Mobius

by Vincent Vale

  Orsteen interlinked with his anti-gravity belt and rose from the ground. His immediate response to flight was the opposite of Morion’s instructions—his legs struggled to find solid ground, causing his body to waver to and fro like a buoy tossed amidst ocean swells.

  “I’m going to overturn!” yelled Orsteen. “Miners are top-heavy!”

  I joined the others in laughter, momentarily forgetting about my drug. A small amount of humor might get us through this.

  Allienora flew in Orsteen’s direction and took his hand. She pulled him along slowly and he stabilized. “You’re safe, Orsteen. Let’s fly together.”

  Orsteen soon became confident of his new wings and allowed Allienora to leave him unattended.

  At great speed, we began our journey through the forest channel. I couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty around us, even though it was the enemy’s ship. I thought about the aliens we just saw. “What’s the connection between the armored aliens and the Fume?”

  “I don’t know.” Allienora flew next to me. “And do they have the same powers as the Fume? Can they kill with a thought or resurrect a dead man? Do they command omnipresence like the Fume?”

  “If these aliens are like the Fume, then I’m confused.” I reflected a moment. “My eyes detected the three armored aliens’ use of an advanced form of dimensional travel. Yet, they didn’t exude the exotic energy which identifies the Fume. Additionally, why is the Fume bound to the strange dimension around Earth, while the aliens aboard this craft are apparently free to roam the universe? My only proof may be the twinge in my gut, but it seems like we’re dealing with two totally different animals.”

  Orsteen smiled proudly as he flew between me and Allienora with amazing precision. “Perhaps the Fume’s in control of these aliens, like he is with his human minions on Earth.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Or...” said Allienora, “the Fume isn’t in charge. As far as we know, the three armored aliens are in control of the Fume.”

  “Whatever the case,” said Morion, “we’ve gained no answers within this alien vessel. We’ve traveled for over five hundred kilometers and haven’t found anything but vegetation and primitive wildlife. Where are the conquering armies, the great machines that will rape the Earth of its resources, or the storage containers that will preserve the human race for later consumption?”

  “There’s still time for answers,” I said. “Let’s continue.”

  Six hours passed and we still hadn’t found anything. Maybe there was nothing to find.

  “We’ll have to turn back in less than four hours,” I said. “Or there won’t be enough time to return to the Fractal Skylark before the weapon’s detonated.”

  “Not yet!” shouted Morion, flying ahead of everyone. “There’s a clearing in the forest canopy. There’s something ahead—something large.”

  I squinted curiously in the direction indicated. The canopy receded, giving way to a barren terrain. Within it, I saw a white structure.

  We nervously flew onward. As we neared, I experienced a sense of recognition for the structure. Why is it so familiar?

  When we finally got close enough to distinguish details, I was confronted by an improbability I couldn’t have anticipated—there was never hope, there was never a prospect. But there it was—a ghost that made my heart race. I could only pray it was real.

  “Allienora, do you see it?” I said with eyes wide.

  “I do,” said Allienora. “It’s the Brahman Station.”

  We carried on toward the ghost of the Brahman Station.

  “Could it truly have been saved?” A hopeful realization came to my mind. “They could still be alive.”

  “If they are, then we have a problem,” said Morion.

  I glared in his direction. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you forgotten our mission? If your friends and colleagues are here, alive and well, how do we rescue them before the black hole weapon’s detonated? The Fractal Skylark won’t carry a tenth of the passengers that were aboard the Brahman Station.”

  “Then we must stop Rozlyn and Thirm from detonating the weapon.” I frantically attempted communication with them.

  “They’re out of range,” said Allienora. “There’s too much interference in this maze of forest channels.”

  “Then we must turn back.” I halted in midair, ready to reverse course. “I can’t suffer the death of my friends for a second time.”

  “Your emotions are clouding your judgment,” said Orsteen. “If we don’t destroy this alien vessel, we risk the future of Earth. Are saving the lives of five hundred people worth the sacrifice of an entire world?”

  “Nothing’s certain!” I shouted. “We don’t even know if destroying this alien vessel will stop the Obelisks, or the Fume. Hell, for all we know, the Obelisks have already destroyed Earth, or they’re culling our resources, or placing the population into slavery. I won’t sacrifice the Brahman crew for uncertainties.”

  Allienora flew close to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Before we decide, let’s look at what’s left of the Brahman Station. We’re only a short distance from learning the fate of your friends.”

  Allienora’s voice calmed me.

  “All right,” I said, “but let’s move. Our time’s running out.”

  The forest canopy receded, and we flew above a terrain absent of vegetation. The structure of the great vessel was exposed—the same amazing composite that made up the gravity generators. We quickly realized something was being grown from the ground up.

  “It almost looks like the foundation of a city,” said Morion. “Imagine this technology on Mars. The Elitists could build a glorious empire—cities built overnight.”

  I kept my eye on the Brahman Station, which sat at the center of the growing structure. But as we neared, my optimism faded. The scene ahead grew more and more remarkable. The station, being removed from the weightless environment of outer space, had been propped up by pillars of the self-constructing composite, preventing it from rolling over.

  Around the station was a massive gathering. As far as I could estimate, there were at least ten thousand figures moving about. Some of the figures traveled up alien-grown escalators attached to the station’s docking bays, making for easy access into the station.

  “I doubt those are the passengers of the Brahman Station,” said Orsteen. “There are too many.”

  “So it seems,” I said, disheartened.

  We landed not far from the masses around the Brahman Station. I could now distinguish the figures ahead. They weren’t human. “These aliens are different from the ones we encountered earlier. There must be a hundred different species before us.”

  “I may be wrong,” said Allienora with a roving eye, “but this gathering of aliens has the feel of some weird festival.”

  “Indeed,” said Orsteen.

  I thought back on my days as a student. I always found evolutionary biology remarkable, and often daydreamed of what life would be like on alien worlds. The crowd before us showed a wide range of physiological diversity. Regardless, I felt less than interested by their odd forms, since their presence was part of an invasion.

  I focused on the Brahman Station. “Let’s move closer.”

  Still cloaked, we snuck through the crowd, passing various booths offering goods and services of one sort or another.

  One booth in particular was extremely crowded. Behind the counter stood an alien with a head divided into two lobes, each equipped with a compound eye like a small pile of diamonds. Its mouth puckered as it whistled a complex melody—it seemed to speak in musical notes. With gangly arms, the alien reached over the booth’s counter and accepted multi-colored beads from the crowd and dispersed vouchers in return.

  Behind the cloven-headed attendant were ten horizontal tubes tinted different colors. They spanned the length of the entire booth. Attached to the end of each tube was a chamber containing a melon-green insect that fluttered about in defiance of its con
fines. When the attendant collected a sufficient number of beads from the crowd, he quickly pulled down a lever that simultaneously opened each of the insect chambers, allowing the insects to race down their tubes. The first insect to reach the end of its tube was apparently declared the champion, and the attendant paid winning vouchers, while losing vouchers were flung to the ground.

  “Unbelievable!” I said. “They play carnival games while Earth’s attacked.”

  “We play a similar game on Mars,” said Morion. “However, our champions are small rodents, rather than insects.”

  “Let’s continue toward the Brahman Station,” I said angrily.

  We continued on and soon found ourselves captivated by a group of tall, lanky aliens. They walked with a strange gait—their legs bent at an angle opposite the human form, giving their stride the appearance of a persistent forward kicking. We moved toward them for a better look. They didn’t seem real. Their skin had the gloss of something artificial, and as we got closer, I saw the pattern of circuitry. As if the lines of organic and mechanical were blurred.

  “An alien like a machine… and a ship like an organism.” I looked to Allienora. “We have found the future.”

  Morion grabbed Orsteen’s arm. “You’re synergistic implants are archaic by comparison.”

  “That would be too far,” said Orsteen, touching one of his synergistic implants. “At what point does one question his humanity?”

  I stopped in front of a series of archways, each five meters tall and half as wide. “These archways seem to be the method of transportation used by the aliens.”

  At random moments, groups of aliens appeared below the archways and moved into the crowd. A parallel row of archways functioned as departure points, whisking away those who stepped within.

  Allienora strayed toward a booth offering alien goods. Orsteen, Morion and I continued inspecting the archways with fascination.

  My synthetic eyes became active. “Every time a traveler comes through an archway, my eyes detect a flash of blue light, indicating a dimensional disturbance. Their use of dimensional travel appears to be as ordinary as using a doorway.”

  “I’ve found something!” said Allienora over our communicators. “Come quick!”

  She was standing in front of a small booth. Within hung an array of masks—not unlike ones worn to a masquerade or mystical ceremony.

  “Why did you call out, Allienora?”

  She pointed to an arrangement of four masks. The first looked like my friend Atticus, the next like Sensimion, and another like Renworth Vole. The final mask looked exactly like me.

  “What’s their purpose?” asked Orsteen. “What do your faces matter to them?”

  “Could they be souvenirs of Earth’s conquest?” suggested Allienora.

  Not far from the booth, a small alien with the features of a fat child wore the mask that portrayed Atticus. It capered about on two stumpy legs, flaunting its newly acquired mask to all who passed by. Two frog eyes peeked over the mask—the alien’s facial structure prevented it from looking through the human eyeholes.

  “That little frog-faced fuck,” I said, repulsed by the spectacle. If my longtime friend Atticus was indeed dead—a sad thought becoming ever more likely—then to wear such a mask and dance around was a mocking of his life.

  I restrained myself from striking the little creature. “We waste time among this freak show. It’s time to learn the fate of my friends.”

  I took the lead towards the Brahman Station.

  We mounted an alien escalator and were brought to a docking bay, where we entered the station. Within, we found aliens wandering around, as if the station was an exhibit.

  We walked through the halls of the living quarters.

  “I spent many years in this station,” I said. “Something’s not right.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Allienora. “Everything looks the same to me.”

  I pulled at my chin. “I can’t figure it out, but there’s something off-balance.”

  The others acted indifferent to the surroundings, apparently unable to detect the strange air I described.

  “It feels like I’m in a dream,” I said. “The walls seem to loom at a height larger than life. The doorways, panels, floor tiles, and windows seem more detailed and fancy.”

  Morion impatiently gestured to the surrounding aliens. “It appears the crew and guests aren’t here. We should return to the Fractal Skylark.”

  “Not yet!” I blurted. “We just got here. Let’s explore the dimensional gateway chamber and then the main control room on the upper level.”

  “Very well,” said Allienora. “Let’s hurry.”

  We came to a lift. I touched the control panel and nothing happened. It was broken. We continued down the hallway and then stopped short. There was a line of aliens waiting to board what appeared to be a floating cart similar to an amusement ride. Its destination was a make-shift hole in the wall.

  “Things grow more bizarre by the moment,” commented Orsteen.

  We moved closer to inspect. A group of aliens loaded into the cart, which then flew into the hole.

  Morion peered curiously within. “It goes to the upper levels of the station.”

  I stepped closer. “Since the lift’s broken, this appears to be our ride up. Orsteen and I will explore the upper levels. Allienora and Morion, the two of you should continue searching down here.”

  An empty cart emerged from the hole, and a waiting group of aliens boarded it.

  “Take hold of the back,” I said to Orsteen.

  A groove on the back of the cart allowed us to get a foothold. Due to his size, Orsteen struggled to stay on. The cart took us on a route that transected the station through walls and floors, until finally we arrived in the dimensional gateway chamber.

  We had found the crew! Or so it seemed for an instant. “This is unbelievable, Orsteen.”

  I almost started laughing. Playing out before us was a theatrical re-creation of that day I held so painfully at the tip of my mind. The performers were human-like, but not at all human. They wore white uniforms, much like the ones that had been worn by the crew. They played the roles of technicians, preparing the station for the maiden voyage. They acted like mimes, moving with large gestures and exaggerated expressions.

  To complement the theatrics, three aliens, removed from the performance, played music on elaborate instruments—a spiraled horn sounding from six outputs; a box of deep, thudding percussion; a device so complicated it could only be described by the high-pitched plucks, coos, and whines that filled the parts of harmony and rhythm.

  Prompted by the music, a character jumped out from behind one of the eighteen dimensional augmenters. He moved with an enlarged, sneaking stride, which instantly translated his sinister motive to the audience. His stained face was a parody of Atticus. If this was an accurate re-creation of the events on that day, then this was Atticus’ doppelgänger.

  A replica of a replica, I thought.

  The saboteur snuck past technicians and continued on his way to another dimensional augmenter. There, he proceeded to remove a small, yellow orb from his mouth. Suddenly, another character appeared. He played the part of Sensimion. His eyes were two brilliant blue spheres, and his face was stained to a haggardly effect. He approached the saboteur in a single bound, raised his hand in disapproval, and then mouthed something inaudible. The rendition was apparently a silent one. The saboteur spun around and hurled the glowing yellow orb into the dimensional augmenter.

  Sensimion’s character discharged a plasma gun that shot confetti rather than plasma molecules. The saboteur promptly threw himself to the ground, where he underwent an exaggerated and comical death.

  “This is all so confusing,” said Orsteen. “Why put on such a production?”

  “For demented amusement,” I suggested.

  The cart flew toward the main control room.

  Orsteen shook his head. “We better leave now or we won’t make it back in time to
escape.”

  “All for the better, Orsteen. I’ve seen enough. Follow me.”

  I jumped from the back of the cart and led Orsteen to an emergency passage, which took us down to the lower levels.

  We quickly found Allienora and Morion.

  Morion held up a hand in excitement. “We’ve discovered something!”

  My heart beat faster. “What?”

  “After the two of you left, Allienora and I continued our search. We decided to interlink with a data orb, so we could learn what happened to the station after it fell into Jupiter’s atmosphere. We found one and attempted to interlink with it, but it was nonfunctional like the lift. We then decided to extract a data-storage unit and take it with us, in hopes of later deciphering what happened.

  “When we pulled back the panel below the data orb, it was empty—there was no data-storage unit, or, for that matter, any internal components. And it wasn’t as if they’d been removed, but as if those components had never been installed.” Morion held his breath, looking with anticipation to me and Orsteen.

  I was in no mood for further drama. “Get to the point!”

  “Don’t you see?” said Morion. “The station’s fake. Your initial impression of the station was accurate, Theron. This place is a flawed replica, with missing parts and inaccurate dimensions. Since this isn’t actually the Brahman Station, we can be certain the crew and passengers aren’t here.”

  I took a moment to inspect the station more closely. “Why?”

  “This is a question we can contemplate later,” said Orsteen. “The black hole weapon will be detonated soon, and we have a long journey back to the Fractal Skylark. Let’s go.”

  I gave a final sad inspection of the station’s interior. “I find this whole situation beyond my comprehension. We’re birds trying to understand the ocean’s depths.”

  We left the station and made our way through the crowd.

  I looked around. “Let’s not fly until we reach the edge of the alien crowd.”

  Allienora shook her head. “Our quest has only raised more questions. It’s unfortunate we didn’t discover the motive of these aliens and the Fume.”