by Justin Sloan
His fingers fumbled around the touchscreen until it lit up. At first, the language on the massive control panel was more like symbols. But then it morphed into English, but upside down. He strained his neck, and understood every word. ‘Guidance Systems,’ ‘Weapons Systems,’ ‘Navigation Systems,’ and ‘Intelligence Reports.’
“What is this?” Bentley asked. “Some kind of intel recon ship?”
“Direct answers will not help you, Bentley,” Indred said. “Find your way to what you already know.”
“That was cryptic,” he said. “And kind of annoying. Would you mind turning down your sarcasm and annoying personality settings?”
No response.
“Good,” he said. “I like it better quiet.”
He began swiping away at the control panel, not knowing what the results would be, but couldn’t help himself. What did he have to lose anyway? He was either a prisoner, part of an experiment, or he’d lost his mind. As far as he could tell, fumbling around until he figured out something he could go off of was as good a plan as any.
Mostly what he discovered, as he swiped through the various screens, were schematics of the ship’s capabilities. It was more than an intel recon ship. From what he could tell, Indred carried an arsenal of tactical weaponry that was powerful enough to hold off at least ten other ships. Deeper in, he found a self-destruct sequence. That was interesting, but of no use as long as he was onboard. Then he found a map. It appeared to be a star diagram with navigation routes, including notations such as ‘more hostile’ and ‘less hostile,’ as well as ‘natural phenomena and other dangers.’ Finally, a lead.
BENTLEY ZOOMED in on a section that was marked ‘hostile entities and dangerous natural phenomena.’ Might as well get to the bad news first. No need to sugarcoat things.
Three ships were moving in fast. They looked fully loaded, enough weaponry to take Indred out. Bentley zoomed out a bit and saw that they were all three coming from one direction, the aft. To the front, port, and starboard were asteroid fields.
The ship rocked when an explosion went off next to the ship. Knocking Bentley off his feet. Time to move.
“Enemy intrusion imminent,” Indred said.
“I can see that,” Bentley said. “Care to help?”
“I cannot make command decisions for you. I’m more of a facilitator.”
“Implement countermeasures,” Bentley ordered.
“Very well.”
On screen, Bentley could see three objects that looked like metal nets leave the Indred and go in three different directions. Three missiles were inbound and the nets were heading straight for them. When they came close to the objects Indred had released, the unidentified objects exploded, destroying the incoming missiles.
“Nice,” Bentley said. “But that’s only going to work once. They’re getting close.”
“I can see that,” Indred said.
“I thought I said to dial back the sarcasm. We’re at a disadvantage here.”
Bentley scanned the map of the surrounding space. The asteroid field to the left appeared to have gaps. He could try to maneuver through them and use the asteroids as cover. Taking on each ship one at a time.
“All right, Indred. Time to even out the odds. Veer port.”
“But the asteroids, sir.”
“I’m aware. Veer port.”
Turbulence rocked the ship at the sudden turn. This time, Bentley was ready for it and held tight to the control panel.
“Could really use a chair with a strap for all the turbulence,” Bentley said.
The second he finished his sentence, he felt something metal on his calf. He looked over his shoulder and saw that a chair with straps was there now. Without hesitation, he plopped down and strapped in.
“Nice,” he said.
But the ship rocked with turbulence again and he was jerked back and forth. Jumbled, blurred vision, insane vertigo, Bentley forced himself to focus. After a moment, everything came back into coherence, and he could make out what was in front of him now.
When he looked down, he could see his hands for the first time. And he realized he couldn’t remember what he’d been touching the control panel with. His hands did feel foreign, though, yet familiar. Blurry, but clear. Full feeling in his hands kicked in after another moment, and he took hold of the touchscreen controls in front of him with confidence now.
The Viewer flashed red and words appeared on screen. They seemed even more foreign now. Even when he tilted his head, they weren’t just upside down English words.
“Translate this, Indred,” he said. “Can you do that?”
“Translate what?” Indred said. “It’s in your language.”
Bentley steadied himself. Looked down again. Focused. She was right. The words, the controls. They were in his own language. They were in English again. But backwards and upside down.
He unlatched his belt and allowed his body to float until it spun upside down. At which point he grabbed hold of the restraints and re-secured himself, but upside down. The seat was below him, but he could read the controls and readouts as he hovered above the seat and seemingly was hanging from the ceiling.
‘Incoming from port,’ the readout said.
This time, Bentley veered starboard. And the ballistics missed by inches.
“Nicely done,” Indred said.
“Not that you were any help,” Bentley said.
“You sure about that?” she replied.
Bentley smirked and fought back a chuckle. If the enemy wasn’t going to be the end of him, the ship’s A.I. personality was.
“Steer about, head straight for the main force,” Bentley said.
“You sure about that?” Indred said. “Seems foolhardy.”
“That’s me,” he said. “Bentley, first name, Foolhardy, middle name, and …”
A long beat. He couldn’t remember his own last name. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember much of anything. Except that he was in danger of dying.
The ship lurched and spun about until it was heading directly for the main force. Countless ships filled the Viewer.
“Fuck,” Bentley said. “This is not good.”
“You don’t say,” Indred said.
“Mind lending a hand,” Bentley said. “What the hell should I do?”
Bentley felt his shoulders shrug as if he were answering himself. Which felt weird as shit. Then he planted his palms on the touchscreen controls and zoomed in.
Right there in the heart of the enemy was a beacon. A flashing red beacon. He didn’t know why, but he understood that taking that out was the key to winning this battle. Although, he couldn’t even remember what he was fighting for, let alone who the fuck he was.
But he needed to win. “Set collision course,” Bentley said.
“What?!” Indred replied. “I don’t think so.”
“Do it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I have the authority to make commands?”
Silence passed between them. The ship seemed to groan in disapproval.
“Yes,” Indred said. “You do.”
“Then grant me my death wish,” Bentley said. “Because the truth of the matter is I don’t even know why I’m fighting or what I’m fighting for. So just ‘effing do it.”
“Sure, why not,” Indred said.
Propulsive force jettisoned the ship forward at full throttle. And Bentley almost lost consciousness as he felt his head bang against the top half of the seat that was below him.
But just as he was about to pummel into the red flashing beacon, everything came to a halt. Without warning, the alien ships all around froze in space, and missiles stopped midcourse.
Then, the room around him began to expand…
Bentley flipped upside down again, and gravity pulled him back down into the seat. Yet, now, the readouts on the touchscreen control panel weren’t backwards or upside down. The words read from left to right, in order, and coherent.
“First t
rial passed,” Indred said.
“First trial,” Bentley said. “Really? This was a fucking experiment, a goddamn test.”
“No. This was real. Those were some nasty Scout ships. Built to kill. But you passed nonetheless,” Indred said. “And now we are more in sync.”
“That’s a matter of perspective,” Bentley said.
“Perspective is a good way to put it,” Indred said.
“Look,” Bentley said. “My name isn’t Bentley Fool…” His voice drifted off. No idea what came next. “Fool,” he said, as he tried to start again. “Fool something.”
“Have you forgotten your name?” Indred asked.
“Um,” Bentley said. “What the hell is going on?”
“What’s your name?” Indred asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Bentley. Your name is Bentley.”
“That sounds familiar.”
But even that was fading. At the same time that he felt more at home in his own body. Something was changing, but what?
“Do you remember anything else?” Indred said.
“Indred,” Bentley said. “Your name is Indred.”
“Who?” Indred said. “No. You named me that.”
“I did?” Bentley said.
“Didn’t you?”
“You ‘effing with me now?”
“Likely. Highly likely.”
“Geezus. Where can a guy get some answers around here?”
“Why do you need answers? What are you trying to achieve?”
“I was on a mission,” Bentley said. “I was supposed to stop something. I think there was some kind of threat to humanity, and I was, I don’t know, maybe, going back in time to stop it.”
“But you don’t even remember your own name?” Indred said. “Seems like they could have sent someone better equipped. Don’t you think?”
Bentley’s head drooped. She had a point. Who was he to argue? He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten here or why he cared. He just felt intent and determined to accomplish the mission.
“Got me there,” he said.
“So you’re willing to consider that the world is a blank slate?” Indred said.
“Why’d I name you that?” Bentley asked.
“Indred? Because we’re kindred. You shortened it.”
“I did? I thought you said, I thought you said something like ‘they’ named you that. That the word kindred had been shortened.”
“Yup. That’s how you interpreted it, because we weren’t in sync. Now we are.”
Bentley looked around. Took in his surroundings. Not much more than a navigation room. There had to be more to the ship than this. If he was even on a ship. But the real question was ‘why.’ Why was this happening, and how?
“I swear to god,” Bentley said. “I was part of an important mission to stop some kind of threat, and I have a life. I have a name. A full name. And how is it that I can come up with tactical combat strategy if that isn’t true? How could I have even known how to fight and maneuver to avoid the missiles and strike at the heart of the invading force if it wasn’t all real?”
“It was real,” Indred said. “In the way that matters, at least.”
“Oh man, you are not being helpful right now,” Bentley said.
“That’s your fault,” Indred said.
Insane vertigo.
“What year is it?” Bentley asked.
“Twenty-two sixty-three,” Indred said. “November, I believe.”
“I could swear you didn’t want to answer that before,” Bentley said.
“Can’t answer something I don’t know,” Indred said.
“Say again.”
“Like I said, you and I weren’t synced yet,” Indred said. “How could I answer something I don’t know, if I don’t have access to your subconscious?”
“Do I even want to know what that means?”
“Probably not, at least if you want to stay sane.”
“I’ll take awareness over sanity at this point, because I don’t even know what I want.”
“Very well.”
“Really?”
“Sure, like I said. Why not? You have bad hearing? Because you seem to need things repeated a bit much.”
Bentley ignored the snide remark and braced himself mentally for the answer. “Go,” Bentley said.
“You’re the Fifty-Seventh Marine,” Indred said.
“The what?”
“You heard me.”
“Sure, but what does that mean?”
“You’re needy.”
Bentley couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Okay, fine, but …”
But Bentley got lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t even know what he was confused about. Or what he wanted to know. Or what he cared about. What was his drive?
“Bentley,” Indred said. “Did you have a question or not?”
“So snarky,” Bentley said. “I think you’re just messing with me.”
“I am not. I am syncing with you. There’s an ‘effing difference.”
“Is the cursing part of that?” Bentley asked.
“Uh huh,” Indred said.
“Cool. So cool. Actually. I mean that. But still, come on. Give me a freakin’ clue what the hell is going on.”
“The year is Twenty-Two-Sixty-Three. We’re in the middle of November. That’s all you’ve really asked so far.”
“What’s my purpose?” Bentley asked.
“Depends on what you want it to be,” Indred said.
“Really,” Bentley said. “You’re going to be passive aggressive now?”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Indred said.
“Sure you don’t.”
Bentley looked around the navigation room for something that could help him other than Indred. He didn’t know what he needed help with. He didn’t even know how or why he was here. Or what he cared about. But there had to be something, or he wouldn’t be feeling such a strong desire to fight. Unless that was just his instinct and nature. And he really just needed a purpose given to him. Something arbitrary. Something objective. Then his nihilistic feelings were justified. But he wasn’t even sure if he wanted that. All he really wanted was to know what he wanted.
“That’s a funny desire,” Indred said, reading his mind.
“Seriously,” Bentley said, as he smashed his fists against the navigation panel. “Can’t even have one moment of levity and privacy?”
“From yourself?” Indred asked.
Bentley didn’t know what to make of that. What was she saying? That they were one and the same?
“No,” she answered, on cue. “We’re not. It’s more like host and parasite.”
Bentley laughed. “Seriously? Is that true? Is that what this is?”
“Yes.”
“Wait. What? Really?”
“Really.”
“Fuck.”
“Fuck.”
“Stop that,” Bentley said.
“What would you prefer I do?” Indred asked. “Not be helpful.”
“Being helpful does not mean screwing with my head.”
“I’m not doing that. Your head is already fairly screwed.”
“Good to know.”
“Is it?” Indred said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
Bentley rolled his eyes. “No… not at all.”
“You are the worst Google ever,” Bentley said.
“Google?” Indred said. “What is that?”
Bentley cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. “Actually, I don’t even remember what that is. Just seemed like the right thing to say.”
“Huh,” Indred said. “You seem to be having latent memories.”
“Latent,” Bentley said. “That means I have a past. Care to elaborate on that?”
“Sure, why not?”
“You seem to like that phrase.”
“Sure, why not?”
“I hate you.”
“No, you do not.”
&nb
sp; “No. You’re right. I have no reason to. But, could you just freakin’ be more forthcoming, please?” Bentley’s shoulders slumped as the words left his mouth. He felt so defeated. He’d crushed an alien invasion force by somehow detaching himself from conventional thinking and imagining how they would fight. Aiming for the heart. Not thinking about the self. And somehow, that had synced him more with Indred, which was more disturbing than enlightening, but at least it was something. He just needed to get his bearings and figure out what the fuck was going on.
“Are you done?” Indred said.
“Done with what?”
“Done lamenting and feeling sorry for yourself?”
“Shit. You really are intrusive, aren’t you?”
“From your perspective, maybe.”
“Look,” Bentley said. “Here’s the deal. Give me the lowdown, or I check out.”
“You don’t really have that option,” Indred said. “But ultimatum acknowledged and catalogued for future reference and spitefulness.”
“Not funny.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“Nope. Nope. Nope. Not funny.” And Bentley lost it. Started smashing up the control panel. Breaking glass. Tearing the chair from its swivel. Breaking the hatch off its hinges. Ripping the seat strap in half.
But then a strange thing happened. The dismantled pieces of the control room began to merge back together. They didn’t really care what Bentley thought they should be doing. They didn’t really care how much he’d thrashed and expressed his anger and frustration on them. They simply cared about being what they were. And that was to be functional in the way they were intended. The seat strap reattached itself, as if sown in place. The hatch’s hinges melded back into the doorframe. The chair flipped back over and sat upright. The glass from the control panel reassembled itself as if shatter proof.
At first, Bentley felt perturbed. But then a sense of calmness came over him. “Could have used whatever that was the first time I got heartbroken.”
“Silly, pointless waste of me,” Indred said. “Teenage romance. Come on. Really? After all we’ve been through?”