…the following is an short story I see as the premise from a science fiction novel/novella I hopeto write before I’m dead and gone.
”I have watched
golden fire clouds,
hanging in pale green skies,
over the azure seas of Toluras”
I have seen the copper leaves
of the parmus fronds
flashing from indigo mountains
in the crystal mists of Gemin.”
I have beheld exquisite beauty
in my rich, full life
but none so beautiful
as your eyes tonight”
Artheo whispers these bewitching words, his breath warm on the tender lobe of my ear. Searching the depth of my eyes, plumbing my very soul, he presses his lips softly to mine, and with gentle passion — bids me farewell with a kiss.
The exchange of poetry, at times of high emotion, is a longstanding tradition on our planet, and my lover’s words were especially moving as we parted tonight.
This intimate moment now three hours past; I linger in the bittersweetness, still tasting his lips, smelling his hair, feeling the heat of his body — I ache for him.
But here I stand on the aft deck of the Thadius, hurtling through space, gazing into star-clustered blackness, cherishing the pleasures of our parting embrace.
A sudden chill shocks me sober. I’ve been here, done this, precisely this in every detail. But I know that is not possible. It is my first time aboard this particular ship.
I am gripped by foreboding. I shiver as I watch the sapphire-jade orb that holds my fascination, grow smaller, being slowly swallowed by the eternal night of space. It continues to recede, its form becoming softer, less clearly defined in the carbon-composite observation bubble, as zero-g frost clouds and obscures this breathtaking view of this lush planet, our home planet, Gemin.
Some now on board will not again see this precious sight for fifteen years, if they are counted among the fortunate who do return.
We race, exceeding light-squared, toward a distant call for help, an unknown destiny, in the far reaches of uncharted space — with no idea what we will encounter. The call made it certain that no good lay ahead for those aboard who now rush to respond to the enigmatic distress signal.
I am Sephias, on an ecological research mission, to return home in a year’s time. My team and I disembark at Topiarus, the first stop on this voyage.
Although I am off-ship before we reach the origin of the urgent summons — I am nonetheless distraught. It is the anxiety of separation. It is also the result of the intense stress that permeates the crew who are going the distance, to the edge of space, to answer the cry for help. The pressure is palpable, contagious — I feel it to my core. It terrifies me.
It is common for me to feel disconcerted, ungrounded each time I choose to leave my home to go on mission, each time I leave my soul mate, Artheo. Our love is solid and deep; it has withstood many of these separations.
We understood when I joined FarWorlds that separation came with the program, part of the deal. However, knowing this makes it no less difficult. And this time out, my sadness and anxiety is heightened further, given this mission’s chilling uncertainty, the sense of threat, of impending danger, significant danger.
At FarWorlds Corp we are involved in new-resources exploration. We are scientists. We are not trained spacetroopers. Our expertise is not military. This ship, the Thadius, is a solar-wind powered space schooner, a research vessel. It is fast and agile, not suited for space combat. The security force we have on board is generally suited to our needs. They’re trained to defend, not to attack. They do well protecting us from the typical threats we encounter on our journeys through known space.
This mission is different. The unknown makes this extremely dangerous. The Dextorium was an advance ship sent to reconnoiter 9 months ago. The Dextorium did in fact carry a battle-trained spacetrooper force. It has now fallen silent, no contact for over a month — not a word.
To take my mind off these things disturbing, I drift to Artheo — to our last kiss. He presented a calm, brave face at our goodbye, but I knew better. Together now two wonderful centuries; rest assured, I know my man. The concern was set deep in his eyes.
As decorated Primests of the Science-Sect Elite, we are privileged with three birthing cycles to improve the gene pool of our species. A 40-year no-birthing period, our second, now nears its end. Soon we will enter our third free-birthing cycle.
During the procreation cycle, we are relieved of our career responsibilities, so that we may raise, and mentor our offspring. Artheo and I both welcome the sabbatical of twenty years this period affords. We’ve begotten families in the two prior cycles and love them both, cherishing the bonds of love that develop.
We now dream of this newest family our near future holds in store. This coming family is so very important in our lives, Artheo’s and mine. State edicts dictate that the children of 3rd cycle Primest’s families caretake their honored lifegivers as their vitality declines, prior to rejuvenation.
As my betrothed and I move closer to our time of stand down and our revitalizing cryogenic hibernation; this, our new family, will be our comfort and support as our current life-phase draws to its close.
As I reflect, I am disrupted. A sudden chaos erupts, a panicked commotion on the foredeck. There is great alarm. I rush forward in time to see a startling scene begin to unfold. There in front of our speeding ship a menacing field of strange devices appears, seemingly from nowhere.
They begin to methodically spread, with apparent logic, to form a grid blocking our path — acting intelligent, with a single mind, as though the whole is a sentient living thing.
They are immense, and they are many, as they assemble in a net-like maneuver, fanning out as far left and right as one can see. They are there, top to bottom, reaching ominously to apparent infinity — spread far too vast to travel around.
At their advancing speed we cannot outrun this threat. As we approach the steely web they accelerate exponentially. There is no doubt we are on a collision course.
Suddenly my senses are jolted sober. Hyper-alert, I stagger back in shock and awe, in abject terror, and cruel realization! It is now quite clear what fate befell our advance party on the Dextorium — and it appears many others. They’ve been, well, they’ve been absorbed by this horrific electronic death-mesh.
We are defenseless. We on the Thadius can only stare, terrified — but spellbound. The crew’s emotions now run the gamut. Shock is registered on every face. Tears fill most eyes as hell approaches.
It’s then I see it, in the grey-green carbon and cold blue steel closing upon us; the captured life-energies of the Dextorium crew, and countless others that have passed through this quadrant of space before.
It’s inconceivable! Their vital essence has been consumed by this entangled nightmare that now besets us. Their entities flicker in and out of focus, trapped in the grid, held fast, and hopeless.
The chilling, vacant look of utter surrender on their bewildered faces. They are living ghosts!
This thing is coming closer and closer — this host of evil. Terrified to my bones, I feel helpless, confused, and so completely alone.
In a moment of clarity, I rush to my solarcomm, “I must send a message to Artheo” I sob to no one in particular. holding a Droon orb of light bravely I begin first sharing poetry as is our custom.
“we have walked quietly hand in hand
in the emerald meadows of Telma
sharing its golden angelfruit
sweet as our stolen kisses
we’ve heard the haunting call
of the coral winged Lellurt
in Droon’s platinum skies
over teal Darpin Bay
now fate deems we part
see this Orb of Light
it is my true heart
when I am gone
it will shine on
sweet Artheo
it is my love
eternally”
“right now,
I want to hear
your soothing voice
my precious love.
I would give the world
to hear your voice.”
I am speaking in a controlled tone, yet laced with longing and trepidation. “I love you my dearest, but something bad is happening now, here where I am, There’s a chance”, beginning to break down, I must pause collect myself, to start again.
“There is a chance I may not return to you again, to our sweet life”, here my voice quavers, and then it cracks as I struggle to add, “or, to our children.”
Digging deep, grasping for courage I go on, “If this is to be my end, it falls to you to raise them now. Please let them see they’re loved forever. Protect them well, and keep them safe my love.”
It’s now becoming a struggle to even form words, but filled with love, I press on, “Remember my eggs. They are safely stored at the FarWorlds Corp’s Reproductive Center. The surrogate we selected has been tested and she is bonded pure. You must see to it our new family is born, that Zenus and Rennar are born. Please promise me!”
Choking back a deluge of emotions, I fight to conclude my message. This is the last I will ever send to my beloved Artheo — the last words he will ever hear me speak. “Our children, Zenus and Rennar, will be the final connection between you and I. Remember forever, they are a part of each of us my darling one.”
Swallowing a welling sob I continue. “He and she will care for you and see you through your dimming years. They will love you as you will love them. Give them my enduring love. Tell them about me.”
Voice faltering badly, I rise to finish. Leaning into my solarcomm, I share with Artheo my final words. “God, oh god, how I want you here in my arms. You are my heart, my life, my one true love! Goodbye my precious man. Remember, remember our love. Do not forget me.”
With that, my heart breaks. I stare stricken and silent into the screen, teardrops streaming down my cheeks.
12 hours later the message arrives on Artheo’s commstation screen. Gripped by disbelief at what he sees, at what he hears, consumed by horror, unable to move — he stands trembling, his face frozen in grief. He sees my message end, as my image flickers, and fades to black.
Artheo falls to his knees without sound, silent for some time. Then, with fear and sorrow scarred into his ashen face; he throws back his head, thrusts up his arms straight and stiff, fists clenched in anger, clenched so tightly fingernails cut into palms and bring forth blood.
Bloodied hands with ghost-white knuckles stab at the stars. He keens and moans, then begins to wail full voice; the guttural heart-wrenching wail of a man wholly bereft, soul-gored, devastated!
rob kistner © 2008
