feet away. The stranger didn’t move, so he took a few more steps, and knelt. From there he crawled. When he was ten feet away Yipa stopped and Nicker jumped off forward, expecting some reaction.
The stranger didn’t move. Nicker took a step sideways, towards the stranger, but he still didn’t notice him. Nicker coughed. Nothing. Finally, Nicker walked right up to the man in black, wiped off some black feathers, and sat down next to him on the rotten log. Nicker could see the stranger’s eye look at him and then back to watching the desert. “Hello,” Nicker began, “my name’s Nicker.” He was met with silence. Nicker hit his thumbs together. “Umm...I find stuff. “ he said.
The stranger looked him over this time with one eye. “I see that.” he said, noticing the huge pockets, touching the ground while Nicker’s feet weren’t. He returned his gaze. The stranger’s voice was high but raspy. Nicker felt like coughing for him. It was as if his voice wasn’t meant to be so quiet.
“Nice town.” commented Nicker, referring to the town in the far distance, west of them. The stranger just looked in that direction.
“Buahhhahha!” Nicker burst out laughing.
The stranger turned back surprised.
“Sorry.” Nicker said through his hands which were covering his mouth. The stranger lifted his eyebrows. He looked around Nicker to see Yipa’s smiling face. “Oh, and that’s Yipa. He always smiles like that.” He took his hands down smiled and replaced them.
“Are you OK?” the stranger asked.
“Oh, yeah. Just fine.” Nicker replied.
The stranger gave Nicker a disbelieving look and returned to watching the desert.
“What’s your name?“ Nicker asked.
The stranger looked down. “I don’t know.“ he replied.
“Well, that’s too bad, cause neither do I.” He brought his hands back up to his mouth. A loud “Caw!” came from above. Nicker jumped and looked up; the stranger just looked up. It was a crow; the same crow that was flying around earlier. The man jumped up off the log, small black feathers fluttering up behind him, his leather jacket whipping around. “What!” he screamed, “What do you want!” He ran forward,. picked up a rock and threw it at the bird, missing horrendously. The stone came back down and landed plump in the small dark pool in front of the log, which Yipa had just started to drink from. Yipa didn’t even flinch.
After calming himself, the stranger took off his hat and ran his hand over his hair which was long, black, and in a pony tail. His hair shone in the sun but it wasn’t smooth. It looked fuzzy. He replaced his hat, returned to the log and sat down with a sigh. “That birds been soaring up there for as long as I can remember.”
“That’s not a very long time is it.” replied Nicker. He was still watching the crow. “Umm...I’ve been trying to start a fire but I can’t seem to find anything to make one with, see.” He stopped. “Do you...well—”
“Have you tried rubbing to sticks together?” asked the stranger.
“No.” Nicker replied incredulously, “What will that do?”
The man turned and looked Nicker up and down. He had scrawny bony arms that weren‘t good for much and he had short legs. “Well...never mind. You’d just get to sticks that have been rubbed together.”
Nicker was very puzzled by the whole idea, tapping his mouth with his finger and almost saying something twice, but easily dismissed it; he was hungry. He twitched a smile and asked, “Do you have any matches.”
The stranger seemed puzzled by the question. He looked at Nicker strangely and reached his hand inside his jacket pocket. He pulled his hand out carrying a small match box that looked old and worn. Taking it to his ear, he shook and listened. Nicker listened to. It seemed like everything stopped to listen. “Rattle, rattle.” Both Yipa’s and Nicker’s ears perked. There was one match in the box rattling around.
“Here.” said the stranger. He looked awfully confused.
“Thank you!” Nicker replied, and snatched the box. The man’s hand just hung there for a minute. Nicker stood up, practically jumping off of the log. “You know,” he said, looking up, “I think that crow is waiting for you to do something.”
The stranger looked down, deep in thought. Nicker ran over to Yipa and jumped on his back. You could hear Yipa loose his breathe and cough into the water. “Sorry.” Nicker said. Yipa retreated from the small pond and they made their way back to their camp. “Oh!” said Nicker, “A compliment.” He turned around and cupping his mouth, yelled back to the stranger, “I like the tassels!” Then he grabbed on to Yipa’s ears and started to play cowboy.
The stranger listened to Nicker shouting in the distance. Tassels? he thought, I don’t have tassels. He twisted around and grabbed at his back. He found what he was looking for and pulled it to where he could see it. It wasn’t a tassel. It was a feather attached to his jacket by a leather strap. The stranger smiled. “There not tassels,” he said, “They’re feathers.” and looked to the sky.
In the middle of Nicker shouting, “Faster! Faster!” he heard something like a gush of wind from behind him and the cry of a crow. Yipa stopped and turned his head to find the cause of the strange sound, and Nicker turned around and looked where they stranger had been. There was nothing there; only a few black feathers floating in the air. “Hmm.” he said. “Odd.” and turned back around, “Go faster! Go faster!”
High above where the stranger had been, there flew a new crow, who circled, watching the figure walk from the black pool, glittering in the setting sun, which silhouetted a black bird flying away into the distance.
16 October 2006
Synopsis: Carter finds himself uncovering a conspiracy that leads him to hear a story from a man 800 million miles away.
Reference: The Twilight Zone: Third from the Sun
Carter woke up to a knock on his door.
“Carter, are you in here?” his father asked as he opened the door. It was a question that he already knew the answer to. Carter was always in his room doing something. Boxes filled with wires and batteries among other things, and a couple CB and Ham radios, littered the floor. His computer was buzzing in one corner and a telescope was stationed in another. His father’s eyes rose. “Are you ever going to clean your room?”
“It’s organized,” Carter replied, “I just need shelves.” He cleared his throat; he was still waking up so his voice was low and catching.
“Were you just taking a nap?”
“Oh, yeah, I fell asleep while reading.” Carter held up Frankenstein which he still had in his hand when he woke up.
“Oh. Well, I found this at work and I thought you might be interested in it,” he said, tossing an old file folder on his bed. Carter’s eyes got big. His father worked for the government as an aerospace technician, so all of the stuff he brought home was interesting. And he didn‘t bring stuff home often; most of what he did was classified.
“What is it?” Carter asked, already fingering through the folder. He found mostly pages of numbers and diagrams, and some in written type.
“It’s an old file from the 1960s.” Carter looked on the back of the folder. A small sticker said, CLASSIFIED, 22 JAN 1997. “I found it in the bottom of one of our filing cabinets in the filing room when I took the bottom draw out; the files were easier to look through with the drawer on my desk.” He made a wave with his free hand; the other was on his hip, as he leaned against the door. “Anyway, it was old and I couldn’t find anything about it in the computers, so...”
“Cool, thanks,” Carter said.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” his father said as he shut the door.
“Alright,” he said. “Thanks,” he repeated loudly after the door was shut. He really appreciated it when his Dad brought things to him from work. He couldn’t ever go with him to work and they didn’t really spend much time together, so this was one of the only ways they could connect.
Carter stopped flipping through the folder and opened it up so that he could see every page fully. There were four or five separate sections paper clipped together. The very first page in the folder was all type, one that he hadn’t seen before. He skimmed it. It was written in a different format than Carter had ever seen. It seemed allot like a formal letter but it wasn’t personal at all, there were blanks everywhere, some filled in and some not, like a template, and the whole thing was filled with jargon and acronyms that he didn’t know. He thought it was probably a report or something. Carter thought he understood the general idea; the author, whose signature was illegible, was describing the high jacking of a space vessel in 1968 from a military base in Texas. The ship was going to be used in a secret mission for 12 astronauts to scout out Mars and return. The next four pages were in the same format but the date for each were different, the earliest being first. The next three described the government’s attempt and often failure of tracking the craft. The last report ended in verifying that on April fourteenth, 1996, the craft had landed on an undiscovered planet on the opposite side of Saturn.
Carter didn’t know what to do. This was amazing; ten years ago people had landed on a hidden planet, and there were probably only a handful of other people that knew about it. The first thing he did was to skim the rest of the pages in that section. They were filled with graphs of the crafts travels and information about Saturn and its hidden planet.
The next section was even more interesting. It was full of information on the stolen craft. The ship was fairly large, so it had to be hidden in an underground silo; this way there would be less light coming from it when it took off and to keep it hidden the rest of the time. Attached to that same paper there were, ironically, some newspaper clips over some UFO sightings claimed the night it took off. The craft was close to that of a rocket but its butt was larger and the main body was stream lined, and the primary rockets were huge compared to any other rockets Carter knew of. It was especially large and highly advanced for the nineteen sixties. The ship was capable of sustaining life, equipped with a full echo-system minus animals; many fruit bearing plants, a waste recycling system, and a hydrator. He found its name at the top of one of the last pages; it was an O-168. The O was for Olympiad, the one meant that it was the first of its kind, and the 68 stood for the year it was scheduled to, and did take off.
The third paper clipped section was the largest; it contained information on the known and suspected hijackers. There had been thirteen people videotaped getting on the ship, and half of them were children. Carter made a strange face as he continued reading. The report at the beginning of the section stated that there were seven adults and six children seen getting on the ship before it took off. Five men and four women were counted, and it was assumed that the fifth male was hired as a pilot for the others. “Only the identity of one of the hijackers was caught on tape after while in combat with one of the personnel. Hale Risbee was an advanced researcher at the O-168 facility, most likely the inside man,” the paper had said. Whoever had written the report, this ones signature was even worse, was pretty confident in whom he or she thought were the other hijackers. The author described how the children, when they were shooed onto the craft often looked around and from that he or she was able to, with help from the office of missing persons, narrow down the possible passengers, to three families: the Carnhads, the Rishonbachs, and the Risbees. The Carnhads and the Rishonbachs were both families of four, each with one boy and one girl, and the Risbees were a family of three with one son, leaving one female child without a parent, unless the fourth male adult was her father.
Carter’s head started to spin with all of the information. He stopped reading and rolled over on the bed. When he was able to sit up, he went onto the next section. It was much more interesting. The next section contained the very exact frequency that their ship could be reached with, the dates each year that Saturn would be the closest until 2000, and every conversation, or attempt at a conversation, that the government had had with the occupants of the vessel until 1997, which Carter assumed was around the time the file had been lost. Sadly though they hadn’t said much, and they seemed to stop answering in 1975, but Carter didn’t blame them. The only people that contacted them were rude interrogators who wanted to know their identities, ask questions about what they had discovered, and discuss their crimes. It was strange the way they talked to; like they had to get it all out at once. After looking at time between replies, he realized why they were speaking like that. If you had to wait almost two and a half hours for a reply, you would too.
By the time he read the last word of the last section his mouth was hanging wide open along with his eyes. He could not believe what he had stumbled upon. He didn’t know what to do, so he just sat there. Then he thought of something. Carter flipped back to the third section and found the page with the dates that Saturn would be the closest and, seeing that they were the same as the dates of correspondence, looked for a pattern. He found one, and after finding a pencil, he continued the pattern up until 2006. Carter looked at the last date he had written down and cocked his head. He had written down January thirteenth. Carter looked at his watch; it was January the twelfth. He smiled big. Tomorrow he was going to make contact with people 800 million miles away.
**************
It was now eleven thirty, on Friday the 13th of January, and everything was set. Carter had been working ever since he had gotten home from school, constantly having to defend his actions; taking things from downstairs, using his father’s tools, and occasionally his brain, and of course, being upstairs all day except for dinner which he had hurried through. Carter’s family, consisting of his parents and his younger sister, questioned him constantly about his doings, and he constantly repeated that he would explain later, that he was very busy, and that they shouldn’t worry. They had finally given him a break, shut off the lights, and went to bed, which he could tell by his sister pounding up the stairs, at 10:01; he was watching every minute. He knew that if he were going to talk to anyone that his best bet would be tonight.
Carter had finished the special radio about an hour after he arrived home from school, and the rest of the time was devoted to creating a large antennae that he could direct electronically using the motors of his precision telescope, and the rest if the time had used trying to get all the bugs worked out. Unfortunately, after he had his telescope/antennae on the little roof outside of his window, he realized that it needed to be bigger, and so he had to make it bigger. Even after Carter had spent so much time working on the radio system it still wasn’t cooperating, malfunctioning here and sparking there, but now it was ready.
The telescope riding antennae was set, the radio was set, and so was he…he thought. He turned the dials on what he inventively called his transpace radio, occasionally picking up a few Spanish and German broadcasts, until he got to where the frequency should have been. And from that point he slowly turned the dial hoping to hear something or someone. After five minutes Carter stopped turning. There was one spot near the center of the frequency at which every time he passed it, he thought he could hear a low humming sound, but disregarded it as noise. After a few more minutes of not hearing anything, he decided to try sending something on every part of the frequency. On what he thought was the first part of the major frequency, he began, “This is Carter Ortan, 14 years of age. I am broadcasting from Earth, North America, Texas, Kerrville. It is 10:16pm, Friday the 13th of January, 2006. O-168 please respond. O-168 please respond.” After exhausting this announcement on every minor frequency, Carter turned the dial until he heard the familiar hum, which he hoped was the O-168’s frequency marker. In case it was, he made his announcement again, just to make sure.
The familiar sound of Carter’s alarm woke him; his eyes felt like someone had tied weights to them while he was asleep. Turning off his alarm he yawned and looked around. He frowned, wondering what all the strange equipment scattered around was for. “What—” he started to ask, but then he remembered. He shot a look at the clock, right what he had set it for 12:40A.M. Letting out a quick sigh of relief, he jumped down next to where the radio that controlled the frequency sat; the one with the biggest dial. Carter turned the dial to the left slowly, listening for any sound. Not hearing anything and getting to the end of the frequency, he slowly turned the dial to the right. He passed the low hum and again met the end of the frequency. Carter looked at the clock alarm that sat next to his computer, which he hadn’t bothered to shut down, so it had been running the whole day. The time was 12:44. Disappointed, Carter let himself fall back. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the white noise blaring loudly next to his ear.
Accepting failure, he quickly turned the dial and tried to find the low hum, where he would leave it; but the hum wasn’t there. He heard a different sound. This surprised him, and he let go of the dial. The sound was crackly, rough, and inconsistent, changing from low to high without following any pattern. Carter’s heart was racing. He grabbed the dial and slowly tried to make the sound clearer. He turned it back and forth, back and forth until the sound was as clear as his own voice, as clear as someone else’s voice. Carter gasped. “—one side is mostly uninhabitable from being so close to Saturn, and there are no days here.” Carter jumped off his feet and looked for a pad of paper and pen. “As best as we can calculate, Vestar makes a full clockwise rotation on its axis once every 200 years.” Finding the pad of paper and pen he had been using to aid the construction of his transpace radio, on the floor next to his bed, he skittered back to the radio. “And because of this we will have to migrate soon.” He started to write, but stopped. A look of frustration overcame him. Throwing the pad of paper and pen across the room, he ran to find his tape recorder. “The rings of Saturn are beautiful during Dawn season, but because of their shadow there is constantly a ring of ice and snow that follows the equator of our precious planet.” Carter had found his tape recorder and now had it on the floor next to the radio’s speaker. He took a shallow breathe, pushed in the record button, and listened hard, hanging on to every word.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Dawn season is like an earthen spring, called that because like an earthen dawn, it is the beginning of constant light for three quarters of the year. Opposite earth, our planet revolves around Saturn clockwise, and ironically, a Vestan year is the same as an earthen year. Our summers are extremely hot and our winters are extremely cold, but both are obviously manageable.” The speaker paused for a moment. “I don’t know why, but I trust you, my friend. I hope you’re listening. If not then I guess it will just be a great way of letting go…of lots of things.” There was an empty pause and a sigh. “Well, the best place to start is the beginning isn’t it? Though, I won’t be able to stop my story with the end, and I don’t think I’ll have time to end with the present. Ah, my, especially if I keep rambling like this.” Carter shifted feeling the beginning of an amazing story.
“Since I only have a half an hour, I will speak as much as I can with purpose. The reason I have such little time is that I have wasted all the power I can broadcasting throughout the whole day. I so very wish that you would have contacted me earlier. I almost missed you. Anyway, I promised a story.”
“In 1968, at the age of six, I left everything in the world behind, literally. My father, Mr. Hale Risbee, had been the head technician for the O-168 before it was even in draft form. He knew everything about the vessel, from where every part came from, to how much force the door handles needed to turn. My father was the leader of our small group, and when he died, he put me in charge. The reason we left is to me very rash, but I really don’t know because I never knew my home planet. When I asked my father why we had left, he answered first by looking into my eyes. He did that often but he must have found what he was looking for because he said, ‘Son—Gate, we left for many reasons. We left for the opportunity of a better life; one where we can start over, where we wouldn’t be in danger of dying for the cause of another man’s war. And we left for the opportunity to explore a new planet. That’s something incredible, son.’ My father never arrived on Vestar with the rest of us, but he did get to see it…just before he died. He died happy.
I can remember our small house on earth—all of our money was being saved for supplies—my room, my toys, my mother’s kitchen that always smelled like baking, and my father’s study where I would play and watch him work. I remember the night we left. I was woken up, it seemed, right after I went to bed, told to get dressed, and to get in the car. We drove in silence, my mother’s weeping being the only sound besides the engine. When we stopped my father sat silently waiting, while my mother turned around and said to me, ‘Gate, you’re big now. We need you to be big.’ She reached out her hands and held mine. ‘What are we doing?’ I asked her. ‘We’re leaving child, but you’ll have friends. The Rishonbachs and the Carnhads are going too, and the Carnhads even have another girl with them, albeit she’s a little old for you to play with.’ I must have started to cry because I remember her then saying, ‘Oh, honey it will be alright.’ ‘But I don’t like all of them.’ I remember mumbling, meaning the children.”
“Without notice, my father jumped out of the car, ran around to the trunk and frantically grabbed the little belongings we had brought. I followed him with my eyes, watching his face hoping to gain some insight into our situation. When he opened the trunk, and I could no longer see him, something caught my eye out the window. Another car had pulled up to our left and the driver was also getting things from the trunk, and children filed out of the back after the front passenger. I looked to my right and saw the same seen play out. ‘It’s time my mother said.’ She got out and opened my door. ‘But, but,’ I remember stuttering. My mother reached under my arms and picked me up. She said something to my father but I don’t know what. After that I heard a metal gate open and we ran. Well, my parents ran, as I bounced in my mother’s arms. Running with us now were the Rishonbachs and the Carnhads. Then I realized who was missing. ‘Mama!’ I cried. ‘We forgot Katakana! We forgot Katakana!’ My mother didn’t reply. I tried to struggle free from her but I could not; the strength of a mother defies nature when her child is in danger.”
“The next thing I remember, I heard a heavy door open and then we were going down spiraling steps. I closed my sodden eyes in frustration and anger, so I could only hear. I heard everyone stop, and then we were all tip-toeing; all but me of course. We stopped frequently and then our group was running faster than before. The floor changed and the group’s shaky steps echoed with large booms. I opened my eyes. We were in a large silo, and my mother and I were the last ones running across the metal bridge that connected to a large rocket in the center. I knew it was a rocket, and I had seen the designs enough to know that it was not just any ordinary rocket. It was my father’s rocket; the O-168, and we were leaving in it. All the foreign conversations that my parents had had in the last two months ran through my head, coming out with all the pieces together. We were leaving earth for Vestar and would never be back. I looked behind my mother but I couldn’t see my father anywhere; I knew he would be last. Seeing me look around, my mother unexpectedly put me down, and for the first few steps she was doing the work for me, pulling me along. I gained traction and started to run. Looking back I could see my father fighting hand to hand for his life with an MP on the swaying bridge. Then it was into the ship.”
“I was set down in a seat, and buckled in. Everyone was running around getting in seats, pushing buttons and checking readings. From behind me I could hear the door shut and I began to scream for my father, who I thought was left outside. Then someone grabbed my shoulders and began shaking. I looked up to find my father, his face bruised and cut open in many places. ‘I’m alright son. I’m alright,’ he said. That calmed me. Actually, thinking about those words still calms me.”
“Lift off was all a blur to me. I remember everyone getting quiet and quickly saying letters that I didn’t think made since together, which also introduced me to a new voice that I had not met the owner of. I later learned that my father was so far behind us because he had been getting the dessert doors above of us open and locked, a very important part of the plan. I sat there, afraid that the man who was hurting my father would try to gain entry but after the burners were lit, I realized that no man would be stupid enough to be in the silo when their was a capable crew on the ship. The thrusters were the loudest things I had ever heard, I thought, and I definitely wasn’t ready for the G-forces, though I probably would have enjoyed it if it had been under different circumstances. When I felt that I could take it no longer, the primary rockets were lit, and that is the loudest thing I’ve heard to this day. But I didn’t endure it long; I passed out just after that.”
“I woke up 100 miles out in space, head swimming with fresh memories that seemed more distant than I was from home. When I got my bearings, I looked around to find no one in the seats they had just occupied, seat belts floating along with my hands. I remember calling out for my Mother. She came and unbuckled me, floating like an angel, telling me how they didn’t want to wake me and that every one was in the parlor talking. I followed her as she taught me how to get around without gravity. Everyone was in what was generally named ‘the parlor’ talking or doing something.”
“When I floated into the parlor, a large room meant for dining and congregating, I was greeted by Berry and Susan Rishonbach who were ‘sitting’ at a table above me. I never got used to people doing things above me. Their son Tristen, who was 12 and not the nicest to me, was sitting at a table with a man I didn’t know that looked like he was twenty, who I assumed owned the voice that I hadn’t known earlier. Listening to him speak, I knew I was correct. I asked my mother who he was before she floated away and she said his name was Captain Nulman. ‘But remember to ask him what he would like you to call him,’ she said. I floated that way and interrupted them, asking the Captain what my mother had told me to. He answered by saying, ‘Boy, just as long as you don’t call me Nulman, you’ll be fine.’ He probably saw my dissatisfaction with his answer so he said, ‘Call me Captain. What’s your name?’ ‘Gate,’ I replied. He thought it was a strange name, but I was used to that. I remember asking him how he got on the ship, that I hadn’t seen him get on. He told us, Tristen and I, how he had managed to get on the ship without being noticed and even threw in some details about what he had to do to ready the ship. ‘This ship is the most beautiful thing that ever came from earth.’ he said.”
“Life on the ship was very routine, and went by faster than it was meant to. I was home schooled by Mrs. Carnhad, who was a teacher on earth, and when I wasn’t learning I wrote stories. I wrote stories about anything I could think of. Mrs. Carnhad had a large library that she forced my father to secretly stow on the ship; almost everything had to be put on the ship before the night we left, so I had a lot of literature to keep my imagination alight. There were five other children besides me. Tristen had a sister named Ema Jane. She was twelve. The Carnhad children were Delouis, who was nine, and Par, who was three. The Carnhads had also brought a girl along named Kerry, who was fourteen. She was staying with them before they left and had no other place to go. This fact was often the topic of debate. The O-168 was only made to accommodate twelve people, not thirteen.”
“There aren’t very many things that stand out from my time on the ship, but there are a few moments that do. A few months after leaving earth, I got in trouble for sassing my father. He sat me in a corner and told me to stay there. It happened to be a corner next to a window, and so I sat, I think for hours, staring into space. I thought about everything that I was forced to leave behind, like my dog. Katakana was one years old when we left her. She was a black lab, and I loved her so much. Staring out that window I was especially angry at Dellois who was allowed to bring her rabbits along, even though I knew they were for breeding and eating. I remember my first ‘date’. For the first ten years of the trip Ema Jane and I were at odds, but after I turned fifteen that changed. I fell in love with Ema Jane but we weren’t able to marry until 1996 when we landed. ‘Landed’ is a very bad word to use. After my father died, the Captain took us in to land. He did the best he could to avoid Saturn’s ring but was unable to entirely. Tristen and the Captain were suited up and in the cockpit when a stray asteroid the size of a penny shot in through the window, through the Captain, and then through the other side of the ship. He died instantly. It’s so ironic to me; the captain grumbled constantly about the unexpected passenger when there were thirteen of us, and with his death there were only eleven passengers left. Tristen could fly the ship but the Captain had never taught him how to land. He didn’t even know how to slow down, though he fortunately figured that out before we entered Vestar’s atmosphere. The landing rendered the O-168 useless. The only other major event was the death of Mr. Rishonbach, Ema Jane’s father, seven years ago. He died while exploring the MuRa ridge—but of course that would mean nothing to you.”
“The best two days of my life were when Ema Jane and I were married here on Vestar and the first time I saw the long awaited planet I was promised. I was thirty four when I sat in my cabin and watched Vestar slowly appear from behind Saturn, like the sun rising on the horizon of a brand new day. That’s what that moment was for me; the dawn of a new life, the new life I had been promised by my father so long ago when he stripped my birth planet away. I saw my new home with excitement and fervor. From where I was I could see the cold Horicen, the lush jungles, and the toxic gases of my planet. From there my story gets interesting, but unfortunately I’m going to have to keep you in suspense. Well, I hope you’ve got all this. It said the signal was clean the whole time. Contact me next year, earlier hopefully, and if I’m around I’ll answer. Well, the light is telling me that—” and then the there was nothing but white noise, not even a signal marker.
Carter felt like crying, but he didn’t. He would talk to Gate Risbee next year, and besides he had the tape. He pressed the stop button and opened the tape player to get his tape, but there was none. Now he really wanted to cry. There wasn’t even a recording. He threw his head into his arms. And oh, the suspense! Gate hardly told him anything about the planet. But Carter only had himself to blame for that, and he couldn’t help wondering if it were really true or if it were some prank put on by some story telling jerk. In the end, he decided that it was better to believe. Life’s too boring if there’s nothing to believe in, not to mention the fact that there would have been no purpose for his excitement and work if it was false.
10 November 2006
The quiet rustling of the students seats and the sound of breathing filled the room. Finic was stuck on the essay question: Describe the second Impherian system of government, and was feverishly trying to think. He stared at the screen in his hands, which he had resting on his circular black desk, and hoped something from that lesson had managed to get into his head and was now hiding in the far recesses of his mind, but the harder he concentrated the more he realized that he knew nothing about the second Impherian system of government. All he could remember, or better said, the only thing that came to mind was a picture of a soldier. It wore a round, golden helmet, with only holes for the eyes. The helmet had a chin that came far below the persons chest and a blanket of silver mail stretched from the neck of the helmet to the warrior’s bear wrists. In each hand it grasped a curving sword with a thick, full hand guard and at the warriors waste there hung a holster with a firearm of some kind in it; there were many possibilities of what the firearm was, including a laser and a sonic-gun. Finic had a great picture of what he assumed was an Impherian solder, but this didn’t help him write about the country’s government. So, he pressed the skip button and went onto the next question.
After finishing the last question of the test, Finic chose to go back to the question he had skipped and tried to think some more, but it wasn’t very long before the projection floating above his monitor changed to a white page with the words Sorry, but your time is spent, spread across the center and his teacher stood up to announce that his students had five minutes to spend as they wished in their seats. Finic stretched his arms, yawned, and let his body go limp. His head banged against the desk, and his eyes immovably watched the darkness which to him seemed as vast and dark as space.
Someone pulled on the short, tight braid of black hair on the back of his head and he started to swivel his seat around to see who wanted his attention, keeping his forehead on the desk. Joshua, a thicker, shorter kid with deep brown eyes and brown hair that was spiked like a crown, sat directly behind him. Finic really didn’t like him; he acted like he was better than everyone. He had to admit that he was fairly smart and Finic didn‘t mind talking with him. He just acted so selfish and stuck-up. They did things together occasionally, when their parents, who were pretty good friends, did things together, but neither of them had bought one another or even considered it. Finic wouldn’t even be able to buy Joshua; he was the most popular kid in their section of the school, B2, and Finic was weary about being associated with him anyway.
Finic swiveled around until he felt the edge of the desk, which was only 90 degrees from his original position facing the teacher, and turned his head to lay on his cheek. Joshua had his head on his arms and was looking at Finic, smiling. “What did you think of that test?” he asked.
Finic thought for a second before replying, “I think I need to start paying more attention to the reading assignments and lectures.” They both laughed.
“Yeah, I know what you mean—did you get that essay question about the Impherian government?”
“That’s the only one I didn’t get,” Finic laughed.
“Yeah, me too.” Joshua was going to say more but one of the guys to his right started talking to him.
Finic turned his head onto his chin and looked across to the other side of the room where the girls sat, separated from the boys by a distance about as wide as two of their desks. He was in the center of the right (his right facing front) half of the room, so the girls were pretty far away; far enough that he couldn’t hear any of what they were saying, only the occasional giggle. One of those giggles happened to make it across the room while he was watching. It was a melodic giggle, one that made you smile. And it belonged to Liza Erning. Finic knew that giggle so well, he could replay it in his head whenever he wanted, but that wasn’t as rewarding as hearing it for real, so he would listen for it during class and hope that he would hear it. Liza was a beautiful blonde with hair that came down to her neck and a smile that brightened the room. She had bright green eyes that sparkled, matching the paint that she always put on her face, which was never in the same pattern or color. She had a very modest figure but wasn’t the tallest girl in the class, around Joshua’s height, but that didn’t matter to Finic; everyone was shorter than him.
No other held Finic’s heart like Liza did. He had never mentioned his affection to anyone before so she had no clue. The only hope he had was to save up enough money and offer to buy her. Liza was the most popular girl and she would be so expensive that no one even bothered. Not even her boyfriend had bought her.
“Hey, Joshua.” Finic called, looking toward his friend’s desk.
“Yeah?” was his reply.
“You would help me if you could wouldn’t you?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure. Why?” Joshua had a curios look on his face.
Finic leaned out of his seat, towards Joshua’s desk and asked quietly, “Would you buy me? I mean...for a pretty high price. You know, make me look good.” Finic tried to look humble and needy.
Joshua looked at Finic thorough slitted eyes, an approving and mischievous look in his smile. “Finic, you really are in B section for a reason. Why didn’t I ever think of that?” he sniggered.
“Maybe its because no one has ever had the money or the confidence to buy you.“ Finic said. With every word of that sentence he was gritting his inner teeth; he wanted to hurt other people when they tried to help build Joshua’s monstrous ego, and he couldn’t stand it when Joshua gloated which he knew was going to be the next thing that happened; so, for the next few sentences he concentrated on listening for Liza to laugh.
He started listening again when he heard Joshua start in a louder, staged voice, “Hey, Finic.”
“Yeah,” he said. Trying hard not to mimic Joshua’s overly obvious way of speaking.
“I’m going to buy you.” he said even louder.
“Really?” Finic asked, trying as hard as he could to look genuinely surprised.
“Here,” Joshua said as he reached into the pocket of his tight blue shirt; elastic, magnetic, and very plain, flat clothing was in and no one ever put their wallets in their back pockets anymore, you would never know if someone was trying to steal it or not. Finic was wearing a clean cut jacket that stayed shut using magnets instead of buttons and matching stiff pants. After retrieving and then fingering through his wallet, Joshua pulled out three notes, all of them tens, the red colored text flashing, getting everyone's attention. Joshua leaned over his desk and handed Finic the notes, “How about Thirty notes?”
The notes quivered in his hands for a few seconds, getting the rest of that half of the room’s attention, before Finic slowly put his hand out and grabbed onto a portion of the notes.
“Sold!” he said in an “are you kidding?” kind of way. Joshua smiled and started talking to the boy directly to his left, who was laughing and asking questions at the same time; he thought it was a joke. Finic pocketed the notes, not even bothering with his wallet. He was going to need them soon.
The teacher stood up from his desk, walked to the front of the class, and began a lecture over revolutionary weapons. Finic tried his hardest to pay extra attention to him, the test was going to be even tougher than the last one with all the different terms, but he couldn’t focus. His mind just kept wondering off. He kept finding himself on a date with Liza, and her giggle kept replaying over and over again in his head; and before he knew it his teacher’s lecture was over and it was time for another break. One that he could spend out of his seat.
Great, Finic thought, I hope the test is easy...really easy. He stood up, stretched, yawned, and looked around the room as if he had nothing planned. In the back of his row he could see a small group of people sitting really close together, probably talking about the big Sky-race that was taking place that night. Then he heard that giggle again. He found her instantly, her blonde hair sparkling in the sunlight that made it’s way through the lone window on the girls side of the room. Here we go, he thought. Finic walked to the front, passed the two rows of desks in-between his row and the empty section, and crossed the gap. He was heading towards a desk three rows in from the empty section and five desks back. There were already several other boys mingling around on the girls side, probably visiting with their girlfriends, so he didn’t think he would stand out too much; and he didn’t. No one noticed him at all, except, that is, for Liza, when he stood in front of her desk and said her name. She had been looking down at her screen where Finic could see squirrelly handwriting written, obviously studying notes of hers.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” he said politely.
“Uh, that’s alright.” she said surprised, smiling. Her face was so vibrant when she smiled. It was one of those smiles that you couldn’t help smiling back to. Finic grinned, then blushed. He felt as though he were towering over her with her in her desk, she was short as it was, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“My name’s—”
“Finic. I know.” She interrupted.
“Oh,“ Finic said surprised. “I was wondering,” he said. The way those green eyes stared at him made him stutter. “I was wondering,” he said, as he squatted down where he could speak quieter and see her better; she also didn’t have to strain her neck looking up. “Could I buy you?” he said quietly.
Her face was stricken with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. “Me?” she asked.
“Yes, you.” he tried to say innocently.
“Why would you—”
“I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole school—no, in all of Cupernos.” he spat out. Oh, no, he thought. He had hoped to bring it out a little slower than that.
“But my boyfriend hasn’t even bought me,” Liza said at a loss, her mouth hanging slightly open.
“I know,” Finic said, “And I think he’s an idiot for not.” By this time a couple heads had turned to see what they were discussing.
Liza looked down at her desk and played with a black-gold bracelet on her wrist, which matched her over shirt. She also wore a black sparkling skirt and a silky white under-shirt. She was very flattered by him asking, the look on her face gave it away, but she seemed dismayed. The fact that she had never been bought before might of had something to do with it.
“You probably...” she started to say, but looking up at Finic, stopped. Then she tried again, “How much do you think I’m worth?” she said, a hint of doubt making its way to the surface. “I mean...just—how much?”
“How about seventy?” he said smoothly, sliding the money under his hand across the desk towards her.
She gasped along with a couple other girls who couldn’t keep to their own business. Finic could hear them begin relaying what had happened. He knew he didn’t have much time now. He pulled his hand away from the crisp, flat notes and set it flat on the desk along with his other. “Well?” he asked.
“I—I don’t—how did you?” Liza managed to get out as she reached to touch the sparkling notes.
Finic ignored the question and turned his head to try and get the attention of her wide staring eyes. Liza finally noticed him and looked up, their eyes meeting in a strong gaze. “Sold?” a asked with a smile.
Liza looked down and then looking back up at Finic, said in no more than a whisper, “Sold.” Finic smiled and stood up, watching her the whole time. She had both hands on the notes and was fingering them. She wasn’t smiling and Finic couldn’t tell what emotions she felt. He reluctantly decided that she wasn’t going to look back up at him and that he should be getting back to his seat. He turned around and walked to the front of the row. As he did so he thought he could feel someone watching him and as he turned the corner at the front of the row he caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision of Liza quickly looking down. He smiled again.
He made it to his seat before class was back in session; actually sooner than he had hoped. He could hear the whisper-wave making its way up from the back of the room. Sooner than he wished, he heard one of the boys behind him telling Joshua the news.
“What!” he heard Joshua say surprised. “Finic? Are you joking?” Then everyone got quiet. Josh was standing right up and he knew it. Sitting erect in his chair, Finic checked to make sure he didn’t look proud and slowly spun around to face Joshua who had his arms crossed and had a rather calm facial expression; Finic was surprised. Neither of them said anything. Then Joshua asked, “Is it true?” Finic nodded. “I bought you with ten times more than you’ll ever be worth and this is how you repay me?” Joshua said with an incredulous low voice.
“I didn’t just use your money. I had to save allot more than that.” said Finic in a defensive voice.
“That money was supposed to insure your loyalty to me. Especially, that much!”
“And it does,” replied Finic.
“You call stealing my girlfriend loyal!” Joshua shouted loud enough to get the teacher’s attention.
“I didn’t steal her. I just bought her.” Finic said. Joshua scowled. “She’s still your girlfriend. I just wanted to show her how special I think she is.”
Joshua opened his mouth to speak but was stopped short by the teacher. “Alright class,” he said cautiously, “please sit down.” Joshua did. “And face forward.” Finic did.
As the teacher spoke, Finic thought. He had made Joshua look like a jerk for not buying his girlfriend already and Finic knew it. He had thought through it but there was really no other way to get the money. Finic had to admit that it was a little dishonest and Joshua would probably be mad at him forever but he didn’t care. He had bought the right to say that he had bought the
24 November 2006
Tony crouched behind the sofa, his B23 ”hand”-gun is his left hand, thumb—hammer cocked. The carpet under foot made a soft sound as he leaned forward and peered around the corner of the sofa for where his adversary could be. “You better come out from wherever you are!” he shouted like a cop, “I’ve got a B23 and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, I’ve got a C24 and I’m not afraid to use it!” a younger voice replied. It came from behind the desk on the other side of the room.
Tony crept behind the end of the couch, now on his belly. He felt like James Bond. He sniffed the air just like a special ops. He could smell the old dusty smell of the couch and his own sweaty smell, but nothing that told him it was time to retreat. “Pcshhhh—this is teal leader. Copy,“ he hissed like they did on the games they played, “Pcshhhh—this is teal leader requesting back up. Copy.” No reply. Well, I’m on my own, he thought. He peered around the corner of the couch.
“I see you!”
Tony jerked his head back. “Man!” he said under his breathe, “He was waiting for me.” Now what, he thought.
“You’re lucky,” the voice said, “I didn’t have enough time to fire.”
He’s just playing with me now, Tony thought. Lucky for him, the enemy didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut; couldn’t help from taunting him. Tony back crawled to the back of the couch and then scurried quickly, a little too loudly to the other corner. He gave up no time, he wasn’t going to win this time. He peeked around the corner. Clear. Where’d he go? he thought, Must have jumped and probably rolled over behind the lazy-boy. Tony listened and listened hard. He was right, hearing the enemy adjust himself behind the lazy-boy which was once again on the other side of the room. He’s good, he thought, But not good enough. Tony couldn’t let him win this time. He put both hands together and now had a D2 double barreled “hand”-gun like in the old westerns; using his own rules against him; one he’d probably forgotten.
He made sure both hammers were back. Click, he could hear inside his head. He readied himself, putting both feet flat on the ground and his back against the back of the couch like Rambo. He frowned like Terminator and waited. He knew what his enemy was going to do next. This time he would win though; he would fire first.
He waited in silence waiting to hear footsteps that he knew would come. And they came, slowly and quietly. Tony jumped up and turned around at the same time like Jackie Chan surprising his adversary in mid step. “Bang!” he shouted. BVOOOM! His hands were propelled backwards over his head and a flowing stream of electricity and blue and white light shot out from the ends of his fingers. He caught himself from being thrown down with his left leg. Tony stood there for a moment unsure of what had happened, then he opened his eyes which were squeezed shut and lowered his hands which were still clasped together. His fingertips were smoking and pulling his palms apart a little, he could see small blue sparks jumping around. He looked up to see his brother eyes as wide open as his mouth, staring in shock. Tony gasped and his older brother Daniel, toppled to the ground. Tony threw his little body over the couch and to his dying brother’s side.
Tony had his palms flat on the carpet not knowing what to do. His brother lay trying to breathe, a cauterized hole five inches in diameter where one lung should be. Tony began to cry and shake back and forth, helplessly looking into his brothers eyes. He reached out to Daniel, a futile gesture, touching him in different places on his chest near the wound as if to heal it with the same destructive power. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he began to blubber. Daniel moved his mouth more than once as if to say something, struggling to even breath. Then he breathed his last breathe as his eyes rolled to the right, his muscles relaxed, and their mother announced dinner from the other side of the house.
2 December 2006