Adam's Rings

by Matthew D. White

  Their documentary on Zeus’ findings was indeed incredible, but it was not enough to unseat Adam’s reigning champion. By far the best in his eyes was the planetarium’s visualization of the creation of their solar system. He had made the point to see it during every visit of the past five years and it had yet to lose its charm. Somehow, the idea of such monumental forces enacting on scales far beyond what would be experienced in the everyday world would conspire to create civilization, and finally him, was inconceivable at best.

  Scientific notation was entirely useful in the lab and for defining theoretical constructs; this wasn’t so in the real world. Once one got more than a few orders of magnitude removed from the subject, they were bound to lose perspective on what they were observing. Such as it was every time that Adam walked through the planetarium’s doors. The understanding that everything he knew—every challenge, every victory, every defeat, and every life—would take place in the speck beneath a single pixel on the all-encompassing screen.

  That the universe would take time away from some awesome, unknown purpose to create him specifically gave Adam a drive that he doubted was understood by many others. He had been presented a gift, that he should be alive and able to experience all that the universe had to offer, and he planned to make good on what had been given. Even as the day drew on into evening and the family unit retreated back to their normal life, Adam chanced a glance back at the towering marvel of engineering and architecture and caught sight of the evening star glowing bright against the indigo sky.

  The universe had given him a life in order to spend it unlocking its secrets, Adam mused as he rested his chin on edge of the car’s window. He refused to give in to the growing heaviness behind his eyes as he stared at the prick that was Mercury’s blasted surface sailing along at fifty million miles from Earth. It was his only life to live.

  And he would honor the commission.

  Second Birth

  “Adam, wake up.”

  The words were a familiar opening to every school day, calling him to rise and face the challenges that would arrive along with the morning’s sun. His mind tumbled from sleep and fought against the inevitable loss of his peaceful state. He clenched the blanket tight and pulled it over his head. The fabric between his fingers lost its texture, melting away as his leading knuckles traced across a dome of plastic above his body. The sensation was strange but so alien that his mind rejected it as a mistake.

  The second time he heard his mother’s voice, Adam’s mind shifted to fright. The tone changed and she sounded more urgent than he had thought possible, as if she was announcing a house fire or natural disaster. His eyes remained shut, but he sensed the lights flickering between a deep red and pure darkness. Instinctively, Adam’s pulse quickened, as if preparing to wrench his body away from the snarling jaws of a terrible nightmare.

  “Adam, WAKE UP!”

  The voice came upon him again, turning to a deep baritone, and Adam’s eyes snapped open. Instead of his nondescript bedroom, he was surrounded on all sides by a cocoon of glossy white metal. He jolted forward and slammed his head against a glass panel situated inches before his face. The crack jarred his senses, the pain sharp and clean, and he stopped to wrap his arms around his pulsating cranium.

  Was he awake or still asleep? Something in between? The incongruent surroundings would have been at home within his overactive subconscious, but there was a newfound clarity to every sound and sensation that he was unprepared to experience. Adam winced, forcing his tearing eyes to open and gather more data on his confounding circumstance. Gone was his home, his clothes; in their place was a gray void and an equally gray bodysuit wrapped tightly around his midsection, terminating above his knees.

  “Adam, you’re not safe here. You need to get out.” The now-distinctly-masculine voice came in clearly one more time, emanating from a speaker within the cocoon. Adam looked about to find its source and deduced it was hidden by a silver grate in the end of the coffin-shaped tube above his head.

  “Where?” he mumbled amidst the blaring alarms, stinging tears, and the growing storm within his head.

  “This section of the hull is compromised. We need to get you to the next compartment. I need you to do exactly what I say. Can you follow my direction?” The voice was as metallic and artificial as the rest of the surroundings, although it mimicked a sense of human urgency.

  Adam’s body shook as he cowered in the tube. He nodded and whispered, “Yes…”

  “Good. There has been a fire and the air is thin, so you’ll need to hold your breath. Pull the two levers beneath your hands to release the canopy, drop to the floor, then turn left toward the bulkhead. There’s a doorway ten feet away. Crawl through and I’ll seal you out once you’re on the other side.”

  Adam’s heart raced as he wrapped his hands around the pair of controls at his sides. He looked through the glass and into the volume of wafting gray smoke, illuminated only by the pops from a blaring siren. Adam took a deep breath and put his weight against the levers. They gave way and the canopy released with a sharp click.

  Instantly the wall of palatable gray smoke flooded over the broken seals and wrapped itself around Adam’s body. His eyes felt as if they’d caught fire and he stumbled to the ground, tripping over the pod’s lip and landing hard against the stamped metal floor. Terror overtook him as the onslaught continued, but he forced himself to take in his surroundings.

  There was little he could make out, but within a few inches of the deck, he could see beneath the hanging fumes. To his right, Adam only saw gray nothingness, while to his left looked to be a shiny metal wall. He crawled toward it, as the voice had commanded, and quickly was able to make out a futuristic hatch set on thick hinges that looked to be straight off a submarine. Adam got closer, feeling a dull rumble through the floor as the hatch released and swung aside as if expecting his arrival.

  Bright white light poured through into the foreboding nightmare of a chamber, and Adam felt a renewed sense of urgency, as if the world would rethink itself and lock him out just as quickly as it had spurred him forward. Not wanting to test the universe’s patience, he wrapped his fingers around the lip and heaved himself over the edge, rolling into the clean space and accompanied by the choking gas.

  Adam felt the hatch slam shut and lock in place with a click that echoed in the distance and reverberated through the deck. He lay still where he had fallen, daring not to move without the nightmarish voice’s instruction. His hands were damp, yet cold against the metal floor, and his heart began to steady. Expelling the initial payload of oxygen, he gulped air in short, jagged breaths, willing the shrieking and persistent experience to end.

  The noise of the sirens faded into the background, leaving Adam in relative solace amidst the pounding in his head. He took the chance and slid his eyes open, ready once again for the stinging onrush of smoke, but no such oppressor greeted him. Instead, he found himself in a perfectly clean compartment, covered on all sides with white panels intermixed with polished aluminum supports. Near the ceiling, the last of the smoke drifted toward a line of vents and quickly dissipated, leaving a blank scent of clean, combined slightly with the sweet off-gassing of fresh plastic.

  His mind continued to fight with itself against its perceived reality. It must be a dream, right? Adam told himself, battling the combined returns of his senses. Visions of childhood adventures swirled in his memory. If it was a dream, then he could define it how he wished; if he wanted to, he could fly. Adam let his mind release its hold on the floor and pushed upward, forcing the world to bend to his will. He expected to float, to fly, to be lost in his ever-expanding imagination, only to be jolted awake in his bed back home. The memory might echo for minutes, but that’d be the end of it. Adam pushed harder against the floor, forcing his will to overtake the vision, but felt nothing change beneath his feet. Gravity kept its grip against his rising indignation.

  The siren above blared again, followed by the mechanical voice. “Adam, you need to
keep moving. You’re not safe yet.”

  “What are you talking about? None of this is real,” Adam insisted.

  “Yes, it is, and if you don’t want lose your life, you must do what I say.”

  “Okay, okay,” Adam replied, struggling to his feet. His balance felt off, as if he was meandering along the deck of a ship and every muscle in his body burned with searing fury. “I can’t hardly stand. Why does it hurt so much?”

  “It will pass,” the voice stated. “All of this is new. Keep going; we need to get you suited up before you do any more damage to yourself.”

  Adam looked over his sleek, silver attire, apparently woven or formed from a single thread that stretched effortlessly like a second skin as he advanced down the passage. His arms and legs tingled in the cool air, the metal floor steadily pulling energy from his bare feet. “Please tell me there are shoes.”

  “Yes, there are, but we have larger concerns ahead,” Adam’s guide replied, the voice emanating from small speakers placed every few feet along the passage’s ceiling. “The lab is compromised, so you need to get out. At the next junction you’ll find a hatch in the floor. Open it and follow the ladder inside down to the next landing.”

  The voice, as distant as it seemed, knew the area well, and to a surprising degree, Adam’s location. He found the hatch, outlined in safety orange, and swung the lid aside. Inside, ladder rungs descended into eerie shadow. He swallowed hard, his head reacting to the idea of climbing through the tight space.

  “It won’t harm you, but you need to move,” the voice demanded again.

  Adam complied and carefully made his way downward, feeling each formed tread dig into the soles of his feet. At the bottom, he stepped away and into a much larger pod, flanked on one side by a massive assembly of cabinets that resembled a library catalog and on the other by a flat black wall, which stretched from floor to ceiling and every inch of the length. Here as before, the lights were dim, aside from an emergency strobe at each end. The pinpricks of amber light cast long shadows across the hardened surfaces, while leaving crisscrossed reflections above Adam’s head.

  “Your uniforms are waiting in the locker farthest to your right.”

  “A uniform?” Adam asked, making his way along the row of containers.

  “Yes, to identify you as the commanding officer of the station.”

  “What are you talking about?” Adam corrected. “I’m fourteen; I can’t even drive.” He opened the last cabinet door to reveal a bundle of pearly-white suits adorned with blue highlights, strapped in place against the wall. A matching badge with his full name was attached with Velcro on the chest, along with an embroidered set of pilot wings. Adam stopped and brushed his hand across the stitching, lost once again. “What is this?” he asked again. “Where am I?”

  In an immediate response, the blank wall across from him erupted in blinding light, bathing every micron of the room in its receiving glow. Adam clamped an arm before his eyes, slipping to the ground at the sudden stimulus. His eyes slowly adjusted, and amidst a racing heart, he carefully moved his hand aside. The wall had turned transparent, and where the black surface had been now rested an awesome sight.

  Stretching the full length of his field of vision and beyond rested the swirling yellow mass of the planet Saturn’s gaseous surface. The image was unmistakable, and Adam stopped in place with mouth agape, in awe at the sight. Every cloud along the surface swirled in an infinite sea of churning gas and vapor, each one playing its part in an epic visual symphony that he found beyond words to describe.

  His jaw loose, Adam stood and slowly approached the glass panel. Forgotten was the cold metal deck, the stinging aftertaste of smoke in the pits of his lungs, and the vague sensation of seasickness. His brain fought the onslaught of impossible stimuli with all the energy it could muster. “This isn’t real,” he said, knowing full well there was no way he couldn’t still be asleep. He was alive and it was all for real. “What is this?” he whispered a final time.

  “Adam, you are home.”

  ***

  The suit barely fit, Adam decided, as he pressed it closed and pulled on the equally sleek and shined boots. He cinched them down tight, having nearly an inch of space past his toes, so as not to cause himself to trip. The shoulders were equally loose but once together, the uniform took the chill from the temperate air. Through it all, Adam could hardly avert his eyes from the image shining in the distance.

  “This is a station orbiting Saturn. This isn’t possible. It can’t be,” he mumbled. “Missions to the outer planets have yet to clear early discussions. There hasn’t even been a launch yet. I’ve watched the broadcasts.”

  “To you, yes, but much has happened since then,” the voice clarified.

  Adam caught an ominous tone in the mechanical guide that was otherwise devoid of feeling. “What do you mean, ‘since then.’?”

  “That is a longer explanation and we don’t have the time. Please get dressed. You have work to do before we have a much bigger problem.”

  Adam closed the collar of the jacket, his fear attempting to overpower him but being held at bay by an unbridled sense of curiosity. He wanted to be home, to leave the vision behind, but at the same time there was also the sense that he was party to a great secret. If he could only hold onto the current manufactured reality until it revealed itself, he could bring it back from the dream with him. “So, what are you?” he asked, playing along with the mysterious voice.

  “I am the curator of Draco Station, and you can refer to me as such. This is a basic neural network capable of interfacing with station systems and crew members, providing diagnostics and identifying errors for correction.”

  “You make the decisions because we’re so far away?” Adam’s question came as an afterthought. If what the voice was saying was correct, each transmission would take hours to hit Earth from across the solar system and turn around with an appropriate response.

  “Yes. The first transmission of our predicament has not yet completed its journey. Mission Control currently believes we remain fully capable.”

  “Fantastic,” Adam said, continuing to admire the slowly rotating body. His mind wandered to the thought of some futuristic version of NASA roaring to life in the midst of a calm shift in response to the accident. They were helpless to assist, he decided, which must have added to the calamity. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Draco Station has suffered an orbital impact that has severely damaged one of the laboratory extrusions in the secondary ring. You must cut it away so that it does not cause further distress to the airlocks and result in decompression of the facility.”

  The magnitude was startling, belied by the calm and collected voice. “You can’t do this?”

  “No, it is beyond my current capabilities,” Draco said, “but worry not; you can do it and I shall be at your side for every step of the way.”

  The idea of an artificial intelligence coaching him along did little to assuage Adam’s concern, but it wasn’t as if the problem was going anywhere if he did nothing. He shrugged, arriving at the conclusion that there was no sense in fighting the procession of events. “Instruct away,” he said with a shrug as he got to his feet.

  “Excellent,” the voice said. “The main ring of Draco Station is made of twelve pods arranged like a clockface. You are on the primary observation deck, or at the five o’clock position as it is currently designated. A maintenance pod is beside you, at four, then a docking bay at three, which contains the airlock by which you will exit the station. In the maintenance pod you will find the supplies needed for this task.”

  Adam followed the voice’s instruction and made his way back across the room. He passed through a bulkhead similar to what he had seen before into an intermediary coupler, which cycled him into the service pod. Similar to the observatory, the maintenance area was lined on each side with tall cabinets affixed to the walls that reached to the ceiling. Each door was labeled with a placard stamped with an image of its c
ontents, along with its description and a holographic barcode.

  The names were as foreign to Adam as any alien script would have hoped to be. He paced down the line, wishing that one object among them would be recognizable. “What am I looking for?” he asked.

  “The last four cabinets on each side contain environmental suits. You’ll need one, plus a multi-caster from the rack in the sixth cabinet to make the repairs.”

  Opening the closer door, Adam spied what appeared to be a cross between a small hunting rifle and a jackhammer. “The gun?” he addressed the voice, cocking his head.

  “Yes, but don’t underestimate what you’re looking at. The multi-caster is far more advanced, capable of performing a wide range of service tasks necessary for the survivability of the station.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Adam replied and lifted it away before investigating the final locker, emblazoned with a pictograph of what looked to be a nineteenth-century dive suit. Its contents were similar in form if not in function, attired with the same white-and-blue color scheme as Adam’s current uniform. The voice guided him along as he assembled the components, checked their fit, and made his way clumsily to the airlock in the docking bay.

  Each step felt awkward in the oversized shoes, and Adam struggled to stay upright. Climbing into the final airlock, he attached a safety cable to a hold-down as instructed and grasped the lock of the outer hatch. His mind had fractured, it seemed; on some level, he was acquiescing to Draco Station’s requests, while on another he was still in comprehensive disbelief over the entire ordeal. In moments, the atmosphere was pulled from the tiny chamber, leaving him alone in a disorienting silence. “You’re still with me, right?”

  “Absolutely,” the voice replied. “Stand by while I release the airlock.”

  The round door slid aside without a rumble nor a creak. As before, the reflected light of the gaseous planet washed over the tiny room, and Adam looked on as before in amazement, leaning forward into the purifying nothingness. He heard not a sound but the sharpness of his breathing and his pulse against his head.