Mind Drive
C H A P T E R O N E - T H E M E S S E N G E R
The resonant baritone of warp-capable engines and metal-on-metal clanging filled the artificial air of Hangar 17. Like bees to a hive, utility craft buzzed and whirred beneath the high, steel ceilings of the docking bay, reflecting flashes of light from the diode-driven arrays above. Workmen in protective equipment busied themselves atop the metallic gangways and along the polished floors. The spaceports closer to the capital systems were fully autonomous, with human intervention necessitated only by hubris, and a gentle nervousness that all men held around intelligent machines. This spaceport, however, was much smaller, and wholly without the mass automation that the bustle of the core systems demanded. Out here in the colonies, close to the periphery of the galactic arm, human labor was still too cheap to refuse.
Alex strained against the weight of the cargo container as he pushed; legs driving, pressing the ground hard against the rubber heels of his work boots. A final burst of effort and the container slid into place atop the gravity sled with a metallic boom, letting its weight be known over the quiet roar of the hangar. Alex, back against the defeated cargo, slid down into a sitting position on the floor, wiping the sweat that collected on his brow. Chest heaving, he took a drink of water from his canteen and sat in respite for a moment. Black hair, chopped to a clean cut that came just over the ears, and a short crop of stubble, framed the angular features of his face. He was tall, with an solid frame and a corded layer of functional muscle overtop. He had a strength and stature afforded to him by years of labor, without the aches and pains of decades. On a better planet, he could have perhaps been an athlete – on a worse one, a conscripted soldier. On the mining colony of Gasten however, the docks were an easy lifelong vocation.
Gasten was a dense, rocky planet within the conservative habitable zone of a red dwarf system. The slow burn of the relatively inactive star made a close orbit a comfortable one. In fact, the equilibrium temperature on Gasten might have been on the colder side if it wasn’t for the thick atmosphere that enveloped the planet surface – a perfect roost for Gasten Spaceport. Gasten, like many red dwarf planets, was tidally locked; its gaze fixed on its companion star with eternal devotion. This fact left a band of habitable area in the space between the dark and light sides – a world of permanent sunset and long shadows, bathed in oranges and deep reds.
Alex cast a glance out past the cargo area and towards the landing pads. An amount of routine activity a few gates down had drawn his attention. A Horrel Light Freighter was spooling up for takeoff. Alex watched as the ship, a building in its own right, rose into the air above the blazing fury of its vertical thrusters. Automated lights and workers directed the mass of steel and engines gently towards its indicated departure lane. The ship eased towards the mouth of the hangar, engines roaring, and exited the bay into the evening light. It sat in relative calm for a moment, heat shielding gleaming in the red sunlight, like a great metal predator. The engines flashed brilliantly and, faster than the eye could follow, the beast was already in the distance, screaming out across the heavens, hurtling towards the stars above.
Alex took another drink. He stared after the speck, moments ago a ship, and allowed himself to wonder. Traveling amongst the stars – he could only imagine. Working at the spaceport, he was surrounded by it, lived right next door to it, but the life of a ship pilot felt more distant and alien to Alex than anything. He had it all mapped out, of course. Ten more years of pushing cargo containers and he’d have the credits and eligibility to get his cert papers. He would start as crew on a heavy class, pushing containers still, but far away from this dust hole. After stashing enough credits, he could enroll in a flight school in the Darpol system. He’d be too old and green for a mil sec corporation, but within a few years of graduating he could shuttle heavy metals on Bakar or some such planet until he had the hours accrued to get a job as a cargo pilot. After that, the universe was his for the taking... But first, ten years of pushing cargo. He stood up, tightening the brace that he wore over his plain, plastic shirt and resolved himself. The days went by quicker if he lost count, and it was easier to lose count sweating over a container than lying around.
Alex moved towards the sled; a button on the side activated the magnetic floor, locking the containers into place with invisible force. Activating the sled terminal with a wave of his hand, Alex gripped the haptic controls and entered the required cargo information. A single blue indicator light flared and the gravity sled snapped to life – hovering just above the ground in artificial anticipation. Alex checked the digital manifest. Terminal C, Hangar 41. Inbound ground transport. More personal protective equipment for the backbone of Gasten, it seemed. Alex finished the input sequence. A pulse of low frequency tones and the gravity sled sped off towards its destination with inhuman speed and precision.
Hours passed and the sun, fixed in place, sat still above the low horizon. The last departure had set off into the ever-dawn, and the last piece of freight had been secured for the next shift. Alex deactivated the empty gravity sled and made his way over to the Terminal 17 lockers – now bustling with end-of-shift activity. Pushing through a throng of people, he approached his locker. A woman bumped into him and let out a half apology, but he paid her and the rest of the tired faces no mind. Opening his locker, He deposited his loading brace and retrieved his synth-leather long coat and pack. As Alex put the coat on and adjusted it on his shoulders, he felt something odd and unfamiliar – a small object tucked into his interior chest pocket.
Alex paused, and moved to withdraw the thing. Pinched between his finger and thumb, it was a black polished object, pill-shaped and featureless. He studied it closer. The device was almost completely smooth and no larger than a bottle cap. He maneuvered it in his hand and discovered a textured combination dial on the opposite side, flush with the polished surface. It looked like a messenger capsule, but unlike any that Alex had seen. Placing his thumb on the dial, he gave it a flick and the dial spun, clicking softly. The capsule had a bit of uneven weight to it. He placed the object to his ear and gave it a gentle shake. A small bit of movement inside gave Alex the impression that it might be a container. Strange. He definitely hadn’t seen the capsule before – how did it end up in his coat pocket? He examined his locker for tampering, but the locking mechanism seemed perfectly in place. His belongings also appeared to be completely undisturbed. Alex glanced over his shoulder, but nothing and no one in the busy locker room stood out to him. Protocol dictated that loose items found in the cargo area were to be logged, turned over, and then promptly lost in a sea of procedure and red tape. The issue was that the processing office would have just closed. He could take it to security, seeing as he found it amongst his personal property, but that would mean a long line of questioning that Alex didn’t have the energy for. He would have to wait until tomorrow to do anything about it. He almost placed the capsule back into his locker, but decided to hold onto it instead. Transferring the little capsule into his coat pocket, he made his way out of the terminal and towards the shuttle bay.
The Gasten spaceport wasn’t exactly on Gasten, but it wasn’t exactly in space either. The port was designed as a middle-ground between the freighters above and the ore transports below. Consequently, the docks, hangars, and terminals of the spaceport sat in geostationary orbit approximately 60,000 feet above the planet’s surface – an imposing mass of steel above the clouds. Miners stayed on the surface, pilots stayed in the sky, and port workers were transited back and forth in shuttles. Alex sat in one such shuttle as it descended through the clouds. The gentle hum of the engines coaxed him towards sleep; the thinly padded metal headrest a good-enough pillow. His ambling thoughts kept him barely awake, and just as he began to nod off, the shuttle landed with a heavy thud and the percussive hiss of decompressing gas. Ragged from the day's work, Alex gathered his pack and made his way out into the colony.
Gasten Mining Colony 13A – the largest and most successful on the planet, yet dull and bare by any other standard. Groups of people moved through the dusty square attached to the shuttle depot – the busiest part of town during the busiest part of the day. The sky that hung over the settlement was green in color, interrupted by clouds bathed in a characteristic red and gold starlight that sustained livable enough conditions on the planet. Alex squinted at the brightness of it all. The thickness of the outside air offended his lungs as he took the first surface breath of his evening. The miners had all gotten used to the air at the surface, but dock workers spent just enough time above to find the transition a perpetual bother. In part, this is why Alex usually made his way straight back to his apartment, but something about the day left him restless. Instead of the usual path, he made his way over to the pub for a drink.
Walking through the narrow streets and simulacrum dwelling spaces of the colony, all steeped in long shadow, was a disorienting experience for visitors. Unbroken stretches of sand-colored concrete, roads without any markings or signage – to the untrained eye, the whole place seemed to blend together. Alex, like others born to the colony, knew the incidental landmarks that made navigation a trivial, everyday item. A right at the cracked wall off of Dwelling Unit 11; a left at the desalination plant. Soon, Alex found himself approaching his destination; Pub.
There wasn’t much by way of excess in the residential district of the colony. So much so, in fact, that the sign in front of the local pub simply read Pub. There was hardly purpose in a more creative title, as there just weren’t any other pubs. The space inside the bar was dark and cool. A layer of soot and earth covered the floor; product of the mining worker patrons that frequented the place between shifts. Alex sat at the end of the bar and ordered. The bartender gave Alex his drink, and he drank. Hardly an event worth the detour, but at least he had some space to stretch his legs. Oftentimes, when Alex didn’t go straight back to his apartment, old friends of his mother would invite themselves to sit with him and reminisce about the good days. Maybe it was because they saw some of his mother in him – and missed her a little less in his presence. Maybe it was because they didn’t have any other friends left. Despite rarely being in a mood to reminisce, Alex always greeted these friends with a warm countenance and an easy smile. He missed his mother too and felt a small obligation to share what he could with others; be that the smile that was half hers, or the bright green eyes that they had always shared. In those moments, Alex often wished there was another someone to remind him of her, as he did for others. He didn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, though, as there were no old friends inviting themselves to sit today, and he was not in a mood to reminisce.
…
Alex retired to his apartment, eager to put the day behind him. The apartment was small – incredibly small, in fact. A shower in the corner of the single room revealed a toilet from the wall at the press of a button. Adjacent, a single compact machine served as a kitchen; with refrigerator space, microwave, and sink all built-in. There wasn’t much space to move, but there was space to think, and think he did. Lying in a bed up above the floor and a little too close to the ceiling, Alex found himself dwelling on the thoughts of the day. His dream of being a pilot was unlikely – he could admit that. Most colonists his age resigned their dreams, seeking instead to find what happiness they could in ordinary life. Ten years was a substantial barrier between Alex and a fresh start that could turn rotten with a single misstep. The stars called to him, pushing him towards a life and purpose that he couldn’t have here… but would it be better?
The intruder thoughts crept across Alex's mind as he cautiously approached sleep. In the palm of his hand, the little capsule from earlier sat quietly. His hand fidgeted with it, staving off his nerves and stresses. Keeping his hands busy always kept Alex calm – a calm that was suddenly interrupted when the capsule emitted a faint click. Alex had been spinning the little dial with his thumb for the past few hours, but in this moment, the capsule spun on its own. Heartbeat quickening, he watched the capsule open up slowly, revealing a small array of three blinking lights.
The lights flashed at him in a rhythm of colors that gently pulled at his gaze. He found himself discouraged to look away from the simple display of green, red, yellow, green again… A high frequency hum started from the device. His heart was still running fast as his thumb and forefinger clenched tightly around the now open capsule. The lights began to flash more intensely, brighter and more rapid. Scared, he wanted to drop the capsule and look away, but he could do neither. Something about the lights and sounds made it impossible for him to look anywhere else. Blue. Red. Yellow. Green. Blue. Yellow. Yellow. The light began to bleed into the corners of his vision. He tried to look at the wall, but it was all colors now. Little worms, like wriggling shadows, began to dance and spin in his vision as the lights dipped towards him and away again. The hum of the capsule grew louder, as the waves of color consumed his perception. He wanted to run but couldn't – he wanted to yell out. A sharp pain drove into his brain like an ice pick as the colors crystalized before him into fractal patterns and shapes, moving around him, collapsing and refracting. His head was searing hot now – everything was a rush of color and motion and depth as tears welled up in his unblinking eyes. Numbers and symbols rushed into his mind, forcing their way deep into his subconscious. His senses fought against him, rendering him defenseless against the rush of code-like images. He tried to breathe, but with each breath, the numbers flared up ferociously, and attacked. He was trapped. His vision began to fade at the periphery as darkness overtook him.
All was quiet in darkness. Alex felt cool, like he was suspended in a pool of water without light or heat. Without his senses to orient him, he couldn’t tell how quickly time passed in this place. The first thing he remembered was a girl. She appeared in the center of the darkness, with fiery red hair. She was young, roughly Alex’s age, and wore a spaceport technicians uniform – but Alex didn’t know her. Numbers and symbols flickered across her pale skin like phantom spiders. She reached out, her hand opened towards Alex, as if to invite him to take it. Alex was aware that he had a body again, and he lifted his arm towards hers. His arm left a trail behind it; a cascade of other arms that lagged behind in a dizzying, fractal effect. Stretching out further, he reached for her fingertips.
Her touch was ice cold; much colder than the space around him. It sent a shudder through his entire body, but it felt nice – refreshing and comforting, almost. As her fingers closed around his, Alex looked up at her face. She was… striking. Piercing blue eyes flashed back at Alex beneath the veil of red-gold hair. Her skin, still alight with dancing and shifting symbols, was a soft white – with faint freckles on her nose and just beneath her eyes. There was a fierceness in her expression that made her seem… dangerous. Her gaze bore into Alex, as if searching for something hidden behind his eyes. Her lips parted and she spoke to him.
“Alex.” she said, her voice echoing into the dark. She spoke with a thousand voices; whispers that enveloped and surrounded him before fading into the ever-present black.
“Alex…” she whispered. Panic entered her eyes as she broke his gaze and looked down.
The darkness beneath Alex began to churn and bubble up. He watched his feet disappear beneath the rage of lightless liquefaction. He felt himself sinking down into it. Shadowy numbers, like insects, began to flood out of the churning blackness, crawling up his body and pulling him further down into the nothing. The girl grabbed onto Alex’s wrist with both hands, and began to pull. He could see the terror in her eyes. The symbols swarmed around him, nipping at his flesh, burning his skin. Up to his chest, and then his neck, he felt the darkness close around him, closing off his throat and filling his ears. The girl’s hand was torn from him. She screamed at Alex in silence as he was dragged beneath the roiling torrent of black.
Suddenly, and much faster than it started, it was over. The capsule clattered to the floor as Alex clutched the railing of his bed frame, chest heaving. The fire in his head began to fade. A thousand needles danced across his skin as he sat, wide eyed and in shock. He touched his other hand to his forehead and realized that he was drenched in sweat. He could still feel the shadows of the alien shapes and symbols dancing in his mind, sinister in their presence. An after image of the girl screaming was still burned into the negative of his vision. Shivering, he let go of the bed railing and laid himself back down onto the cold sheets. His breath was shaky, and the pain in his head had given way to a numbing exhaustion. The capsule. He was afraid to look for it, content in his present relief. The cool of the pillow settled the hairs on the back of his neck. Despite the adrenaline pounding in his veins, he felt his eyelids heavying as his chest slowed. The shadows ambled across his mind, like spiders on a web, as he closed his eyes and sleep overtook him.
Alex strained against the weight of the cargo container as he pushed; legs driving, pressing the ground hard against the rubber heels of his work boots. A final burst of effort and the container slid into place atop the gravity sled with a metallic boom, letting its weight be known over the quiet roar of the hangar. Alex, back against the defeated cargo, slid down into a sitting position on the floor, wiping the sweat that collected on his brow. Chest heaving, he took a drink of water from his canteen and sat in respite for a moment. Black hair, chopped to a clean cut that came just over the ears, and a short crop of stubble, framed the angular features of his face. He was tall, with an solid frame and a corded layer of functional muscle overtop. He had a strength and stature afforded to him by years of labor, without the aches and pains of decades. On a better planet, he could have perhaps been an athlete – on a worse one, a conscripted soldier. On the mining colony of Gasten however, the docks were an easy lifelong vocation.
Gasten was a dense, rocky planet within the conservative habitable zone of a red dwarf system. The slow burn of the relatively inactive star made a close orbit a comfortable one. In fact, the equilibrium temperature on Gasten might have been on the colder side if it wasn’t for the thick atmosphere that enveloped the planet surface – a perfect roost for Gasten Spaceport. Gasten, like many red dwarf planets, was tidally locked; its gaze fixed on its companion star with eternal devotion. This fact left a band of habitable area in the space between the dark and light sides – a world of permanent sunset and long shadows, bathed in oranges and deep reds.
Alex cast a glance out past the cargo area and towards the landing pads. An amount of routine activity a few gates down had drawn his attention. A Horrel Light Freighter was spooling up for takeoff. Alex watched as the ship, a building in its own right, rose into the air above the blazing fury of its vertical thrusters. Automated lights and workers directed the mass of steel and engines gently towards its indicated departure lane. The ship eased towards the mouth of the hangar, engines roaring, and exited the bay into the evening light. It sat in relative calm for a moment, heat shielding gleaming in the red sunlight, like a great metal predator. The engines flashed brilliantly and, faster than the eye could follow, the beast was already in the distance, screaming out across the heavens, hurtling towards the stars above.
Alex took another drink. He stared after the speck, moments ago a ship, and allowed himself to wonder. Traveling amongst the stars – he could only imagine. Working at the spaceport, he was surrounded by it, lived right next door to it, but the life of a ship pilot felt more distant and alien to Alex than anything. He had it all mapped out, of course. Ten more years of pushing cargo containers and he’d have the credits and eligibility to get his cert papers. He would start as crew on a heavy class, pushing containers still, but far away from this dust hole. After stashing enough credits, he could enroll in a flight school in the Darpol system. He’d be too old and green for a mil sec corporation, but within a few years of graduating he could shuttle heavy metals on Bakar or some such planet until he had the hours accrued to get a job as a cargo pilot. After that, the universe was his for the taking... But first, ten years of pushing cargo. He stood up, tightening the brace that he wore over his plain, plastic shirt and resolved himself. The days went by quicker if he lost count, and it was easier to lose count sweating over a container than lying around.
Alex moved towards the sled; a button on the side activated the magnetic floor, locking the containers into place with invisible force. Activating the sled terminal with a wave of his hand, Alex gripped the haptic controls and entered the required cargo information. A single blue indicator light flared and the gravity sled snapped to life – hovering just above the ground in artificial anticipation. Alex checked the digital manifest. Terminal C, Hangar 41. Inbound ground transport. More personal protective equipment for the backbone of Gasten, it seemed. Alex finished the input sequence. A pulse of low frequency tones and the gravity sled sped off towards its destination with inhuman speed and precision.
Hours passed and the sun, fixed in place, sat still above the low horizon. The last departure had set off into the ever-dawn, and the last piece of freight had been secured for the next shift. Alex deactivated the empty gravity sled and made his way over to the Terminal 17 lockers – now bustling with end-of-shift activity. Pushing through a throng of people, he approached his locker. A woman bumped into him and let out a half apology, but he paid her and the rest of the tired faces no mind. Opening his locker, He deposited his loading brace and retrieved his synth-leather long coat and pack. As Alex put the coat on and adjusted it on his shoulders, he felt something odd and unfamiliar – a small object tucked into his interior chest pocket.
Alex paused, and moved to withdraw the thing. Pinched between his finger and thumb, it was a black polished object, pill-shaped and featureless. He studied it closer. The device was almost completely smooth and no larger than a bottle cap. He maneuvered it in his hand and discovered a textured combination dial on the opposite side, flush with the polished surface. It looked like a messenger capsule, but unlike any that Alex had seen. Placing his thumb on the dial, he gave it a flick and the dial spun, clicking softly. The capsule had a bit of uneven weight to it. He placed the object to his ear and gave it a gentle shake. A small bit of movement inside gave Alex the impression that it might be a container. Strange. He definitely hadn’t seen the capsule before – how did it end up in his coat pocket? He examined his locker for tampering, but the locking mechanism seemed perfectly in place. His belongings also appeared to be completely undisturbed. Alex glanced over his shoulder, but nothing and no one in the busy locker room stood out to him. Protocol dictated that loose items found in the cargo area were to be logged, turned over, and then promptly lost in a sea of procedure and red tape. The issue was that the processing office would have just closed. He could take it to security, seeing as he found it amongst his personal property, but that would mean a long line of questioning that Alex didn’t have the energy for. He would have to wait until tomorrow to do anything about it. He almost placed the capsule back into his locker, but decided to hold onto it instead. Transferring the little capsule into his coat pocket, he made his way out of the terminal and towards the shuttle bay.
The Gasten spaceport wasn’t exactly on Gasten, but it wasn’t exactly in space either. The port was designed as a middle-ground between the freighters above and the ore transports below. Consequently, the docks, hangars, and terminals of the spaceport sat in geostationary orbit approximately 60,000 feet above the planet’s surface – an imposing mass of steel above the clouds. Miners stayed on the surface, pilots stayed in the sky, and port workers were transited back and forth in shuttles. Alex sat in one such shuttle as it descended through the clouds. The gentle hum of the engines coaxed him towards sleep; the thinly padded metal headrest a good-enough pillow. His ambling thoughts kept him barely awake, and just as he began to nod off, the shuttle landed with a heavy thud and the percussive hiss of decompressing gas. Ragged from the day's work, Alex gathered his pack and made his way out into the colony.
Gasten Mining Colony 13A – the largest and most successful on the planet, yet dull and bare by any other standard. Groups of people moved through the dusty square attached to the shuttle depot – the busiest part of town during the busiest part of the day. The sky that hung over the settlement was green in color, interrupted by clouds bathed in a characteristic red and gold starlight that sustained livable enough conditions on the planet. Alex squinted at the brightness of it all. The thickness of the outside air offended his lungs as he took the first surface breath of his evening. The miners had all gotten used to the air at the surface, but dock workers spent just enough time above to find the transition a perpetual bother. In part, this is why Alex usually made his way straight back to his apartment, but something about the day left him restless. Instead of the usual path, he made his way over to the pub for a drink.
Walking through the narrow streets and simulacrum dwelling spaces of the colony, all steeped in long shadow, was a disorienting experience for visitors. Unbroken stretches of sand-colored concrete, roads without any markings or signage – to the untrained eye, the whole place seemed to blend together. Alex, like others born to the colony, knew the incidental landmarks that made navigation a trivial, everyday item. A right at the cracked wall off of Dwelling Unit 11; a left at the desalination plant. Soon, Alex found himself approaching his destination; Pub.
There wasn’t much by way of excess in the residential district of the colony. So much so, in fact, that the sign in front of the local pub simply read Pub. There was hardly purpose in a more creative title, as there just weren’t any other pubs. The space inside the bar was dark and cool. A layer of soot and earth covered the floor; product of the mining worker patrons that frequented the place between shifts. Alex sat at the end of the bar and ordered. The bartender gave Alex his drink, and he drank. Hardly an event worth the detour, but at least he had some space to stretch his legs. Oftentimes, when Alex didn’t go straight back to his apartment, old friends of his mother would invite themselves to sit with him and reminisce about the good days. Maybe it was because they saw some of his mother in him – and missed her a little less in his presence. Maybe it was because they didn’t have any other friends left. Despite rarely being in a mood to reminisce, Alex always greeted these friends with a warm countenance and an easy smile. He missed his mother too and felt a small obligation to share what he could with others; be that the smile that was half hers, or the bright green eyes that they had always shared. In those moments, Alex often wished there was another someone to remind him of her, as he did for others. He didn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, though, as there were no old friends inviting themselves to sit today, and he was not in a mood to reminisce.
…
Alex retired to his apartment, eager to put the day behind him. The apartment was small – incredibly small, in fact. A shower in the corner of the single room revealed a toilet from the wall at the press of a button. Adjacent, a single compact machine served as a kitchen; with refrigerator space, microwave, and sink all built-in. There wasn’t much space to move, but there was space to think, and think he did. Lying in a bed up above the floor and a little too close to the ceiling, Alex found himself dwelling on the thoughts of the day. His dream of being a pilot was unlikely – he could admit that. Most colonists his age resigned their dreams, seeking instead to find what happiness they could in ordinary life. Ten years was a substantial barrier between Alex and a fresh start that could turn rotten with a single misstep. The stars called to him, pushing him towards a life and purpose that he couldn’t have here… but would it be better?
The intruder thoughts crept across Alex's mind as he cautiously approached sleep. In the palm of his hand, the little capsule from earlier sat quietly. His hand fidgeted with it, staving off his nerves and stresses. Keeping his hands busy always kept Alex calm – a calm that was suddenly interrupted when the capsule emitted a faint click. Alex had been spinning the little dial with his thumb for the past few hours, but in this moment, the capsule spun on its own. Heartbeat quickening, he watched the capsule open up slowly, revealing a small array of three blinking lights.
The lights flashed at him in a rhythm of colors that gently pulled at his gaze. He found himself discouraged to look away from the simple display of green, red, yellow, green again… A high frequency hum started from the device. His heart was still running fast as his thumb and forefinger clenched tightly around the now open capsule. The lights began to flash more intensely, brighter and more rapid. Scared, he wanted to drop the capsule and look away, but he could do neither. Something about the lights and sounds made it impossible for him to look anywhere else. Blue. Red. Yellow. Green. Blue. Yellow. Yellow. The light began to bleed into the corners of his vision. He tried to look at the wall, but it was all colors now. Little worms, like wriggling shadows, began to dance and spin in his vision as the lights dipped towards him and away again. The hum of the capsule grew louder, as the waves of color consumed his perception. He wanted to run but couldn't – he wanted to yell out. A sharp pain drove into his brain like an ice pick as the colors crystalized before him into fractal patterns and shapes, moving around him, collapsing and refracting. His head was searing hot now – everything was a rush of color and motion and depth as tears welled up in his unblinking eyes. Numbers and symbols rushed into his mind, forcing their way deep into his subconscious. His senses fought against him, rendering him defenseless against the rush of code-like images. He tried to breathe, but with each breath, the numbers flared up ferociously, and attacked. He was trapped. His vision began to fade at the periphery as darkness overtook him.
All was quiet in darkness. Alex felt cool, like he was suspended in a pool of water without light or heat. Without his senses to orient him, he couldn’t tell how quickly time passed in this place. The first thing he remembered was a girl. She appeared in the center of the darkness, with fiery red hair. She was young, roughly Alex’s age, and wore a spaceport technicians uniform – but Alex didn’t know her. Numbers and symbols flickered across her pale skin like phantom spiders. She reached out, her hand opened towards Alex, as if to invite him to take it. Alex was aware that he had a body again, and he lifted his arm towards hers. His arm left a trail behind it; a cascade of other arms that lagged behind in a dizzying, fractal effect. Stretching out further, he reached for her fingertips.
Her touch was ice cold; much colder than the space around him. It sent a shudder through his entire body, but it felt nice – refreshing and comforting, almost. As her fingers closed around his, Alex looked up at her face. She was… striking. Piercing blue eyes flashed back at Alex beneath the veil of red-gold hair. Her skin, still alight with dancing and shifting symbols, was a soft white – with faint freckles on her nose and just beneath her eyes. There was a fierceness in her expression that made her seem… dangerous. Her gaze bore into Alex, as if searching for something hidden behind his eyes. Her lips parted and she spoke to him.
“Alex.” she said, her voice echoing into the dark. She spoke with a thousand voices; whispers that enveloped and surrounded him before fading into the ever-present black.
“Alex…” she whispered. Panic entered her eyes as she broke his gaze and looked down.
The darkness beneath Alex began to churn and bubble up. He watched his feet disappear beneath the rage of lightless liquefaction. He felt himself sinking down into it. Shadowy numbers, like insects, began to flood out of the churning blackness, crawling up his body and pulling him further down into the nothing. The girl grabbed onto Alex’s wrist with both hands, and began to pull. He could see the terror in her eyes. The symbols swarmed around him, nipping at his flesh, burning his skin. Up to his chest, and then his neck, he felt the darkness close around him, closing off his throat and filling his ears. The girl’s hand was torn from him. She screamed at Alex in silence as he was dragged beneath the roiling torrent of black.
Suddenly, and much faster than it started, it was over. The capsule clattered to the floor as Alex clutched the railing of his bed frame, chest heaving. The fire in his head began to fade. A thousand needles danced across his skin as he sat, wide eyed and in shock. He touched his other hand to his forehead and realized that he was drenched in sweat. He could still feel the shadows of the alien shapes and symbols dancing in his mind, sinister in their presence. An after image of the girl screaming was still burned into the negative of his vision. Shivering, he let go of the bed railing and laid himself back down onto the cold sheets. His breath was shaky, and the pain in his head had given way to a numbing exhaustion. The capsule. He was afraid to look for it, content in his present relief. The cool of the pillow settled the hairs on the back of his neck. Despite the adrenaline pounding in his veins, he felt his eyelids heavying as his chest slowed. The shadows ambled across his mind, like spiders on a web, as he closed his eyes and sleep overtook him.
Awake
Slowly, quietly and without fuss, he comes to. Everything feels wrong. He reaches up towards his face with his hands just to feel something familiar, but even that isn't quite right. He looks down, to realize he isn't a he at all, but a she. She looks to her left; darkness all the way out. The right isn't much different. She slowly cranes her neck back, easing into consciousness, as if for the first time. Funny thing, death — the moment it happens you forget all about it.
Guitar Player
His skin was pulled taught over his cheeks. His eyes sparkled like summer wine in a crystal glass. The lines in his face told stories only his friends could read, and he had many in some places far from here. He had long bony fingers, calloused and strong. Peppered tufts of hair, curled and tired, framed a toothy smile and a deeply creased brow. He was a soul man, through and through.
For every line in the man's face, his guitar had a nick and a notch. Six strings, clipped clean and pulled tight over its length. It shone beneath the bar lights with many years of the man’s selfless devotion.
His song was suffering and it was beautiful. Rhythmic and stomping; with a snarl that spoke to his history and his pride, and a body that grabbed you by the gut and held on. His music wasn’t art, it was life. Life laid bare; plain, honest, and indelible. Circadian philosophy, free from the hubris of the thinking man.
For every line in the man's face, his guitar had a nick and a notch. Six strings, clipped clean and pulled tight over its length. It shone beneath the bar lights with many years of the man’s selfless devotion.
His song was suffering and it was beautiful. Rhythmic and stomping; with a snarl that spoke to his history and his pride, and a body that grabbed you by the gut and held on. His music wasn’t art, it was life. Life laid bare; plain, honest, and indelible. Circadian philosophy, free from the hubris of the thinking man.