One

 

                               One

 

     In the space of our imagination there is adventure, there is hope, and above all there is the promise of a new future. In this little corner of reality, though, there seemed to be none of these things. Here the dark, cold emptiness of space remained unaltered, an impassive witness to the events that never took place in its void. Even the greatest stars shone only dimly here, their light and warmth diminished to single pinpricks by the distance. This was as close to nowhere as anywhere could be, and yet it was here that it could first be seen, small at first, but growing ever larger. It was a ship, a massive, rusting hulk of a ship. In no way was it beautiful, there was nothing pleasing in its appearance, and yet somehow it was majestic.   

 

     Through the silent darkness the great vessel passed unnoticed. Four huge carbon encrusted, cylinder engines throbbed noiselessly beneath the smaller, almost delicate ship fixed to them. This tiny craft might have been a parasite, something that was long dead, but that still clung through memory to the mighty engines whose greater energy had once sustained its own life. Now even the memory seemed to have faded and all that remained was this lifeless shell. Like all parasites it had met a greater force intent on its destruction. The icy fingers of space had reached out and swatted it. Now only the four engines lived and, fired by habit alone, they continued to push the dead mass on toward an unknown goal.

 

 

                               ***

 

     Feeding time at the zoo. It was an early June morning and the fresh, clean air of spring had yet to be replaced by the oppressive summer heat. In the days of youth it might have seemed like a day of opportunity, like the forerunner of a long, glorious summer ahead. Even now these memories echoed as the laughter of children sprinkled the air through the buzz and bustle of the crowd. A silent, orange balloon bobbed rhythmically, anchored to a noisy child who was pointing excitedly from one animal to the next; a young baby cried and was consoled by its mother; a father demonstrated a greater knowledge of animals than he really possessed in his explanations to a wide eyed young daughter. Everywhere excitement and a sense of freedom pervaded the grounds as the sun glistened lustily on the roofs of the dew kissed enclosures. 

 

     Chief Keeper Edwards passed through the throng, unaffected by their optimism, spirit, or enthusiasm. His ears did not hear their laughter, his eyes did not see their smiles, and his soul was untouched by their joy. His world was a different place. Something had broken loose years ago, and he had drifted further and further from their experience, until now he was utterly alone in both thought and deed. He could share nothing with them, and so as he walked among these people he might have stepped through a mist or fog that had the appearance of reality, but no substance. 

 

     He couldn’t remember when it had begun. This had all been the reality of his dreams once, this job, this position, this life, but now they had all changed into the phantom of his nightmare existence. He had worked hard for this, but when he had reached the summit of his life he had only found the panorama blighted. Whatever he had been looking for wasn’t here, it never had been. The happiness he had expected to find had somehow eluded him, and his weary eyes could find nowhere else to look.  

 

     And now it was feeding time again, and the animals’ calls for food were easily drowned by the baying of the crowd, hungry for its entertainment. Edwards had felt a habitual duty to both, and so, despite his position, he had made public feeding a part of his daily schedule. Back at the beginning of things he had seen this as an important part of keeping him from losing touch with both patrons and protected under his care. He wasn’t sure that either mattered any more, and now he was hardly aware of the noise that surrounded him as he pushed the cart of food toward the first enclosure. It was a daily routine and his mind was on other things.

 

     His thoughts were running down the same dark channels they always followed. He rarely strayed from them now and deep ruts of habit had formed so that he could hardly escape them if he had wanted to. There was something wrong with him, he knew that much, but he didn’t know what he could do. He couldn’t even explain to himself what it was, but he knew it was there, and he also knew instinctively that no one else must know. It wasn’t normal. It was something inside him. A spark, or something else, wasn't quite there anymore and it had been replaced by this darkness. Outwardly his life would continue the same as ever, but still that hunger-like emptiness remained, gnawing, demanding, waiting to be filled, but by what? That was the trouble, knowing what.

 

     Edwards reached down for a bucket on his cart. His own emptiness, so unknown an experience until recent years, seemed mocked by this ritual of feeding time. Animal needs were so easily satisfied, he thought to himself as he poured the contents into a meager dish. He eyed the contents dubiously. 

 

     "Such food, such vile food," he muttered to himself, and yet he knew that just the smell of this stuff would be enough to start a ripple of unbounded excitement in the enclosure. This had always disgusted Edwards, such joy from such a simple thing, and yet it was this that fascinated him most of all. He was even vaguely aware that if he had looked deep enough within himself he would have found an odd admiration, even envy of this desire and the pleasure its fulfillment seemed to bring to his animals. He could never allow himself to know it though.

 

   Placing the bowl within the first cage Edwards slowly moved off on the rest of his rounds. At least someone would be happy today, he thought to himself as he started toward the next enclosure.

 

          

                              ***

 

 

     The ship persisted in its unknown course. With throbbing engines made silent by the vacuum of space it glided past a small, dark sphere. It was a dead world of rock, cold, lifeless, and desolate. Unwavering, the craft moved on. Soon it encountered a second planet. This time a blue, shimmering atmosphere seemed to glint welcomingly, to invite further investigation, but this also went unheeded as the traveling monolith moved silently on.

 

     Inside, the same quiet embraced a single dark room in a perfect state of nonexistence.

No sight, no sound, no awareness. This was the interior of the smaller ship, the delicate parasite that had once lived off the great power of the huge engines. Once it had lived, but now there was nothing- or so it was until now, for the blanket of darkness was suddenly pierced by the appearance of five glowing, green dots. Like the eyes of a pack of wild animals, surrounding an unseen prey, they gleamed in the darkness. These were no animals, though.

 

     Slowly things changed. An orange light faded in like a mock dawn, dimly revealing a small, stark room with a domed ceiling and six rectangular shaped boxes lined in rows of three against its two longest walls. The boxes, like the room that contained them, were almost featureless. The sterile functionality of the whole place was made only somewhat less severe by the faint orange glow that now bathed it. The appearance of the boxes, the hushed quiet, the drab surroundings, all of this might have been interpreted as some quiet mausoleum where the bones of loved ones rested, yet the warmth of the brightening orange light jarred against this impression. This was not death; a life and vitality rested here, dormant, but not dead.

                                                      

     The lighting of the room gradually altered. From the panels of five of the boxes the glowing green dots seemed to grow, until the light had spread over each of them and they were engulfed in the lively light. The orange of the room had now melted away to a warming sunlight yellow and, as if in response, the light concentrated on the five rectangular containers transformed. Slowly at first, almost imperceptibly, it changed from green to light green, then to light blue, dark blue- speeding suddenly into a brilliant rainbow of light before finally stopping at blinding white. Seconds later the five boxes hissed as their lids slowly rose. Then silence returned. A shower of white light cascaded over the containers like a cleansing stream, until it flickered, winked dimly, and died. Steam rose from the newly opened lids and condensed on the ceiling. A distant pulsar beep began to sound and was met by faint, wheezing, gasping breaths. A hacking cough pierced the stillness, as though someone had almost drowned but had fought their way back.

 

     Moments passed as the steam dispersed. Nothing moved. Finally a man's hands grasped at the side of one box from the inside and, with an effort that turned the fingers white, pulled himself into a sitting position. The man blinked groggily at his surroundings with uncomprehending eyes and rubbed his fingers through his graying black hair and over his face. He had the look of someone waking with too little sleep after a very long day. In fact, Thomas Birch would have been glad to feel that bad; he felt much worse. At once he was acutely aware of his own body and its pain. His head ached, his whole body ached; even his soul seemed to ache as a great feeling of despair washed over him like the icy embrace of deep waters. His mind struggled for focus, to understand what he was doing and where he was. He felt cold. This was reality.

 

     "Made it", he managed to mumble inaudibly. His mind was beginning to clear. He knew where he was and why he was here, though even in his confused state he wondered about the wisdom of it all. He knew the time for those questions had gone. He had work to do, and as his thoughts turned from the past toward the present his dark mood began to lift. His despair had been natural enough; it was all expected. There were scientific explanations. You didn't spend long periods of time in cryogenic sleep without becoming dependant on the dark, warm security it provided to your subconscious. The shock of reality after this existence was hard to deal with, and no better than it must be for the new-born babe, pushed from the womb, turned upside-down and given a swift slap by the doctor to start respiration. Birch would get over it; he had faced it before.

 

     Again he rubbed his face in his hands, then tore at the I.V. tube that attached his arm to the unit. As it came free a drop of blood trickled down his arm, like a tear for the things that were lost. Ignoring it Birch pulled himself to his feet and gingerly tested his weight against the floor. Before the mission they had been assured that great progress had been made in cryogenics. The problems with earlier long-term hibernation experiments had been overcome and there was little risk that he or any of the others would suffer any long-term ill effects. It wasn’t that reassuring. The early experiments had left the subjects in a permanent vegetative state and there was always that risk. Improved techniques of neural and muscular stimulation were supposed to keep all the mental and physical functions at their peak, but there was still the hidden fear that everyone had to swallow when they signed up for one of these missions- the realization that these things did go wrong. 

 

     If he had felt any better Birch might have been grateful for the throbbing limbs and aching brain that indicated that he had survived another trip, but the pain was too real to be ignored. The promise of the experts had been that you would wake up as refreshed as from a night’s sleep. Having already experienced the reality Birch knew it would be a long time before he felt nearly that good. Cryogenics would keep you alive, but it was always a long time before you could ever believe that it had actually been worth it.

 

     The pulsar beep suddenly intensified, becoming louder and more urgent. Birch straightened himself and saw that his four crewmates were all wearily pulling themselves from the chambers and making their way to their stations. He knew the drill; they were approaching Base Two. Now it was time to find out what had really happened. “This’ll be good,” he muttered to himself as he followed the others through a narrow doorway. He hoped he was right.

 

     The adjoining room was the only other habitable space on the tiny craft. The cramped compartment served as the ship’s control center and was only used on the rare occasions that human input was preferred to automation. The bulk of the flying was the mindless monotony of deep space. The computers could handle this, but when it came to the more significant parts of the mission humanity again wrestled control to itself.

 

     As he entered the room Birch quickly sensed the change of atmosphere. He’d felt it before, and now he saw that even a lifetime of sleep had failed to erase the indelible marks on their former friendships. Karla’s expression, as always, had been the easiest to read. The others just became cold and motionless, refusing to acknowledge him, but Karla had stolen a glance at Birch, and then back to the empty door behind him. Tears filled her eyes before she too looked away to stare blankly at the instrument panel before her. That was going to be it then, the furtive glances and sudden hush; things weren’t going to change. What had he expected, that cold hearts would melt while cryogenically frozen, or that inactive minds would be changed? None of this was possible and now, even though a hundred thousand yesterdays might have passed, the long dead conflicts of their own time were resurrected within their own breasts. So be it, he thought to himself as he marched over and sat in the pilot's seat.

 

     “Let’s get to it,” Birch barked as he began punching keys in the panel before him. He was mad at everything. The mission had tested them all. Nothing had been textbook, but then he had learned that truth could rarely be found in a textbook, it was just too hard to explain. The cold, hard reality they had found wasn’t anything that they had trained or prepared for. Now all they could do is live it the best they could and see what happened.

 

     "Ten minutes to radio range of Base Two," the woman to Birch's left announced. This was Jane Gray, his co-pilot and something like a friend. His recent experiences had led him to dread the word. Turning his attention to the terminal he brought up a heads-up display to follow their progress. Yes, they were approaching Mars, sight of Base Two, this would tell them a lot.

 

     Birch and the others stared at the screen, willing the ship on to the communication point. The flashing green of the icon marking the ships position in the display cast a sickly glow over the crew’s perspiring faces and increased the sense of numbing tension. Time passed slowly as the moment approached. No one ever leaves home for any time without some anxiety at the absence. Whether it’s an irrational fear that you left the door unlocked, or a concern that some natural disaster might strike in your absence, there is nothing like the relief of that point in the return journey when you turn the corner on your road and see your own house, still intact. Birch and the others were straining to see around that corner now.

 

     There shouldn’t have been any cause for concern, after all hadn’t humanity finally begun to reach for its highest ideals. This was to be the golden age. For years they had been making great strides in scientific understanding, but finally there had come a change in the social perspective. Old idioms had died away and a peaceful self-awareness had replaced the discordant voices of history. Their own mission, the Hypnos missions, had been a small part in this grander scheme of human progress. Like the old expositions of the nineteenth century, theirs was a grand display of what people could do.

 

     Yet the voice of doubt persisted. Birch understood too much somehow to find it in himself to believe in peace. There were always those who wanted something else, even he did, so how could he expect anything good. For some the hope might remain that one day the old enemies would be thrown down in the dust and trampled under foot, but it seemed unlikely that anyone would ever rise far enough above the dust to trample anything but themselves, and so Birch wondered. They were about to knock on humanities’ door after a long absence. Would anyone answer?

Reviews

[there is no more from m..]

amazing start i liked it :)

[Mel Stevens]

I love this first chapter. It sets the tone of the story and the detail is outstanding. The "rusting hulk of a ship" that was at the same time majestic can really draw on a persons imagination.

[[untitled]]

This is strong but I would agree with Ran's point about the beginning and I like a little more description on characters when they are introduced ... you have "set" your scenes well though, it's quite intriguing. Best wishes, Bethlynne.

[Thais]

The description in this chapter and others is amazing!! I will keep reading and hopefully you can read more of mine in the future.

[Aleirah]

Your style of writing suggests very deep thought and your descritptive capabilities are amazing, I really like the idea of this story too. I will definately keep reading!

[Brandon]

This is a very intense chapter...your word choice and detail really makes the reader feel like your experiencing the character's emotions first hand. The lack of monologue kind of threw me off but definitely didn't take away from the story at all. It sounds like to me were going to have some fun following Mr. Birch. I'd say bravo if you were to ask me.

[Leon Sylar]

This was okay, the beginning was weak after the first paragraph though. But overall, I find this story to be a gripping story that wants to make me continue on.

[rumpulpulsky]

Although the plot makes me want to read on, and wanting to know when it is heading, I find that the beginning should have been stronger, and that the change of style and mood breaks the flow.

The very first paragraph prepares us for some big entry or event, probably tragic or threatening. But immediately when tension is built, you break it with a pastoral description of a celebration. Now in the next few paragraphs you are trying to recreate the feeling, you created so successfully in the first two paragraphs.

[TL Boehm]

wow. this one starts off strong right from the first paragraph. I really liked the discourse about 'feeding time' although at the moment I cannot articulate why. It just seemed 'real.' Like something some one would think about - it gave life and personality to your character. This proves to be an interesting book.

[ShaneShock]

This is an especially good read. Very smooth, the descriptions left an aftertaste on my brain that lingered long after I finished reading. So far the three characters introduced here -- the ship being the third character -- are very believable, and delicious in their saturation by life's burdens.

In the first part, however, I think your description of the ship being dead is misleading. When I reentered the scene with the ship and things began to happen on board, Birch climbed from cryo stasis, I was confused whether it was the same ship. With life on board, even in cryo, it in fact was not completely dead...

I am eager to read the next installment. Well done.

SS