“If you will allow me,” Arista said, “the council deemed that I could communicate more information to you one on one. Here, in a much less intimidating environment, we can talk freely, back and forth. Is this suitable for you?”
“You bet. I’m ready.”
“Let me begin then. We inhabit the planet Remeon. That is where you are. We have spent thousands of years becoming the people we are today. We are highly developed intellectually. Over hundreds and hundreds of years we developed and refined our ability for telepathic communication. It is a most efficient manner of exchanging and communicating ideas and thoughts, and it is our primary form of communication among our race. We also have very learned scholars, scientists, doctors, and theologians, as well as other professionals. Learning and continuing to grow are primary goals for our people. This is where you will step in. We generally do not have a very aggressive nature, but we will protect ourselves and fight for our lives if necessary.”
“Am I to help you fight?”
“We are hoping that proves unnecessary.”
“But it is possible?”
“Many outcomes are possible. We must wait to see how events unfold.”
“I still don’t understand how a very common person, like me, can help your people. Surely with your sophistication, scientists, doctors, and overall knowledge, you can find the help you need.”
“Stephen,” she said, drawing closer, “you have very unique qualities, and your humanity is one of those inputs we seek. We have lost the spontaneity and freedom that we see in you. So much of our time and energy, and rightly so, has been focused on our looming problems.”
“I’m sorry. This is still a lot to take in. I’m on Earth, then I’m on Remeon,” he said motioning with his hands. “I can read minds. I love that shit.” He heard a soft giggle through his rant.
“Shit?”
“Oh, sorry. Never mind. That just came out.”
“The translation was interesting.”
He took a deep breath and refocused. “I hope I can help, like your people think I can. When will this testing that was mentioned take place? And then I’m going home? This is an awesome adventure, and I doubt anyone will believe me, but, when I’m finished with the task, will I be sent home?”
“When that time comes, it will be up to you.”
Stephen felt his heart skip a beat.
“You mean, I could choose to stay among your people?”
“Yes. I believe that could be arranged. But that decision must wait…wait until your task is done, and you have more information. Your formal testing will be soon, but now…it is not appropriate.”
“Not appropriate? Why not? Let’s see if I am exactly what your people need so there is no doubt.”
“There really isn’t a doubt, Stephen. We have spent hundreds of years searching the universe for an answer to our predicament. We have studied. We have traveled. We have lost men and women in our ranks during this time, who have died to learn more information about our solution—about you, Stephen. As was mentioned, you, and a few like you, are uniquely prepared to answer the need of our situation. And you, we feel, are the most suitable candidate. Not only do you meet the physical requirements, but you display a hunger for knowledge and adventure as well—traits we admire, traits that are becoming extinct on Remeon.”
Stephen felt a strange combination of uneasiness and elation. Me? Me. The answer to a world’s problem? I usually am the problem, he thought. “I say let’s get started,” Stephen blurted out all in one breath. “Let me begin my test and task.”
Arista paused, as if considering.
Stephen attempted to read her.
“There is a time line, and it is imperative that we must comply with it, or we will fail. As you are our only hope at this time and the one we have invested our resources in, failure is not an option. Also there is one more thing you need to know at this point.”
“What is it?” Stephen said as he eyed Arista with trepidation.
“We are a sick people. Not only are we in decline but very, very sick.
THE NIGHT BROUGHT welcome relief to Simon, as he silently found his way among the damp wooded path. The moons above provided all the illumination needed for his travels. With the evening came a short reprieve from his leadership duties and being cooped up all day beneath ground. Beginning his nightly foraging and gathering routine, he stooped to pick berries along the route. This will go well with our midnight meal, he thought. Time was limited, he knew, so he scanned the nearby area for branches and forest debris he could take back for building a fire. Many depended on these teams who left the hidden compound to gather what food and supplies could be found. Every resource was important. Nothing could be wasted. And all must be sacrificed for the greater good. Even though there were others who could perform these tasks now, he welcomed the time alone with his thoughts.
For years and years, many more than he cared to count of his seventy-three years, he had been completing this same evening ritual. He remembered back to when his mother was alive and made this nightly trek with him in tow, guiding and teaching as they walked. Still, today and every day, he greeted each evening with anticipation, since it brought a temporary escape from the constant daily struggles. Below, life was hard. Some believed him too young for the tasks thrust upon him. On the contrary, he believed himself to be uniquely qualified, and had the discipline and vision to see it through. He had watched many of his loved ones and friends suffer and ultimately die from the illness which plagued his people for as long as his memory served him.
The decision to move underground was made shortly after his birth. The discomforts of the disease, coupled with the harshness of the sunlight, made travel during the day difficult. Over time they found their people used fewer resources if they slept during the day and worked in the evening. As more and more resources went to the sick and dying, the resources became scarcer. Since that time, almost a generation now, they moved underground and lived their waking lives nocturnally—coming out at night to gather necessities, like plants for medicinal purposes, and to travel as needed.
Stories that had been told and shared year after year set the departure date very close to his birth. Their tribe of Night Dwellers had once been a part of a thriving megatropolis. In that grand city they had all lived together, the Day Watchers and Night Dwellers, back before any need for distinction existed, a time he himself couldn’t personally remember. Once people got sick and died from their illness, the division among the people was clear and decisive. One sector wanted to focus resources on keeping the sick and dying artificially alive, while another faction wanted to focus all resources on finding a cure. The Night Dwellers were the latter.
Over time the virus quickly mutated, and, as the years passed, eventually it would affect one’s ability to bear children. As the scientists came up with options and conducted test after test, it soon became clear that the most promising opportunities lay off-world. “Humans,” as they were called, had been enduring a similar disease and, from their tainted blood, came the hope of a vaccine of sorts and eventually a cure.
As a people, the Night Dwellers and the Day Watchers both had spaceships to roam the galaxy and medicines to cure most ailments, plus reasonable stores of food resources to feed everyone and technological options for almost any problem; however, the two groups could not come together and cohesively solve the one problem that threatened to bring both sides to extinction.
With that knowledge the two factions parted, most leaving at least some family members behind if they chose to walk with the Night Dwellers. Now the race for a cure was on, to find and place a human on this world to test and then to globally distribute the remedy to the people before all had died or lost the ability to procreate. Clearly one faction would be the victor, thus subjugating the other to death and pain. The Night Dwellers would claim that position, healing their people and avenging the decision made years ago, due to the excesses of the Day Watchers and their council leader, Whist
erly. He sneered. This had been his life’s work and daily focus.
Simon and his team trained during the day to become pilots. A mission was currently in the works to capture a human and to conduct further testing to finalize the vaccine, as well as the cure that was on the horizon. Due to miscalculations, the first endeavor of this type resulted in the human candidate dying during testing phase, before the two groups parted. Some thought it unfortunate. Simon did not. It was actually a win of sorts. Both factions had scientists that maintained these initial results. He knew they must obtain another who had the power to offer life to his people again. Too many were dying. This second subject’s testing had to result in complete success and the development of a cure. Nothing else would do.
The current search had yielded one uniquely able to help; however, the Day Watchers were conducting tests as well and hampering the Night Dwellers’ ability to proceed. The deadline was short, and preparations were underway, as it appeared a window of time may have opened in which to gather a subject, gain what was needed, then return the human. If the Day Watchers got to him first, they must simply take him by force.
Although the two groups’ allocation of resources differed, their ultimate goal was the same—the survival and eventual healing of their people. Some of the Night Dwellers hoped for a reconciliation between their divided race. Simon did not. Due to their vastly different approaches, both sides knew this would not occur on this side of a cure. Both had irreversible plans set in motion that could yield life-sustaining changes for them. Simon pledged his healed Night Dwellers would win this battle, and justice would prevail. He never wanted to unite again. He would work with those weak-minded Night Dwellers who held this mind-set and help them to see the light, as he had already done successfully for so many under his special tutelage.
The Night Dwellers were otherwise prepared and committed, and they could fight. Their soldiers trained daily in preparation for the anticipated conflict. Their weapons were somewhat rudimentary, most of their stores gained from their off-world travels and conquests, coupled with the weaponry they brought with them underground those many years ago. Nevertheless, their defensive armory was effective and got the job done.
Simon took a deep breath and focused his thoughts back to the task at hand and returned to his gathering activity for the evening, choosing only what was necessary and leaving immature fruits and plants for future expeditions. He felt purposeful as he fulfilled the needed items for the morrow. No matter how small the task, he realized that he and others like him out this night were completing their daily part in fulfilling their mission.
As one of the few left who were still disease-free, Simon had many additional leadership responsibilities falling to him that were once left to others, now gone. The question was, would he be fully ready to lead? Or was he still a child, as some believed, incapable of the difficult decisions? He knew the answer, but others must realize it as well. He absent-mindedly surveyed the contents of his sack. I will prove to them, and they will believe and see, just as I do, that I have been trained and molded to serve and lead my people since birth. And now is the time for action—whatever it takes. He felt a smile cross his lips in sweet anticipation. It was palpable; the excitement churned within him. He couldn’t wait!
“WAIT. LET ME make sure I understand. All of you are sick? Even the council? You? Everyone?”
“Yes, everyone is sick. That is, everyone, except me.” Hurriedly Arista continued. “I know this must be terribly confusing for you, but let me explain a little further. This illness has been haunting my people for generations. After extensive testing, we found the virus to be stored in our genetic code, so all our young were born ill as well. Unknowingly we were replicating this illness and proliferating it among our people. As the disease has progressed throughout the generations, we have seen the damage develop within many organs, mostly the reproductive organs. We have virtually lost the ability to naturally reproduce. The children we do have now are conceived in a science laboratory. Our doctors and scientists have tried to kill this virus so many different ways, but, until now, they have only been able to slow the progress of the disease. It has killed thousands, and all are doomed to die.”
“And why do you believe I can help, with odds like that? You do know on my planet I am sick too—very sick, virtually unable to walk without assistance—with an illness called polio. I believed I was in a dream here in this world, since I seem healthy, here among your people. So you must understand why I question my ability to help those here.”
“Stephen, I don’t pretend to understand all the science involved. Our study of the universe, its planets, and people has proven that those on Earth can best help our race, and you are one of the few with the characteristics we need. During our travels we harvested samples and conducted tests in the hope of finding a healing solution. Only one has been partially successful, Stephen, in that the experiment confirmed what was needed from the cell in order to produce the healing serum.”
“Why only partially successful, if it confirmed what was needed for complete healing?”
Arista paused and nervously licked her lips before continuing. “There is no easy way to say this. The subject that we harvested cells from died in the process.”
Astonished, Stephen paced, shaking his head in disbelief, as if to rid it of the last sentence he heard. “So that is what you expect from me? To die to save your people?”
“It is possible. You must know the full truth. However, we have learned so much from that first attempt. We believe this time will be a total success. Then we will have a serum for all of my people to take. If you choose not to participate, we will send you back. It will be difficult, and some may wish you harm, if you choose to return home without helping us. But we can accomplish your safe return to your life as you remember it.”
“Take me to one of your scientists. I want to hear more about the illness and what my chances for success are.” Stephen tried to access Arista’s thoughts but only encountered walls and a trace of fear. He eyed her suspiciously for the first time. Why would she be afraid? He worked quickly to shield his thoughts, knowing she would be probing his mind as well.
“This is a somewhat unusual request,” she finally said. “However, give me a moment to speak with my mother and see what can be arranged.” Arista stepped away, creating distance between herself and Stephen, mentally as well as physically. As she came to a stop in a far corner of the room, she closed her eyes and raised her head, remaining transfixed for many minutes, trancelike.
Eventually she turned toward Stephen and slowly closed the gap between them. “We believe we can accommodate your request,” she replied with a slow tentative smile. “Whisterly will meet us.” She continued on. “We are going to some of the lower levels of the compound. You must stay close, and some of the areas are restricted, so your access will be limited.” Stephen nodded his acquiescence, as Arista communicated quickly with the guard, who opened the door, immediately falling into step behind the pair.
“Thank you,” she voiced aloud, “but your presence is not necessary.”
The guard stopped, nodded, then walked in the opposite direction, his footsteps echoing in the passageway until they could no longer be heard.
Stephen couldn’t stop the sinking feeling as it overtook him with each successive step the guard took, putting him farther away from their location.
“Follow me,” Arista urged, as they traveled down multiple levels in the compound. “Whisterly and Mr. Santar, one of our renowned scientists, should be waiting for us,” she added.
The two continued on, each quiet in their own thoughts. Finally maybe some answers, Stephen thought. He kept his own musings behind the barriers he had constructed, then attempted to pull together the few facts he knew.
“Here we are,” Arista interjected, breaking the silence. She opened a door, and they came to a stop in a totally empty room. “But where are they? Wait here while I find them. I can feel they are close. I’ll onl
y be a moment.”
“Uh, sure, okay,” Stephen replied. Minutes came and went. Curious, Stephen poked his head out from behind the unclosed door. I’ve got to grab this chance. Quickly he was in the hallway and down another corridor. He heard raised voices in his head. One was Arista’s, and the other he didn’t recognize. Drawn by the tone, he picked up his pace. He couldn’t quite make out what was being said but caught words here and there.
“No, I won’t…”
“Secret…”
“Not ready.”
Following the voices, Stephen rounded the corner and found himself in another huge empty room, glass all on one side. As he walked in, he was inundated with thoughts and emotions all at once. Whispers. Cries. Agony. Pain. Sorrow. The strength, number, and wails of pain in the voices overtook him, and he fell to his knees, cradling his head. Still he was drawn to the glass, compelled as he crawled, slowly making his way closer, closer.
In his mind he heard Arista. Stephen, where are you? Her voice soon mingled with the others, and he heard hers no more. The others cried. These voices were louder and more demanding of his attention. Who are you? he thought, as he neared the glass and pulled himself upright. A feeling of foreboding overcame him, and his throat constricted, anticipating what he would encounter behind the glass. He inched closer. Balancing and leaning on the glass, he focused his concentration beyond the barrier.
He was confused, as he saw rows upon rows of beds filled with people. Must be hundreds of people in there, he surmised. Maybe more. He quickly surveyed them to see if he happened to recognize anyone. Wait… No. Whisterly? He pasted his face harder against the glass and homed in on her. Sure enough it was Whisterly. All kinds of equipment and tubes were hooked up to her, and she appeared unconscious. Close by was another he recognized—the old irritated member of the council, Garrick. He looked to be in the same condition. They all seemed to be in a similar state. How can they be here and out there? Their pain and agony overtook him, and, he couldn’t concentrate enough to keep the voices, thoughts, and emotions from intruding. “Please make it stop!” he heard himself shout, “No more. I can’t…take…it.”
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