by Micah Thomas
Thelon had no sense of scale for what he was looking at. He was there, seeing space. He was the Hubble space telescope. There was another layer, too. Beyond the literal surface of objects in space, energies tore themselves apart; there was something invisible, but palpable. Thelon could sense it, but it was too out of range, too on the peripheral of perception. This was not the whole picture, he thought in a moment of clarity. Before Thelon could get more, he saw his hands around the neck of a woman. He’d killed her. He’d done it.
In an instant, Thelon snapped back to his body. The brightness of the room hurt his eyes as the pod opened. He was going to be sick. His body shook uncontrollably as Jim hauled him out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his lean body. Thelon was barely aware of the strong arms moving him to a gurney; the faces of his bunk mates—his family—above him. A heavy blanket was placed on him, but he wanted a fucking teddy bear—something to cuddle.
“I remember my first time,” Jim said with sympathy. “Now you know something. You don’t know you know it, but it will come to you later. Sleep, baby boy.”
Was Jim singing?
***
On his 7th day in prison, Thelon wanted to be back working with the horses. He’d take a surface excursion. Anything but going back in the tanks. Three days of back to back time in the water and he thought they might be trying to break his mind—and they’d succeed. They told him in the tank would get less devastating to his mind, but it didn’t feel that way. The first day had been the worst and that was only an hour. Each day since, it was 2 hours in, 30 minutes out, then back in for 2 hours. The hours felt like months. The drug stretched out time, and in his time, Thelon had audited his entire life—every goddamn interaction he’d had with everyone ever. Shitty things he’d said to his mom. Lies he told. Hair he pulled. Kid stuff, with the weight of some holy confession before god and all the angels. And yes, he felt bad about everything he was, but he wasn’t a bad person. The pressure was unrelenting. Thelon craved sleep during his sober meals, unable to talk with anyone, unsure if this was part of his sentence.
“Are they punishing me?” Thelon asked Cressida when she sat down with him for a break.
“What’s up? Having trouble with therapy? I can’t help you there.”
“Therapy? I never had a therapist but this ain’t therapy.”
“Thelon, I went through this, too. We all did. We get in the bath, Adeline links pods, and we work out confessions and reenact family dramas. No one has ever been hurt by facing their demons in here. Adeline helped me make peace with my childhood. There was this game, a maze…”
“No. That’s not what I’m doing at all.”
“What then?”
“It’s hard to explain. First, I’m alone in the dark. It’s horrible. My whole life, every cowardly thing I’ve done, are all there to confront me. Then I’m in space and a feeling hits me—all the joy goes out from the world.”
“The Boogey Man?”
“You’ve seen it?”
She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “Once you are dialed in—been taking a bath for a while, if you know what I’m sayin’—yeah, I hear it breathing when I go to sleep. It hates us completely.”
Thelon shuddered, unable to eat the food before him. “Why are you making me do this every day?”
“I just read the slip of paper, honey child.”
It wasn’t fair and he knew it now. Thelon was being singled out with this shit. What was worse, Thelon didn’t know why he continually found himself back there, in that damned awful place. In the afternoon, he knew what was going to happen before it did—Cressida confirmed it: the other prisoners got a chance to face their misdeeds and heal the hurts that caused them in their minds. Damn.
After lunch, he was alone again in the pod, in the dark. Before long, there he was, back to the horrible horrors. Bullshit. This time, Thelon raced the trip. He let the drug expand his mind over his past, encompassing his misdeeds and graces alike. He wouldn’t get caught in the introspective shit today; he was a transparent eyeball surfing space-time waves. The rest of him was luggage he was ready to leave behind. His perception realigned and instead of confusion, Thelon knew this wasn’t some astral plane. He was in space but he struggled to keep his mind focused. Keep it together, he reminded himself as he studied the thing in front of him, probing at it. “What do you want?”
Swirls of color, an explosion of light with a black and impossible core. Damn thing must have eaten a planet there. It wasn’t a star, it was a cluster; a cloud of emanations. “You look like a giant fart. Do you know that?”
We eat, it seemed to say.
Push and pull particle dynamics. Swirling galactic eddies on a scale difficult for Thelon to maintain. He saw their energies looping out in terrible solar flares, clouds of dust particles in a well-lit room.
“We live,” it seemed to say.
“What do you want?” Thelon sent his questions out at it, but the fear started on him. Though he had no stomach here, nausea blossomed in his awareness.
There was no response of any kind from them.
“You are hurting us. You’ll kill us.”
The volume and intensity of Thelon’s perceptions increased in vibration, an ugly, raging feeling. No. They wouldn’t kill us. They’d consume us. Take something from us. Something that could not be undone. They’d done it to others. He got a glimpse of their story—a packet of information he could not completely decode. They’d been ejected—rejected—into their world and copulated with demons living outside of the garden. That wasn’t right. Thelon was making associations to some story he’d heard in church. They were the demons. They’d stolen our chance to meet an alien species. Corrupted the aliens before they ever had a chance to know what hit them.
Examination of the memory broke his concentration and Thelon couldn’t remain detached. The bad emotions were too strong, tugging at his guts. Thelon wanted to run away, but stood still, watching the interactions between the entities—and they were many. When they weren’t destroying and eating, they were churning. They were legion—not a singular thing. Did it have a brain? A weakness? He’d learn something about this bastard. He’d let it be his teacher if he could. You think you’re bad, but you ain’t shit. I bet you don’t even know what you are, motherfucker.
His own words bounced back at him and Thelon struggled to hold a clear picture of himself. He wasn’t Peter Pan and his time in Eden had been hollow. Introspection overcame him and he lost sight of the real or subjective. He was lost in thought and memory. Thelon had been a bad friend. He’d been a bad lover. He’d been lazy. He’d been dodging the truth. He wouldn’t do that anymore if he got a chance. Thelon admitted to himself that he missed his parents and had been terrified when the world fell to shit. He’d been terrified before that, too. He knew he was smart, but the pressure of school threatened him. Thelon didn’t know what he was supposed to do so he faked it. Then, his trip moved to the woman he’d killed. Thelon could never make amends.
The pain and shame kicked off an irresistible audit of his memory to the night that took the life of a woman he didn’t even know as well as his. Thelon saw her now, clearly in his mind. There was someone else there. He’d had a conversation. Warnings triggered in the part of him that was still lucid. Thelon was in danger being in this place, so close to the enemy. He was vulnerable; feeding into the narrative was a mistake. Thelon was drifting closer to the enemy, and the closer he got, the clearer his memory became.
Yeah, that night he’d been dosed by something stronger than all the drugs in the world. Something was pulling his strings. He was Pinocchio and he couldn’t see. It was strong—so strong. It made him and her—the girl, the woman—of one mind. She wasn’t fighting him. They were fucking and they were going to kill each other. He could see their joined intent, and then someone had stopped it—woken him up—but it was too late for the woman. Thelon saw bright blue eyes, but before he could find the truth in the memory, the dreaded thing almost had him.
Nope. Nope. Nope. He moved his energy, a slivery mental fish, and slipped away as fast as thought. Go somewhere clean. Jive. Be fresh and wild. Move, boy, move.
He was still in real space, but his energy had shifted to a new vibration. Thelon was faster than his opponent. They were limited—a snail in a shell the size of a star—but they were not what they appeared. He heard a buzzing mosquito sitting on his left eardrum. Thelon’s vision turned green, and gradually grew blue before reintegrating in crystalline crispness. The world was again the flat starfield, but another part of him saw much more. Knowledge accumulated inside him, in parts of him he didn’t know he had.
Then he was aware of another presence—someone or something was watching him in the dark. Again, Thelon’s gears shifted and he accelerated to an even faster vibration; a sine wave of humming. His vision cleared and he saw space again as well as another layer of everything. Simultaneously, there were always layers of everything. Connected. Living. He hoped he would remember this later. There was a truth here. Thelon knew it. Before the pieces could form understanding, he saw he had an observer. It was a black sphere against the black of space, but in the double sight, it was an interlocking gear contraption of infinite blue energies. The whole time, it had been right behind him and Thelon knew it had been there each time. This was what had been pushing him here.
“I see you, watching me.”
It spoke to Thelon. “You are clay, and I the sculptor. I have formed you from a ball of chaos into a vessel. When you don’t know who you are, you are me. What more do you want?”
Suddenly, Thelon woke in the pod. He’d swallowed some salt water and threw up on himself. Still, he laughed. The trip was fading and most of what he’d learned was becoming an incoherent dream on waking. He knew one thing though: his conscience was clean. Someone else had done that shit. Used him. Raped his mind and the mind of the girl. Fuck. Maybe the dread star already had them? But it felt different—a distinct flavor of terrible. How many damned demons were there? He prayed then, before Adeline opened the pod. Thelon didn’t care if she heard him; he needed help. This cluster wasn’t going to unfuck itself. Send me a miracle, he begged. If demons were real, maybe gods were, too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CASSIE AND HENRY had traveled the world of Eden, and after the first day, they had not talked about their coming separation. Cassie didn’t want to spoil any moment, but it was on her mind. The day finally came when they would have to either make a run for it or turn themselves in. The conversation was short, and the was decision made.
If Hakim wasn’t helping me right now, Henry said, I would eventually become exhausted. The fire would be loosed, and I don’t know if anyone would survive it.
“Okay, then. This is our only option.”
I don’t even know what the plan is, but yeah, there’s no one else that can help us.
“Are you worried it’s like making a genie wish and it’s going to backfire like, ‘I wish to be free from Henry’, and he kills us both—poof! You’re free from Henry.”
Yeah. I guess that’s an option I’m willing to face. Not that I’m so brave, but you have a life ahead of you. I’m a ghost, babe. You need an exorcism.
Cassie shook her head, but they portaled back to Chicago anyway. When they got to the palace, Cassie had expected someone to be waiting for her. “Where is Officer Sanders?” she asked the Copper, idling at the gate.
“That information is privileged.”
Henry laughed. If you could see what I see in these tin cans: they aren’t even robots—not properly. There’s almost nothing inside.
Cassie shushed Henry. “I’m Cassandra Lima. Hakim is expecting me.” To Henry, she added, Let me do the talking.
The Copper spun up into motion and glided around, opening the gate. Cassie followed. She wondered where Officer Sanders was; she had a bad feeling about dealing with Hakim without him around.
Cassie was reminded of the award ceremony scene out of Star Wars. A grand hall. Heroes in procession up to receive their gifts and recognition. Chewie left out because of speciesism. Except Hakim was the only person in the room, and they weren’t heroes.
Hakim appeared to be sleeping, but Cassie addressed him anyway. “We accept.”
His eyes opened and he smiled. “Wonderful. And you were not swayed by the fact I could have taken this regardless of your wishes? Was this not an honest bargain?”
“Let’s do this thing.”
Hakim nodded and gestured for her to follow. Behind the throne was a door, and through it, a small room with an open window. A night breeze cooled them despite it being daytime when they arrived at the palace. Cassie was surprised yet not surprised to see a simple mattress on the floor and a small prayer mat incongruously facing the wall at an odd angle. Hakim washed his hands in a rustic sink and drew a cup of water in a cloudy, chipped glass. Even the textiles in this room were unlike the Rococo majesty of the rest of the palace.
Answering a question unasked, Hakim said, “Yes. This is my personal room.”
“Do you pray?” Cassie asked, gesturing towards the mat.
Hakim paused before answering, “I may not be a man, but I am not a god.”
Cassie didn’t push the issue and instead, sat on the mattress. “How’s this going to happen?”
“There are two parts to what we will do. There is no ritual—no precedence for this. You can see our forms, yes? You and the ones within you can perceive what is invisible to others, yes? I see you are no longer the same as my other dear humans. You have grown, elongated by containing more than you were born with, and it is your growth that will allow this to work. I know you distrust me. You don’t know what I know, but you will.”
Henry blurted out, “Anyone tell you that you talk like Wiseman?”
“The backhanded compliment! Wonderful! Words amaze me. You all amaze me. Wiseman, as you called him; he loved you, Henry, and I know why.” Hakim joined Cassie on the mattress, sitting cross-legged in his superfluous robes. “Henry, you may show yourself,” he said. “Let us be as family.”
Henry’s apparition manifested on the mattress, and they sat in a semi circle facing each other.
“You’ve tried to separate before. I see it,” Hakim said.
“Yes,” Cassie said, letting the bitterness in her voice carry. “Two times.”
“Failures, all.” Hakim shook his head. “This world and its physical rules.”
“Yes.”
“Not this time. Not with me. Let us transcend.”
Cassie felt the world vanish with a nervous laugh in her belly. She suddenly perceived Hakim as he really was for the first time. Vast, immense strength. She saw what Henry had tried to tell her: that he was Eden, in all of it. He had no malice. How could she ever think he had? He was no destroyer. He was beneficent. He had a heart that warmed with love.
A plane of perception formed around their circle to create a stage version of the room. Mattress, mat, sink, but no walls. Only infinite blackness beyond the stage. Cassie was still sitting next to Hakim, but now Henry stood beside her, holding a torch in his hand and shooting light out into the surrounding darkness.
Another shape hovered at the edge of the stage. Roughly a person in size and form, it was dim and pulsing colors. Cassie felt nothing from it.
Hakim stood and stretched his legs. “Henry, are you ready?”
Henry bent down and kissed the top of Cassie’s head. “I am ready.”
Cassie felt the physicality of the kiss and her heart broke, but she was stoned and unable to speak.
Hakim reached towards the darkness beyond and called the Moon into existence. The familiar silver-grey sphere appeared, pock marked in its lunar seas and geography in which some saw a rabbit and others a face. It rotated as it drew closer until Cassie saw an aerial view of what could be a shopping center sprawled across the surface.
Hakim pointed a long, brown finger at the structure and a pinprick of light formed there. Gracefully arcing his arm, he pointed to Henry
and a thin blue line traced the distance.
“Henry, salaam.”
Henry’s form pixelated before Cassie’s eyes. He was a torus, a donut of white light with a fiery gem in the center. His energy shape shrunk down and down then traveled the blue line to the moon. Cassie felt him go, a gentle release, not a bit of pain as he disentangled from her. This was real. He’d be okay, and Cassie believed she’d find him again someday. She cried now. “So, he’s gone.”
“From you, yes, but he’s fine—already in his new home. He will be more comfortable there. I have prepared the vessel.”
“You just put him in someone else? Are you serious?”
“There was a young man. I picked him myself, as I picked you. All will be well.”
Hakim was less pretentious than before. He seemed almost human. His voice, almost compassionate. Cassie steeled herself and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “You picked me?”
He spoke like they were friends, talking about their feelings. “I am given to order. To peace. I see interlocking wheels of fate and subtly steer like to like. I have minimal involvement, of course, true to my nature.”
“You planned this?” Cassie asked.
Hakim nodded. “I saw this was possible and prepared.”
“How much of this did you see?” Cassie was curious and strangely unguarded. Is he messing with my mind, like Wiseman?
“I’ve seen this moment since before I met you.”
Cassie accepted this with skepticism. It was a trite sentiment. She remembered a poster she’d seen at hospice. Something about Jesus and a single set of footprints in the sand. Only Hakim had not carried her. She’d never sensed so much as a benevolent universe out there helping her. “The rest of the deal then. That thing over there in the shadows, what is it?”