Omnigalactic

by Christopher Conner

  “What's wrong with this place? You're still kind of exploring, right?”

  She sighed. “The ruins are amazing; trust me. But, it doesn't feel like you're exploring when you're still surrounded by your own kind. I want to get lost, you know?”

  I bobbed my head from side to side. “I guess that's understandable.”

  She held her head in her hands. “I bet you've been all over the galaxy.”

  “In a way, yes.” It was half true. I'd only been to industrial planets and asteroid-mining stations. But, I couldn't tell her that. It would have sounded lame, like an accountant giving a presentation on Career Day. “But, it's only ever been for work. No vacations.”

  “I know what that feels like.” She laughed. “I feel like my whole life's been nothing but work.”

  Her laugh was infectious, and for a few more minutes, while talking to her, I forgot about my argument with Jord. Now, I didn't want to leave Melville. Maybe I could have just stayed there and helped out? I could have hauled resources and resupplied them? It would have been a nice, safe job, just like my old one with Liberty Freight.

  “Well, it's been fun,” she said and stood up. “But, I'm afraid I have to get some sleep for tomorrow. See you there in the morning?”

  I nodded. “What time?”

  “We'll say, 08:00?”

  “I'll be there.”

  “Oh, and bring Jord along. I'm sure he won't want to miss it.” She waved and walked away.

  Yeah, I was sure he'd be so anxious to see it, too. He didn't care about old ruins or ancient civilizations. He just shot and killed things — like how he’d shot and killed my respect for him. Just thinking about it made the veins on my forehead and neck bulge. I gulped down the last of my beer and left.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Misery Loves Company

  I tossed and turned in bed for what felt like hours. It wasn't the bed; that was comfortable enough. My thoughts spun and swirled around in my mind like a whirlpool that I couldn't swim out of. More questions but no answers. We’d finished the contract. Clearly, the business had the potential to be a success. So, why was I worried? Was I having second thoughts? Had this been a mistake? Why hadn't I just stayed home? What had been wrong with Jord? And why had he said what he did? Was I just “a mindless asshole who reads self-help books”?

  Humans said, “Misery loves company”, and “Birds of a feather flock together”. Maybe we had never truly been friends; just two miserable idiots who’d bonded over things as shallow as our favorite beer and hunting.

  Jord was dead asleep. Nothing would have woken him now; not even Melville's emergency horn. I ripped the sheets off and left for the ship. The night was cool, and low tide was setting in. Waves were no longer crashing against the beach; instead, they remained still, as the moon hung high in the distance. Nocturnal insects and tree-dwelling creatures sang their music of the night. If only that tranquility could have calmed the storm inside my head.

  I slumped in my chair in the cockpit. It was the only thing that made sense anymore. It was the only familiar place; the only thing I knew the answers to. You pressed forward on the flightstick; the ship dove. You pulled up; it soared high. Simple effects from simple causes. But with the way I felt right then, I'd have been too afraid to fly it. The ship would have just crashed and burned into a smoldering pile of cinders, and I'd have been dead. No longer a blemish on the Cadel name.

  I needed to divert my mind from such fatalistic thoughts. That wasn't me.

  The old man would help me out. What did I need to do, Dad? I knew that I’d thrown away every and any piece of advice you’d ever told me. I’d been wrong. Your book had proved that, and it was the only thing still keeping me afloat.

  I cracked it open to Chapter Eight: Managing Employees and began to read:

  Employee, subordinate, peon, laborer, underling — the name has changed throughout the millennia, yet the role remains the same. They are the cogs in the machine, the foundation of the building, the fuel in the engine. Without a properly-managed staff of loyal and efficient workers, a business will ultimately collapse. No amount of customers or money will prevent this.

  For simplicity, imagine the mass transportation business mentioned in previous chapters. Passengers eagerly await to board the Entrepreneur's buses or taxis, but the buses or taxis are late by five minutes, causing many of these passengers to be late to work or an appointment. This inefficiency continues for weeks, and at the end of the fiscal quarter, the Entrepreneur notices diminishing profits. In fact, they may even be over budget or “in the red”. Because of customer complaints, they discover their drivers have been routinely late.

  The Entrepreneur is then faced with a single question: “What do I do?” Thankfully, an employee only needs reminding of the importance of efficiency in the workplace. The employee will then return to work with a renewed focus or perhaps even a morale boost.

  Sometimes, however, this does not work. Sometimes, an employee must be terminated, and new talent must be brought in. An unfortunate side effect of a business' success is that it exists solely to earn money. A business is not your friend. A business is not a charity which exists to grant employment to those who seek it.

  I continued to nod as I read further. I knew what had to be done. Tomorrow, once we left Melville, I'd have a sit-down with Jord and hash out my problems with him. He’d said it himself: I was the CEO. I was the boss. The guy in charge. From now on, things were going to be done my way, and he couldn't just get drunk and throw insults at me anymore. He’d made our company — and especially, me — look stupid in front of the Melvillians. It wasn’t good for our brand if we were still going to do this. If he didn't comply, then I'd terminate him. He could keep the guns; those were replaceable. I'd find new talent.

  I decided to take a break to reflect. I closed the book and tucked it into my jacket. I watched the last of the Humans leave the recreation area. They laughed and stumbled as they sang old tunes off-key.

  For a brief moment, I missed the times when I, too, had been carefree, and paying the bills had been my only responsibility; when I'd come back from a long hauling gig and unwind at Tilu's until the next assignment. If only the damn market hadn’t crashed, and I hadn't lost my job.

  The torches went out, and the beach was now in darkness, with only the distant moon and stars for ambient — but fleeting — light. I stretched my arms and legs, leaned back in the captain's chair, and propped my feet up on the control console. My eyelids grew heavy, and my breaths slowed and deepened. I imagined myself on my couch back home, with air-conditioning that worked.

  My state of consciousness waxed and waned for a time, until the hands of sleep gripped me by the shoulders and pulled me under. Finally, a moment of peace, uninterrupted.

  ****

  When I heard faint yelling, my awareness returned. I sat up straight and looked out the viewing port. An old guy was trudging through the darkness, hands stretched outward like he was lost in a fog or a jungle. Wait a second — it was Bed 30.

  I shot up from my captain's chair, then sprinted through the ship and down the boarding ramp. I called for him. He needed to get back to the infirmary before he hurt himself — or someone else again.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Stop where you're going!”

  He kept shuffling through the sand toward the ocean. I caught up and snatched him by his gown. Miraculously, he stopped. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Let's get you back to your bed, buddy. Wouldn't you rather sleep in a bed instead of on the sand?”

  He stood there, just staring out into the ocean. His knees and ankles buckled, cracking as he collapsed to the ground. I anticipated that he'd fall backward or forward, but he simply knelt instead.

  “Pray for the eye,” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I've heard that one before,” I said. “Do you have any other catchphrases?”

  “The storm comes,” he whispered, his eyes focused on the still waters. He raise
d one arm and pointed out at the sea. “It will wash us away. Cleanse us.”

  Finally, something of substance. I furrowed my brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He sat there in silence again.

  I nudged him, urging him to answer me. Nothing. I waved my hand in front of his dead eyes. “Hey, you still there?”

  “It will cleanse us. The storm.”

  “Care to explain?”

  He inhaled, but in the way someone would when they were surprised or shocked. Then, he laughed quietly, each breath accented by his raspy throat.

  Chills shot up my back. “You didn't answer my question. What does that mean?”

  He continued to chuckle. “He calls to me.”

  “Who?”

  The laughter ceased, his expression went blank, and his head slowly turned, until his eyes met mine. “I must leave.”

  Bed 30 rose from the sand and stumbled toward the ocean. I stood and grabbed his arm, but he tossed me aside like a nagging pet. My face plunged into the sand. I looked up, spitting out mouthfuls of sand as I watched his bare legs touch the water. I shouted for him to stop, but he marched on.

  His mind was too far gone and fried to a crisp like a ship that had flown into a star. In those crawling seconds, I asked myself: Should I stop him? Maybe the last shred of his sanity had spoken to me. He didn't want to be helped. He needed to free himself of the insanity, the uncontrollable behavior. Could I have deprived him of that? No.

  My heart pounded in my chest, my breathing shallowed, and my throat tensed up. Even if I’d changed my mind and called out for help, my voice wouldn't have carried.

  I lay there and watched his torso and head slowly disappear into the black waters, sending soft ripples outward. For a while longer, I stayed to see if he would come back up, if he would change his mind. Nothing. The water remained still, as if he had never entered at all.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Sanest Man

  The sun hung low in the purplish-red sky and continued its slow climb upward. Waves crashed on the white sand, coloring them black with what I guessed were inky blobs from the “Terror of Melville”. That's what some of the locals had been calling it. Made me think of a monster movie with a similar title. Terror at the Edge of Space, I think it was called. Although, the creature in it was a massive brain that floated around, feeding on souls. The hero blew it up with a thirty-megaton bomb. It was awesome, but the special effects were a bit dated.

  The entrance into the ruins was a ten-foot-tall, square, titanium opening of simple — but sturdy — construction. Behind it trailed a tunnel made of the same material. It retreated down the beach and under the water, leading all the way to the clear, glasteel dome at the bottom.

  Those ruins must have been quite something, for those scientists to have invested all those resources. I had never been the academic type growing up, so it was lost on me. Doctor Rupert had oozed with excitement and wonder about it. She’d better not have hyped the place up.

  Speaking of Doctor Rupert; she and the rest of the research team should have been there at any minute. I checked the clock on my PCD: 07:53. Kind of late for a bunch of nerds not to be out of bed in anticipation of resuming their study. Everyone must have had a late night.

  “Mister Cadel!” I heard Doctor Rupert call. I turned around to see her with about twenty other Humans in lab coats and orange jumpsuits. I waved to her. “Are you ready to see one of the biggest discoveries of the century?”

  “Biggest discovery of the century, eh?” I asked. “Count me in.”

  She looked around, then back at me and furrowed her brow. “Where is Jord? Did you forget to tell him?”

  “You know, I did,” I lied. “But, he's not really the biggest archeology aficionado.”

  “Oh, that's disappointing.”

  “…yeah.”

  “Well, discovery waits for no one — only for those in search of it,” she said. “Let's go, everyone!”

  We entered the tunnel. Whitish-blue, fluorescent lights illuminated our path, casting long, dark shadows along the declining tunnel. As we went, the change in pressure made my earholes pop. I guessed the tunnel went some two-hundred feet below sea level. The decline eased into a level path, and after a few minutes, I started to feel at an equilibrium again, but the idea of a few feet of metal being the only thing standing between me and drowning under millions of gallons of water didn't feel too comforting.

  At last, we made it to the dome. The path beneath our feet metamorphosed into yellow sand and dead, dried, ocean vegetation. Areas were cordoned off in clear boxes, filled with more sand and calcified mollusk shells. It was still very dark, though, and we required the glow of the fluorescent lights to see.

  I looked up at the top of the dome. The sun's rays were a tease at this depth, and the only aquatic life I could see were those bright, green-and-pink baitfish, swimming in the dark waters, pretending they were fish a hundred times their size.

  The researchers dispersed to other areas of the dome to work. Doctor Rupert guided me toward the sandstone ruins ahead of us. There were hundreds of overturned pillars, many covered in dead vegetation. I rubbed my hand on one of the pillars. It was smooth to the touch from eons of the easy, gentle weathering of the ocean. Salt and dust stuck to my hand.

  “So, this is it?” I asked and wiped my hand on my pants.

  “What do you mean?” she asked. Her eyes were wide with wonder as she looked around at me, as if I were a ghost or something.

  “Forgive me, Doctor. But, I'm trying to wrap my head around why this place is so important. To the layman — such as myself — this just looks like a pile of rocks. Finely-crafted rocks, I mean.”

  She laughed. “I think what you're trying to ask me is, ‘Where is the good stuff? The nitty-gritty?’”

  “A-ha! You got me. That's exactly what I'm asking.”

  She took my hand. “Come with me.”

  She led me deeper into the ruins, until we came across yet another opening. It was made of that same sandstone material. Ornate writing and symbols were carved around the tall, wide mouth of the entrance. I stopped to look at them. They almost looked like the writing in Glennsworth's book. I touched them with my hand, and they pulsated with faint heat.

  I looked up at Doctor Rupert. “They—”

  “I know,” she smiled. “Amazing, isn't it? Wait until you see the inside.”

  I followed her through the entrance. Lights were set along the edges of a descending staircase. More symbols covered the walls from top to bottom and throbbed with heat. It intensified as we continued our descent. We arrived at a gigantic, wide-open room with symbols carved into the floor. My boots began to feel hot. A tall statue stood proudly in the center of the room. It was dressed in a tunic that bore a tree on it, and it stood on three-toed feet. In one three-fingered hand, it held a book, and it wielded a staff in the other. It wore a ringed circlet around its ridged head, with five-pointed stars etched all around it. But, its face was covered with what looked like a veil.

  “Doctor, what am I looking at?” I asked as I stared at the statue.

  “The researchers believe this to be a tomb or crypt belonging to the leader of an ancient civilization. Some speculate it was a priest or king.”

  “How ancient are we talking here? One or two-thousand years?”

  “Ten-thousand,” she corrected. “Give or take a few centuries.”

  I stood there with my mouth open. “Wow. But wait — if it's a tomb, is there a sarcophagus or coffin or something? Where's the body?”

  She led me to a stone slab behind it. Like the rest of the place, it was carved with symbols, but in the middle was a star. Upon closer inspection, it was actually made of gold.

  “We haven't been able to get it open to study the body inside,” she explained, “seeing as how there's no clear way to open it in the first place.”

  A deep voice came from behind us. “That's because you're all wro
ng.”

  I turned to see a figure in robes walking towards us. As it neared, the floor lights illuminated its Human face.

  “Glennsworth?” I asked.

  “Excuse me, you're not permitted to be in here,” Doctor Rupert said. She turned to me. “You know this man?”

  I nervously shifted in place. “Kind of. He's a former client of mine.”

  “Silence, woman,” Glennsworth said. “Everything that has spilled from your mouth is a lie.”

  “Wait a second — you're the one from the infirmary. The one who harassed my patients.”

  “What are you still doing here?” I asked. “Shouldn't you have taken off by now?”

  “My plan was not to leave until my quest was resolved,” he answered. “Seeing as how you and your partner have done that for me, I simply took to confirming my suspicions.”