Interzeit: A Space Opera (14 page)

Something intercepts it as it goes out. He tries again, and there is no sensation from his body at all. Continuing it he starts to feel the action complete, but elsewhere then his hand. Out there, in the darkness he can feel it.

So
me hand that does not exist is
translating his thoughts, his nervous impulse, hijacking it, and coding it into its own behavior.
It
’
s alien, and makes him feel claustrophobic after a few minutes. His body is completely
helpless,
all of his motions are being taken by this thing, the intelligence.

It’s stealing them, eating his electrical signals to grow
itself
. Unable to escape, he goes about a mundane process of coding other motions with the machine.

Suddenly while he is walking the thing, helping it run and turn, over simplistic mechanical actions, he hears it. It starts soft, easily disregarded.
A simple trick interpretation of the white noise around him.

Then he hears it again, some ghost face in the machine furrows its brow in his suspicious paranoia. His old sense of being watched by a ghost creeps into his mind, a small spark of panic runs down his spine.

“Tom…” he hears it again, it shakes him with its clarity.

“Go away,” he thinks at the voice, but it only seems to strengthen it against him.

“Tom, they’re gone Tom. They left on the ship.
It’s
okay to cry Tom,”
It’s
her,
it’s
her voice again.

Why would the machine torment him like this? Why would it resurrect her
voice,
and his memories for something like this.

Out of the blank slate darkness, there is a shutter, and she is there in front of him. Clara is standing over him, her eyes gl
istening deep blue. Her face is contorting, having to rally strength forward for every small phrase she communicates.

Her tears stream down her face, angry and
pained,
they come for the sake of their survival. Her hair is short and
cropped,
her face still pudgy and young, back when they were just kids…

“We don’t need them!” She shouted at him, “They hated us Tom! That’s why they left! They hated the both of us!”

Clara grabbed the sides of his face with her tiny clawlike hands, pushing it together, trying to transmit her words into him by force. Suddenly a blue crackling light glows behind her, rising and growing into a large plum.

“We’re nothing to them Tom!
” She screamed
,
the blast wave crashes
through. Her scream, her adult scream resonated around them as her young façade incinerated in the wind.

Along with it came a rolling electrical shock, as he is taken into the blast wave and tossed into a miasma of color and symbols. Folding and revolving geometrics of impossible dimension melt outwards from it
,
observing,
and
criticizing him. It uses no language, play
ing on his brain’s direct neur
al piano a musical da
nce of highs and lows
beyond comprehension
.

By the time they shut it down, it was late evening. So the clocks said anyways, as the underground facilities space like atmosphere was isolating from any such privileged cues such as the sun
.

He was utterly drained and exhausted. The skin around his electrode ports was swollen and red, aching with every movement. His mind was in a pained fog, it cleared slowly as they were huddled out of the training room, to a mess hall to eat
before resting.

In the barren cafeteria, Nol tried asking Cesar and Leora about the whole experience. They were unwillingly to part with much information of the event however, seemingly defensive about the whole thing. He pushed until finally Leora gave him a cryptic answer,

“Wait until the dreams start.” She said with a low grumble, “Soon it feels like your whole life is you trapped in th
e
machine. Like its slowly replacing everything, and…and you never get to…”

Cesar grabbed her
shoulder,
his own complexion was many times paler than it had been in the morning. He squeezed lightly, and she cut off her rambling, shaking her head slowly.

They were eating silently when someone sat down in front on Nol. Clacking down his plate with
force,
he sits, staring daggers straight into Nol’s eyes. His faced is pocked with all manners of blemishes, scars, acne, and dirty pores.

He has messy red
hair,
it was greased, stuck in a wild pattern as though he just brushed it down by hand.

“Hello.” He said simply.

“Hi,” Nol responded with unenthused politeness.

His face contoured in erratic rapid fire thoughts, “So you’re Tomson Nol, the new guy, hmm? The cabinet’s favored little puppet.”

“That would be me.” He answered, eyes narrowing, “Seems rude to tell me who I am, before introducing yourself.”

The ginger man laughed, his rough teeth showing, his throat converting the sound into an almost hissing quality.

“Fine fine, I am Byron Suffolk. I’m the lead pilot around here, just so you know. I wanted to
come
say hi to our new companion.”

Leora and Cesar looked increasingly annoyed at him with every passing word.

“Lead pilot?” Nol said, “That must be a high honor, what
did you do
to get that title?”

Byron kicks his feet up on the edge of the rectangular table, and shrugs.

“Everyone knows it, that’s why I lead the “
8
s
” in the competitive
SIMs,
we’re a pretty good team you know? We’ve display so much synergy together
it’s
pretty much a guarantee that we’ll all get test platforms.”

Byron looks to Cesar and Leo
ra, “These two are dead weight.
I suggest you jump ship next game if you want any chance at the other
4
spots.”

He stopped talking, no one responded, Nol ate slowly, seeming to ignore his words. Finally after a few minutes of creeping tension, he answers Byron, who has been staring relentlessly the entire interaction.

“You can go now Byron.” He says, “Thanks for the advice.”

Byron smirks, and takes his leave, “I tried to be nice…” He says trailing off rejoining his team.

His two comrades seemed sullen the rest of the evening. They turned away from him, talking only to each other if at
all, some kind of vibration
coming from them.
Nol
returned to his quarters as soon as he was allowed by the staff.

Despites his exhaustion, he felt some hesitation at Leora’s pessimistic prophecy. He shook it off after a few minutes, and soon sunk down like an anchor.

The rest was silent and dark, no such phantoms appeared there. It was peaceful, until deep into the night. He washed awake from voices, they were soft, but something in their tone struck him in the spine even while unconscious.

His door slid open with a hiss, his lights came on automatically,
two
forms lunged in, the door
snapping shut behind them
.

Nol
rolled off the bed in panic. He heard them breathing, they
crept in around him slowly. His hand searched under the bed, grasping for Polystratus’s gift.

An invisible kick knocks his legs
back,
he slides away from the bed.

“Don’t try to hide,” A deep voice boomed.

His hands finally seize the beam
emitter,
he pushes away from the bed, clambering to his feet. Nol slams into the wall with a thump. He feels them, they grow quiet. Their blind eyes scan through the darkness, trying to confirm what their ears heard.

He grits his teeth, finger and thumb sliding over the emitters switch and trigger. His instinct is to warn them, to force them to surrender or leave. A force within him stays his warnings, it silences him. His eyes narrow gripping the handle tighter.

Nol takes a last breath in. His thumb triggers the emitter blade. The purple beam sparks to li
f
e, casting an amethyst shadow on his assailants. He locks eyes with
one,
they lean into it, charging. Nol charges back, swinging wildly.

His arms and chest fall
to pieces, low burning rattles creak out as blade snaps through his bones. The blood bubbles and steams off the light. Nol shifts towards the other one, still in shock.

He squeezes the trigger several times
, blasting him into the corner. His body convulses from the large impacts burning through him. Nol steps in cleaving his face with a scream.

Nol pants in anger, catching his breath. His sweat breaks off his
brow,
the steaming heat of blood and bodies suddenly releas
ed
fill
s
the room. It was dizzying, the adrenaline intoxicating every pore in his body.

A minute passes, maybe more.
It’s
an eternity, a crescendo of emotion rising, crashing out of him in waterfall waves, unstoppable. Death is inevitable. Several guards and handlers came rushing in after eternity. Nol came back to his senses, staring into the barrels of several pistols.

The
re’s shouting, he hears it, but
its origin and terminal destination unknown, he is dizzied,
he
lowers the emitter and clicks it off.

“Sorry,” Nol says simply,

He throws the emitter on his bed carelessly, and plops down beside it, sitting and watching the guards slowly de-escalate, their questions slowly coming into focus.

They’
r
e
calling his name, over and over, an easy response, that one is easy.

“Yeah?”

Something more difficult next, “What happened?”
One asks.

He shrugs weakly, looking at the bodies on the floor, he feels disgusted as though they had just appeared their suddenly, a memory already suppressed, redredged to the surface and replays. They’re just on the floor, why are they on the floor?

“They came in, you know, I did what I had to.” He muttered,

“Where did you get that?” One sentry points at the emitter,
circling around the corpses for it.

Nol picks it up, point the barrel perpendicularly away, but still gesturing it somewhat aggressively,

“This? You mean the emitter?”

The guard halts, raising his hands in an ever so slight defensive posture. “That’s not a common weapon on Earth, its illegal for a citizen to have.”

Nol stares into him annoyed, “I’m not a citizen…it was a gift from the Cabinet.”

“That’s quite unusual.” He stares back,

“Yeah,” Nol agrees, “Seems that it was a good idea after all though, don’t you agree?”

They seem to accept that reasoning easily enough, they don’t move the bodies, and stand around at attention.

Eventually General
Berkant
makes an appearance, walking into the room with heavy bloodshot eyes.

“What is this commotion you have started Nol?” He asks,

Nol sighs, and tries to explain calmly that he murdered the intruders into his room. His would be assailants and perhaps assassins. Berkant has a look around the corpses, and points out the electrodes attached to them.

“These are pilot candidates,” He shouts, “Fucking fantastic! Who are they
..who
are they?”

He looks at them briefly, “Anton Deus, and…Corson Dhal, is that Dhal? Shit…someone, someone
go
check,”

He turns to the guards,” I said fucking check!” A rough handful of guards evacuate to verify the casualties.

“Can I sit Nol?” Berkant gestures beside him, “I won’t do anything stupid, just put the weapon away.”

Nol slides to the end of the bed, and sets the emitter down beside him, his fingers still tracing the warm metal.

Berkant sighs, stepping over the gore, he sits down. “We’ve got candidates going for each others throats now I see. What do you think this was,
and
why?”

Nol
shrugs, “Hierarchy, something to do with that.”

“Shit…shit what a mess huh?” He responds, “I wanted this to be better than what
has to be
now, you understand, things must change from here on out. Lockdowns, no surface leave, regimentations, patrols, the whole thing.”

“That sucks,” Nol agrees,

“And you somehow snuck in a bloody emitter of all things, dallama…”

Nol tries out the talking point from
before,
it goes however with similar success although Berkant is furious with the indiscretion. After more colorful swears and curses he settles down. The
guards return verifying the two corpses as the pilot candidates. Berkant orders them taken away, and a clean up crew arrives shortly with wetvacs.

The machines slurp up the human blood and carrion with hungry efficiency. In the static hum of the machines Berkant cuts Nol a deal.

“Keep the weapon,” he says, “Seems you’ve need for it, a few days here, and already you make mortal enemies. However, tell the cabinet liason any of this, and I will do everything in my power to make your stay here a living hell. You will not be respected, you will fail, and you will wash out, understood?”

“Fair enough,”
Nol agrees,

“Good,” Berkant rises, “Now get some rest, you have your first liason with Ophelia tomorrow, I don’t want you looking like you do, ghost faced and blood drunk.”

The crew finishes shortly after Berkant’s rantings cease and they leave within a few minutes of each other. They leave him be, the distinct clicking of boots marching around outside never stops. When the door behind them clicks closes, there’s
an
extra weight to it, as the locks slide into place.

Nol does his best to return to sleep, but his nerves are fried to a crisp. His adrenals keep pumping no matter what he tells himself. No combination of words,
no
magic phrase or reassurance can shift his body into a lower gear. The brain
stem know
s
when
it’s
been threatened, knows when
its
wise to ignore the cognition the it, the I, the ego.

He paces around in frustration, and takes to push ups. Nol fails and walks, and tries again until failure, and walks, his arms mushing into jelly somewhere around one hundred twenty. He checks the clock
, it reads four
, and there’s still no sign of rest in site.

Nol
broods
erratic emotional thoughts, the deprivation saws away at his more complex paranoias and probing questions at conspiracy, replacing it with fear and wrath. After more inevitable calisthenics he finally is able to rest. It was much later than he expected, around ten, when he starts slipping away.

Normally they would have summoned him for something, but under the present circumstances, he was glad to have the exception. When he finally slips off,
it’s
into another black abyss.
A vacuum with no eyes.