I
John
Neural Record [4/15/62-J-057]
“Why would I give a good god damn about a construct?” The fluorescent light flickering timidly against the sterile panels of the room. My clinic, where I would care for the occasional patient, but more often it’s used postmortem.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be working this job then, huh?” A grey-haired man scrubs a stainless-steel operation table, rather begrudgingly. His peculiarly arched back gave a history of hard labor that only someone with decades of experience could understand.
“I mean, he’s gone! He’s been dead a long time, why does everyone keep pretending it’s still alive?” I flicked a small pen between my fingers as I tossed the question back to the old man.
“Do you honestly think I would still have the answer to that question? I don’t know kid, have you tried talking to him? Or even look in his direction for that matter?” The old man adjusted his gaze, irritated and mildly proving a point.
Had it been any other day I’d have rather enjoyed his irritation, but this occasion was different. I’ve been stuck on this assignment, haunted by a shell of someone I used to know. I was glad to have company here. Though that station had more than a town’s worth of people, you came to know everybody, some more than others.
My life ended with my best friend several months ago. He was a gem of a human being, around for all the hard times and the reason I continued to live on in the face of utmost adversity. After losing my family, he would be the last person I could be close enough to call brother.
“His new ‘life’ is a lie. Why don’t people understand that?” I pressed into him. I knew that answer would be no different, but this new version of him. It’s just not the same and I wanted to make it abundantly clear to everyone, yet again, that he is an abomination to humanity.
“I’m sure you’ll get your answer but it’s not gonna be from me, kid” he finished brazenly. His attention yet again was to the table he had been scrubbing for the past half hour. The congealed blood seeping between the holes in the drain board.
The job was tedious, but most techs assigned to the station were the equivalent of glorified janitors. Cleaning, transporting, and any meaningless task provided by the higher ups. Unfortunately for my welcoming partner, my credentials exceeded his own. Unfortunately for me, my line of work demands equity regardless of licensure.
Had I been anywhere else, it may have been more exciting, but tedium and a constant reminder of the greatest tragedy I’d known, I was not keen to keep working. Conversation is all I had left to look forward to, and even then, that was starting to be tainted.
The stench of his cleaner finally got to me, wrenching my nostrils into a waltz of pain, and throwing my stomach through the loops of nausea. Navigating the fine dance of my own painful thoughts and the offense of chemicals was becoming too much for today.
I eyed the clock quickly, thirty minutes left, almost time to call it. The grey-haired man sprayed another round of cleaner on the surgery table and gave me an inquisitive look “You gonna make it?” I nodded my head, gripping a gag and nursing a sigh as I whimpered “yeah… yeah I’ll make it”
The old man looked up again, motioning to the clock on the wall “Looks like quitting time, get out of my lab.” Confused, I motioned to start again and he cut me off “I don’t pay for your time and neither do the docs. I’m sure you could find someone else to bother with your questions.” In momentary confusion I looked dumbfounded at the man, who proceeded to double down and motion me out the door.
Feeling shut down and cast away from my latest victim, I meandered toward the door, feeling alone. The loneliness was difficult and it seemed like floating among a black sea, with people that didn’t want me, was going to be my new life. At least I’m not pretending I’m alright, I can at least give myself credit for that.
-
The air of the facility was stale and cold, not unlike the clinic, even in our rooms you could never escape the feeling. After several months it felt rather comforting but even among the sterile walls, it wasn’t hard to relapse into no comfort at all. At least I have my cot to give some semblance of softness in this gross metaphor of a prison.
A sudden hot flash stung the base of my skull. It’s what I’ve come to know as an “E-Mail” though the term is outdated. It was painful to receive and has made my life feel so much more invaded but at least I would never miss out on current events.
The message formed vividly in my mind, “Translation from Dr. Greenbaum: John, I have updated your assignment. We’ve located a nearby asteroid emanating unusual signals and we’ve assigned you to an emergency expedition. Please consult the mission briefing attached to this translation.”
I’ve never been a fan of Dr. Greenbaum, his breath always smelled like tobacco and he talked much too fast for any of us to understand, at least in person anyway. Though it was nice to be reminded that scent does not translate.
A wash of cold then stung behind my forehead as the information was transmitted through my neural lace. “Departure: April 15th 6:00 P.M GMT aboard LEV: Atlas. Prepare for two-week excursion and metabolic inhibitor. Arrival expected between day four and five, assess excursion team’s sterility when in contact with object and begin flight path to Sea of Tranquility base Nu-7 on day 8. Please check with Lieutenant Keller and Technician Serena.”
My stomach turned. I knew why but I tried to keep the thought away. A swelling mass pushed against the base of my neck, the space beneath my tongue inflating with a cotton-filled rapture. Vomit, I turned over in my cot and reached for the nearby office trashcan.
The cold of my neck sent shivers down my spine with the waves of vomit. Dull fear gripped my heart and wrenched my stomach again.
Keller… it and I have a history and being around it reminded me of a time I never want to remember. Luckily, metabolic inhibitors are effective nausea killers and one of the most impactful anti-anxiety medications of any market. It’s not without its issues though.
Everything was a drag on an inhibitor and the unlucky few who couldn’t handle the side effects were likely also the same people to “bottom-out”. Not to mention how much it interacts with other medications, though not in synergy. The effects were different with everyone, some would find a drastic decrease in emotional response, others could quite literally die. It depends on your lifestyle choices.
The smell of oil floated my nostrils, thinking about flying in a ship again. Old exploratory vessels like the Atlas are notorious for being so old and dusty that oil was just the garnish on top. The Atlas is one such case where the ship is older than nearly all the people who crew it, yet she still flies. She and I have a personal history too…
The perk of being assigned to the Atlas though is that once upon a time, folks knew what comfort was all about, and so the seats, beds, pods, and the common room are all lined in beautiful real wood trimmings and foam like I’ve never felt before. Who knew that flying in a giant metal box with rockets strapped to it was better in stark contrast to my current living arrangement.
The dimness of my quarters was interrupted shrewdly by the fluorescent lights from outside. I turned to face the offense. Standing expectantly was the silhouette of one of my coworkers, Serena.
She was a well-built woman, dark hair, green eyes, and a failing tan from too many days without sunlight. I had a particular fancy for her, yet I couldn’t bring myself to be too close to someone who could be taken from me again. Though even in this fight I had failed too. That would be a trend of my adult life.
“John…” Her voice called from the frame “Did you get the orders too?” I nodded and shot a smile “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” I retorted with reserved glee. “Can you shut the door please?” she stepped inside, scraping the poorly greased door against its frame. She knelt beside my cot, inspecting me, worry drenched her face.
Serena has always been a good friend to me. When I first arrived at this lunar station, she was the new hire until I walked in. A few dumb comments and a sprinkle of dark humor forged our friendship. Though she seemed assuming, Serena hailed from a humble colony outside of Jupiter, gravity is high, and her family has an odd genetic condition where her bones are twice as thick. I’m sure gravity didn’t help with that.
She slid a thick hand along my shoulder, vomit oozing from my shuddering body into the trashcan. She began softly “I know we’ve talked about this before but… I think you should really see someone about this.” In the short reprieve I had, I could only muster one word “No.” before retching again.
Her campaign of healing Keller and I’s relationship was well meaning but became annoying after a while. She likes to involve herself heavily in the people she’s come to know. For most it may seem overwhelming, but after losing my own family to a plague on Mars, she became more family than I could bear to admit.
“It’s been months John; the conflict is over and he… it… doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment.” She drew a sharp breath, seemingly rethinking her next statement. I watched intently, resent stinging the strings of my heart. “There was a bond between you that could never be broken, and it’s clear that you’re suffering from it. You really… really need to seek help.”
Her statement drew a brief pause from me. I joked, “I’m already on it, care to take a look inside?” motioning to the trashcan. She also took a moment and scanned my eyes for a minute, shaping a grimace on her lips. I asked sharply, my acidic tone being more than a metaphor “What do you think they would be able to do? Wipe my memory? Ship me off to some asylum? What do you think will honestly fix all of this?”
I waited for her to answer my question first, hopeless, nobody answers rhetorical questions. She began again “You, Me… Keller, a new scientist, and the pilot of the Atlas” she took a sigh “A five-person crew, that doesn’t sound bad, if anything it’s more than we need.”
I sat up from my cot, “Serena, why is Keller assigned to this team. There’s two of us, a pilot, and a scientist. Do we really need him?”
She glanced away, “According to policy, no, but maybe it’s for the best? He… it, is not on this mission for redundancy.” her eyes locked again with mine, “I know you don’t want him there, John. But what use is it to bring prejudice to him?”.
The problem with there being three of us is that it’s a deviation in protocol. Not to mention that crews who have ongoing mesh issues need to take time apart to allow for synchronized work. Put simply, we didn’t get along, though that couldn’t describe the actual truth. The likelihood of us meshing at all died several months ago.
“I just have a hunch that something might go wrong.” An exception could be made for Keller because… well he isn’t old Keller; he could step in place of at least three of the jobs with his new talents.”
I could feel the knot develop in my throat again.
“Well, if worst comes to worst, we will just have an extra hand to do whatever. Even still, you shouldn’t exclude him, you’re not in charge this time around.” I shifted in bed, not in charge. Usually I took lead, just from my history or successfully crewed missions alone.
Serena stood “Keller isn’t part of lay-team, he’s the lead. Dr. Greenbaum has been keeping the information close to the vest, but we are just his escorts.” She started for the door “John, I need you to collect yourself, this is going to be a long trip, and I can’t bear to see you like this.”
I spat back half-joking, half-spiteful “I’ll be fine, I can sleep for most of it” She glanced back at me, her grimace and worry shaping to sadness, the walls in her eyes going up before her normally expressive face turned to stone. She left me with a small sigh before closing the door.
In the dim light of my room, now alone again with my thoughts, I let out a tear. Turning back over in my cot, I reached into one of the loose panels above my bed, I pulled out a small polaroid, ancient technology by today’s standards, with myself and another man with jostled blonde hair, dirty grey fatigues, and smiles I haven’t seen in months.
The knot in my throat finally fell away but was replaced with a heavy wave of grief. I wish I could turn back time. I wish they had taken me instead of him. The pain of this is too much to bear and I wish they would have never gave him this second chance. It isn’t fair, it’s changed him.
As I stared at the picture, the blonde-haired man started to slowly morph, my imagination running wild. Before I could let it take hold completely, I stashed away the photo, blinking away the thought. For all the adventures I shared with him, they’re all for naught. They took him from me and gave me an undead lie. I’m left to live the husk of life, I’ll never love anyone as much as I did him.
Looking up at the panels where I kept my sacred artifact, only one thought was left in my mind, “I hate you…”
II
Serena
Neural Record [4/15/62-S-003]
I can’t help but wonder what I’m doing here. The computer keys below my fingers rap a rhythmic tune as the clicking masks the turbulence in the air.
Got my degree in engineering, received honors, got an internship through the UEC, and now I’m stuck here on “contract”. If you would have asked me what I would have been doing a year ago, working on a Lunar base was not it.
My contract was more of an indentured servitude, but I can’t blame my captor for recommending it. Guess you could call it one of my dirty secrets. Only my recruiter and the original man who imposed it know. He promised me that nobody else would. Though there are days I wake up and fear that the secret broke.
I can’t say it’s all bad though. The pay is decent and it’s only for five more months. What’s better is the people I work with are quite fulfilling. Even though we work on the moon, it feels informal, like we are all just trying to do our part for each other.
I get pleasure in getting to wake up every day and manage this station with my coworkers. What’s better, I get to see the crown jewel of human history, Earth. Or at least what little crescent I get to see from time to time. Subterranean life and living near the edge of the dark side of the moon will remind you of how beautiful the mundane is.
A warm ring shoots up my neck, “Translation from Dr. Greenbaum: Good Afternoon, Serena, I have assigned you to a local excursion. We found an asteroid emitting a strange radio frequency and we want you to be on it. You’ll be a part of the team with Keller and John, I expect you three to behave. Please meet with Keller when you get the chance. Attached as always is the briefing.”
I couldn’t help but huff at the comment. Dr. Greenbaum has this air of superiority around him. He may have a few PhDs but those decades of work will never get me to understand his mood. He also smells like tobacco, gross.
A breath of cold air floated my sinuses as more information was transferred. “Departure: April 15th 6:00 P.M. GMT aboard LEV: Atlas, prepare for two-week excursion and metabolic inhibitor. Arrival expected between day four and five, assess origin of abnormal signal and begin flight path to Sea of Tranquility base Nu-7 on day 8.”
I took a deep breath and pushed back from my workspace. I quite enjoyed the Atlas. I had taken a trip or two to help calibrate her engine once before. She’s old, and that’s no understatement. Ships can be recycled quickly with how often they’re used. Her? She embodies everything I wish to be when I get old.
As a kid, the UEC used to use ships and their pilots as propaganda, like any other media where the characters typically make the show worth watching, the Atlas was one such ship. It wasn’t the fastest and it wasn’t the strongest, but it was consistently good at anything you could ask of a ship.
When I was 9 years old, I remember the Atlas did a fly-over of my commonwealth and hearing the roar of her engines really set me on the path to being an engineer. That was a treasured day for me, my family snuck out near the spaceport, and we got to take pictures of it.
I pressed my left temple, attempting to link with the neural network. Another cold wash of info hit my forehead as a feeling not unlike a hypnic jerk, ripped me into concentration. On that page I noticed who all was crewing. As Dr. Greenbaum had said, Keller, John, a scientist named Hubris, and the pilot of the Atlas. A small crew, but it was all we needed.
My heart fluttered just a tad knowing I would be around John. I enjoy his company and it excites me, even if we are going to be drugged for most of it. That feeling was quickly mottled though. He and I had become exceedingly close after his arrival. Even sharing moments of closeness when time allowed.
I sometimes worry though; he has been going through a lot. Keller and John have a complicated history. I wish one day that he would be able to put aside his hatred. From the stories I heard, they were the closest I had ever seen of two people. Like longtime childhood friends, even brothers.
After eight days I hope we haven’t torn apart from one another, but it’s all a part of the experience, I guess. I pushed further away from the desk and stood up. The tendons in my knees strained and popped with relief. Sitting at a desk under artificial gravity sure has its way of making you feel forty years older than you are.
I miss home sometimes. Artificial gravity was so unlike the real thing. Being from a station in Jupiterian orbit, gravity was in surplus. It was hard to tell the difference between the weight of your own problems and the true gravity of the station. Guess you could say there was some innate whimsy from being a Jovian.
“You get the news?” A strangely smooth voice ushered in from behind me. I responded, “Sure did, you ready for this?”. I was all too familiar with this comforting voice.
Keller’s mouth clicked in what I’ve come to know as a chuff. “I got assigned to lead.” Turning to meet him, a seven-foot-tall construct with organically inspired tubes and hydraulics imitated the stance of a subtly sassy person.
He continued “I can’t say much but what is it about people that requires “leading” you can’t just keep your grubby hands to yourself, you know, behaving?”
His demeanor choked a snort from me. I traded him a smile and inquired “I can’t say much either, but can’t you tin cans maintain yourselves?” He again clicked “Touché”
Though he doesn’t seem to notice, Keller is very close to me. He’s special in a way that he may never truly understand and a lot of what makes him Keller reminds me a lot of someone else I used to know. If it weren’t for fear of prosecution, I would tell him everything.
“You’re staring again” he chortled. I felt the blood rush to my face then looked away, “I’m going to go check up on John, see what job he’s got.” I said, eyes locked to the floor. I wonder if Keller ever felt embarrassment, I’m not sure he can understand feelings.
He moved out of the way for me, silent and swiftly and watched me as I left the room. I shot him with a quick smile too, just for kicks. His piercing amber eyes cut through the air and into my soul like he was analyzing every little twitch I made.
Finally escaping his examining gaze, I made my way towards John’s room. The gray walls had rivets and an occasional poster for news on station matters. The station, even though it was official UEC property, had a way of feeling lively through informatics alone.
I noticed myself catching a few butterflies. I quite liked John, I didn’t know how, but something about his presence inspires me to be a happier person. Keller is great and I will always wonder about the person he used to be, but it’s not the same with people like him, especially when you know how much of him survived.
At times I wonder if I’m just lonely or trying to fill a void. I try not to get caught up in it, but it’s a thought that feeds on my fears.
“Serena” a nasally deep voice called from down a sterile hallway. “Yes Dr. Greenbaum?”, his presence startled me. It’s easy to hear people walking up and down the hallways but Dr. Greenbaum was notoriously hard to hear.
“I want you to meet me before your departure, there’s something I need to discuss with you.” His sullen gaze worried me, but then again, being one of the only doctors on the moon will do that to you, not much intellectual conversation to be had.
“Yes, Dr. Greenbaum.” He immediately turned away from the hallway and vanished into a corridor. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his bedside manner was terrible, but nobody said he was a medical doctor. At least I couldn’t smell the tobacco on him from this distance.
I may as well take advantage of the time I have away from him now because he may want to talk my ear off about some new labor statistics and how I should be working harder.
III
Where Horizons Meet
Neural Record [4/15/62 J-057]
The wide berth of the hanger bay lays claim to this shore of the final frontier. The Atlas sits perched in the middle of the area like a prized sword sitting above a mantle. Her beautiful silvery hull spotted with the occasional patina and memorabilia from an insurrection was one that inspired greatness.
As kids you could buy these trading cards that featured ships like the Atlas when it was first released, clad in a smokey grey paint job with one single red stripe across the right wing. Back then she used to be armed with orbit to surface weapons and a slew of harpoon cannons.
They’re an odd choice for a seemingly small and fragile ship, but for the time, pilots were experimenting with their mode of flight, and it happened to be that the Atlas could outmaneuver most of the other ships in the UEC fleet. So, the pilot chose the obvious move of tripping the giant as it ran past.
The smell of surfactant from behind the glass lifted my spirit, as if I were standing before a god among mortals. “She’s pretty isn’t she?” a muted voice chimed from behind me.
I turned to meet the invitation and before me stood a towering imitation of humanity. “Has Serena talked to you yet?” The organic strappings of its form flowed downward as it stepped toward me.
“She did.” I tried to not let off that I was uneasy about it, or… him. We go back a long time. This though felt like a lie of a human. There was an uncanniness to his form and it’s not something I want to get used to.
It placed its right hand on my shoulder, oddly warm for an automaton “I know, I can see you’re not one hundred percent on board with it. I have my reservations too, but I trust us, and I trust our pilot to get us there and back safely. He’s done it before.”
Little did it know it wasn’t the ship I was uneasy about. Keller’s rubber grip sat emotionless and motionless on my shoulder, a clearly programmed subroutine for comforting crew members.
As I pushed his hand off, I couldn’t help but shoot a glare. How would it know what it’s like to trust. It isn’t one of us, human. Keller may feel like living but it’s not living anymore. I may have known them once before as Keller the man, but it just simply isn’t, and I’m tired of pretending it still is.
It spoke again “Pardon my intrusion, just thought we could catch up before leaving, meet you in the hangar in a few hours.” and it turned away to leave the observation room. I miss who he once was. It’s odd, having the death of someone you cared for being delayed by technology. It just isn’t right.
I felt so compelled to reach out to it, to spill every grievance, every grief I had. Keller had to be there somewhere, my best friend. It walks these halls with lost context for a story it couldn’t possibly dare to finish.
My mind swirled again, lost in memory. As I looked among the Atlas’ shining frame, I remembered something I wish time would shred to nothingness. It was the day I lost my friend.
-
The cry of machinery and screaming metal flew around me. The cries of people were as numerous as grains of sand in the air. I was running. Behind me fell the beats of the tympany of war, A callous symphony of vile strings, the blare of twisted trumpets.
Time had slowed, seconds felt like hours, but I felt like I had run out of time. Heavy neo-tungsten rounds struck every surface around me, chaotic and unceasing.
I was back on Titan, the moon of Saturn, during the insurrection in the earth-controlled commonwealth of Shangri-La. Funny name it is, supposed to be a paradise, or it once was hoped to be.
Dodging behind a shattered concrete wall, I tried to gather my bearings. The sound of war still raged on. I looked on and could only focus on one thing, a space port. Nestled between large calipers rested a familiar ship, greyish silver with a red stripe.
I tried to peak around the wall behind me, behind the clouds of dust and flashes of magnetic pulses, the forms of boxy, humanoid soldiers marched towards me.
To my surprise, another man dove behind the same cover I hid in, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man with pale skin and calloused palms. Panic beset by a moment of relief hit me “Keller”.
As he pressed against the wall, he glanced and shot a smirk to me “John, see you’re no worse for wear.”
Bad time for a joke, but that was Keller. I peaked around the corner again and saw the same continual pulse of magnetic rifles, yet the smoke was thinning, and the soldiers drew closer. Returning behind the wall, I saw the hordes of people fleeing the onslaught, the few who turned to fight, slaughtered in mere moments. Quick and effortless deaths.
I could smell the stench of iron in the air and felt the cold earth swell with the frozen blood of its colonizers. Distraught, I grabbed the soil beneath me, the black grains of carbon sand and ice squeezing in the cracks of my grip.
Keller leaned over “On three, we make another run for the ship!” His confidence was infectious, it felt invigorating to live this moment with someone so close to me. I turned to meet him again and he was the Keller I know now, metallic, writhing threads of steel and carbon fiber separated by the earthy bones of manufacturing’s children.
He reached out to me “1”, immediately caught off guard, “2”, the cries of women and children growing louder, “3” a sudden flash of blue light and concrete powder slashed the vision, and Keller, both man and machine, lay before me broken and disfigured in my thoughts.
-
What is it that keeps me from seeing him for himself? Why must I deny my friend his existence made anew? I gripped the railing of the viewing room, to steady myself in my thoughts. I know he is still in there, the clinicians said so, but it’s so hard to believe he is.
What happens if one day he dies again and he leaves my life forever? Will it be a relief? Will I feel that sadness again? Part of me hopes that I die first so I never have to know the answer to that question.
The sweat beading from my palms left a chill impression among the rails. What happens if he turns against me? Is he any different than those that took his life?
Shrill air filled my lungs. The weight of my own world suffocating my thoughts and breathing. Anxious thoughts and depressive swings coddle my infantile fears before my face and wave them hypnotically to the windows of my soul.
Torment for the living but a life well lived for the uninitiated. Keller was my friend, and I’m tired of pretending that IT, the Keller of now, deserves the same title.
I know how absurd it sounds. Hating that it still lives, or “clinically” undead, seems so abrupt and callous of a friend to feel. Am I wrong in this feeling?
As I gaze up at the Atlas again, I can see its strict metallic cuts. The unapologetic edges of obviously manufactured aluminum alloy. No indication of imitation, just the tasteful curves of an extension of humanity’s need for flight.
It isn’t a pale imitation; it isn’t trying to relive the life of my friend. It doesn’t desecrate the legacy he fought and died for. I have taken this ship countless times on missions and while I feel close to it, I know it will never be close to me. It isn’t trying to, nor is it designed to.
I turned back behind me at the door, seeing where Keller stood and began to weep. For every conflicting thought I feel, I can’t help but miss him through the hate.