Remeon's Destiny

by J. W. Garrett

  Waves of independent conversations erupted in small pockets. The full council could sense those who felt similarly and those who did not.

  Whisterly continued through the broken bits of chatter. “As you are aware, a unanimous vote is the only way forward in this circumstance.”

  “We are the ones in need, not Stephen,” Arista broke in. “If he is still willing, we must aim to preserve his life, as we know he will be trying to save ours. Need I remind you all that I am only here in full form since our prior experiment was successful? That is, with one exception, our donor died. We must prevail, but not at the expense of those offering their very being to help us.”

  “Well stated,” Vinique agreed.

  Others assented, and the tide seemed to be turning.

  Whisterly quickly covered her reaction to her daughter’s words. They were substantially false, and in one sense ironically true also. But Arista had believed them to be true. That was what mattered. Her delivery was successful, and no one could probe for information that she didn’t have. Whisterly took a mental tally, noting those still not fully in agreement.

  “Be mindful of our foes, who are every bit in this race as much as we are,” Whisterly warned. “While we debate, they are delving into our plans and building their own knowledge base. Keep in mind, if they obtain the cure and replicate it first, there will be all-out war, and we will likely all die as we struggle to defend ourselves against a healed race of Night Dwellers. We must win this battle! Now let us vote again,” she implored.

  Whisterly hesitated, feeling especially strong hatred and emotions emanating from one member. As the vote proceeded, she could tell several betrayed their heartfelt thoughts and one in particular. This member will require the utmost exceptional care, she noted. Arista, my little one, ponder this in your heart. We must keep this one close, or else we may fail.

  HIS FIRST NIGHT home Thomas had a better night’s sleep than he could remember in quite some time. Free from machines and the nurses’ constant interruptions, he had a peaceful rest. The nightmares of Remeon had even subsided. If for only one night, it was a welcome respite. Odd how unfamiliar “home” had become. He had truly been unsure if he would ever be back, and his walk through the house when he was in his dreamlike state on Remeon had been disturbing. Confronting himself in that manner was a surreal, uncomfortable experience. He had not found a way, as of yet, to share with his family what he had been through, at this point still unsure himself of what exactly had occurred.

  He had been told upon awaking from his coma that it had been five weeks since the evening of his birthday when he collapsed. Piecing together the facts in his head, apparently he was taken to the hospital, brought home for a short time when it appeared he was improving, then taken back only a brief time after that. He remembered none of this upon waking in the hospital. His parents reassured him it would take a while to acclimate himself again and what he was going through was normal. He wasn’t convinced.

  He called out to Arista at regular intervals, just to see if he might get a response. Each time he was disappointed. He heard nothing, at least for now. But something told him that Arista, Whisterly, and the council weren’t done with him just yet. While he sought to fit the pieces together, he would keep the details of his experience to himself. Besides, what would he tell them? Even to himself, the very person who had lived through it, it sounded like a desperate dream or the fantasies of a teenager. Remaining silent for now seemed like the better choice.

  Life had a way of marching on, Thomas was aware, whether or not one participated. From a rocker on the back porch he had a good vantage point of the fields on their property. Pa must have gotten some help, he thought. Everything appeared to be in top form for the season. Harvest time would be here soon. In fact, Pa had brought up a bushel of corn that looked to be ripe for harvest and ready to be shucked. For just one day out of the hospital Thomas felt he was doing quite nicely, maneuvering with the braces again. They were lighter this time, and he didn’t have to wear them all day. This—along with the fact that he felt more competent, confident, and adept at handling them—subjugated the braces to an inconvenience instead of a life-altering change. One day soon he would be without them entirely.

  The day was very warm, yet a nice breeze blew, making sitting and relaxing a comfortable pastime. Thomas’s intent and his father’s hope was that Thomas would return to full health in time to help with the harvest next month. Questionable as that was, it still brought encouragement to a return of the normalcy of farm life. The doctors said his health was uncertain, and the timing of healing was quite individual. It was “normal” to have some progress followed by an apparent period of decline.

  So much about this disease was still unknown. But the doctors did agree that a full healing would take place over the time frame of months and even years, not days. This was a bit discouraging, but all indications now were good, at least for the time being. Unspoken was the fact they all knew how quickly things could go downhill. Thomas had experienced it firsthand. And the toll had not just been taken on him. He could see the stress and worry reflected in his parents’ eyes and hear it in their tone of voice. His sisters were constantly checking in on him, especially Belle, who smiled with relief every time she saw him, as if her expectation were to find him helpless once again.

  Even with all this taken into account, Thomas found life had been so odd—and, for him, particularly painful—with hospital stays intertwined with his visions and time on Remeon. He struggled with determining fact from fiction. The here and now, reality, felt uncertain, with his thoughts returning to the planet Remeon over and over again. He reflected on Arista, Whisterly, and the council, and their next moves. Their lives depended on the next steps taken.

  Whether he was involved or not, this would still be the case. Even enjoying the calmness here on Earth in comparison, he craved and missed the excitement he felt on the strange planet. He found himself daydreaming about Remeon instead of engaging in real life. He secretly hoped he would return and play a part in healing their race. Even though he didn’t know everything or fully understand it all, Thomas prayed he would have the opportunity to find out. So much had changed within him in only a few short months. Some bad, some good, but he wanted to see this through. If only I had some control, even a little, he thought.

  A soft voice brought him out of his reverie.

  “Hi!”

  Thomas heard the energetic little voice spout out.

  He turned with a smile. “Hi, Belle. Would you like to help me out with the corn?”

  “Well, I dunno. I guess I could,” she replied, sitting in her own chair and enthusiastically rocking back and forth.

  “You know, Belle, I keep with me all the time the special rock you gave me. The flint too.” Thomas dug in his pocket and revealed the heart-shaped rock. Right next to it in his hand was the flint, still wrapped in the dark blue material.

  Belle glanced down to his hand and beamed back at him, her smile reaching ear to ear, as her legs dangled, swaying back and forth in the rocking chair.

  “Okay, let’s get started. You know how it’s done.” Thomas grabbed three or four ears of corn from the basket and threw them in her general direction. “Hey, run in the kitchen and get a big bowl for this corn. Maybe we can have it for dinner tonight.”

  “Right, okay.” The screen door slammed, and Thomas heard Belle’s footsteps retreat through the mudroom and into the kitchen, then a much slower, heavily footed walk as she returned with a bowl so big that it hid her face from view. Together they set at the task of pulling husk and silk from each ear of corn. Since they had done this task so many times, they were quick and efficient at their chore. Lost in thought and covered in silk from the corn, he didn’t notice Belle silently walking to the edge of the porch, or her confusion as she stopped and stared in awe. When he finished the job, he turned to yell.

  “Ma! We’re—” Mesmerized, his eyes focused on a frozen-in-place Belle; he stood, covering the
distance slowly to join her. His jaw dropped, and instinctively he put an arm in front of her, forcing her to take a step back.

  “Thomas, what’s that?” she said, pointing to the distance, arms outstretched to the pasture in front of them.

  Suddenly a burst of light shot out at them, blinding them momentarily, and they both jumped instinctively, losing their footing. Thomas tackled Belle, while, at the same time, instructing her to crawl to the screen door and go inside.

  “You’re scaring me, Thomas!”

  “Go now, Belle. Hurry, inside to Ma and Pa.”

  Belle raised her head slightly, as she spoke tentatively from her crouched position. Her eyes focused beyond Thomas, as they filled with tears. “You come too. You promise?”

  “I will, now go!”

  Belle stifled a sob but did as she was told and disappeared into the house.

  Thomas stared only a fraction of a second longer at the screen door, glanced down at his impaired legs, and unable to reject his impulse, made for the pasture and the two gigantic flying balls of light hovering there.

  AS THOMAS GOT closer to the pasture where the two ships hovered, his pace slowed. The brilliance of the lights made it difficult to see and navigate. Looking directly into the lights, he lost his balance and was temporarily blinded. He squinted, shielded his eyes with his hand, and tried again, gazing upon the normally familiar afternoon sky that had come to life with overpowering light and a vivid display of machinery, unlike anything Thomas had seen before.

  He had no estimate as to the size of the crafts. Big, he thought. Within his immediate field of vision, nothing else could be seen but these two hovering machines. Thomas took a closer look and saw a series of lights bursting from one flying object to the next. Like one outflow of light was in answer to the other. Almost like communication.

  The bursts of light continued, and Thomas’s mouth moved but made no sound. He watched the display in awe. Not cognizant of his surroundings, only focusing on the sky above, he didn’t realize others were gathering, having seen the show in the sky as well. His neighbors, old and young alike, had formed somewhat of a semicircle behind him. And Thomas, unknowingly, became the focal point of the assembly.

  “Thomas, son, don’t you go no farther,” a neighbor warned.

  Thomas turned, momentarily brought back to the present by the comment and recognized Mr. Martin, the husband of his teacher.

  “It’s okay,” Thomas replied, not truly knowing if it were so. “I won’t get too close.”

  “You’re already too close,” Mr. Martin replied, breathing heavily.

  Thomas felt Mr. Martin tug on his shoulder, as he was urged backward into the crowd. After a few moments of struggle and maneuvering, he squirmed through the maze of people again and found himself back in his original forward position. His gaze glued to the sky, he didn’t see his little sister, who came from behind, keeping a safe distance so as not to be seen by Thomas. She put one shaky foot in front of the other, until she was within a stone’s throw of her big brother. Her placement gained, she too turned her attention to the landscape, overtaken by the ships in the sky.

  Shouting and screaming erupted from parts of the assembly, as well as intermittent scuffles here and there. Parents and children alike were armed with whatever they could find and seemed poised for a fight. Thomas hoped it would not come to that. He thought back and remembered a time when a coyote had killed some sheep, and the neighbors had banded together to hunt it down. It had been exciting to join in the hunt then, but the energy of this crowd was different. Moblike.

  The crowd shuffled him from side to side and continued to grow larger and larger. He could feel the pulse of the gathering change from a curious nature to one of outright fear, and he was herded that direction as well. His pulse quickened as he thought of Whisterly and Arista and the mission they had selected him for. Could they be here for me?

  One of the onlookers aimed and fired a gun at the objects in the sky that were ultimately hopelessly out of range. The mass of people shifted nervously, and everyone wanted to see who had fired. Brawls and fights ensued as disagreements erupted, followed by more gunfire. Bodies were shoved together, and the air carried a pungent odor of sweat intermingled with gun powder.

  Thomas scanned the mob to identify someone in the crowd who might calm these people he knew as neighbors. More shots rang out, echoing in his ears, and, as he glimpsed the facial expressions of those he knew so well from church, school, and Pa’s business dealings, Thomas understood. No one could help. They were all overtaken by fear and panic, and weren’t making decisions based on reason. Thomas came to his senses and decided to leave.

  He hesitated, reluctant to go, then took a step toward the house. Yet, even with the danger, he wanted to be a part of this new chapter in history as it unfolded. Then he saw her from the corner of his eye—his sister Belle, with giant tears running down her face. Moving as fast as his legs and the crowd would allow him, he made his way to her side.

  “What are you doing here? I told you to go to the house,” he barked loudly over the rumblings of the crowd. “It isn’t safe here. Now go,” he commanded.

  Her tears continued faster now, and Belle put her hand over her mouth to silence her cries.

  “I saw, Thomas. I saw! And I was afraid for you. Did you do this? Is this happening because of you?” she asked through her tears.

  Thomas felt her trembling as he held her. “Let’s go,” he whispered in her ear, more calmly this time. “This is no place for you to be. People are acting crazy.” They walked toward their house together. Several more shots whizzed by just above their heads, and Thomas shielded his sister to provide what cover he could. “Don’t move,” he directed.

  And she froze, as she was told.

  An unnatural silence filled the unruly group where there had been chaos moments before, all eyes on the glowing sky as beams of light forced themselves onto the onlookers below. Thomas, facing his sister, saw the look of disbelief in her eyes as her gaze stared upward. He couldn’t fight the urge to turn toward the light. Once again he was blinded, but this time he could not look away. The light he saw was pointed in his direction, the beam directly on him and his sister. “Okay, now,” he instructed Belle, “fast, crawl, move!”

  Stephen, we are here, Stephen.

  “No, my sister, it’s not safe for her!”

  All was quiet. Their breaths came in short bursts and intruded on the silent stillness of the pack. Thomas tightened his grip on his sister, determined not to let her go. In a flash of light, she slipped from his grasp. Thomas groped about frantically. Directly in front of him was blackness, nothingness, and space. She was gone.

  THOMAS AWOKE WITH a jolt as the stench of urine and animal remains brought him to the present. He sat up, disoriented and nauseous, and looked around anxiously to gain his bearings. “Belle! Belle, answer me.” Nothing. No answer or even the faintest noise responded to his pleas. Darkness enveloped him like a thick, suffocating blanket; breathing was difficult as he gasped for air among the sick smells assaulting his senses. The now all-too-familiar feeling of panic rose in him once again as his thoughts returned to his little sister and the strange ships in the sky, haunting him. Feelings of fear and panic alternated within him, like being hot and cold when he had a fever. His eyes adjusted somewhat to the darkness, and he made out small details around him. Using his hands, he combed the walls for clues or any useful information.

  His first instincts brought to mind visions of cold, clammy, dark caves. The walls were wet and uneven, and appeared to be made of rock. He plodded his way around the perimeter, taking small steps, looking for signs of an opening or exit. He marked his starting point by placing a foot-long rock on the ground, close to the wall, so he would run into it and know when he had made it all the way around. When he encountered the rock again, the only additional information he had gained was that the structure was somewhat oval in shape and made of some type of rock, as he had envisioned earlier.


  After two more times around the space, he thought he felt cracks along the wall that could possibly be where the door was located. He placed two more rocks at that juncture, identifying that space as well. A chill came over him from the cool dampness of his surroundings, and he thrust his hands in his pockets to stay warm. He found his pocketknife, flint, and compass there, and he felt comforted but knew these wouldn’t help him just now but later…maybe later. With every slight movement, his braces clanked noisily, reminding him of their presence. That, in conjunction with the fact that he could not connect with Arista or Whisterly, made him question if he were actually on Remeon. All he could do was remain where he was and hope he didn’t starve while he waited for his captors to make themselves known.

  Time passed slowly as he thought back on all that had happened in just a few short months. Reflections from his stream of consciousness flowed unabated. Utmost in his mind were the precariousness of his current situation and wondering where Belle was. But also everything else that had happened to him recently which played a part in landing him right here. He had wished for this, all of this. He had wanted adventure; he had wanted distance from his family—mainly his pa. He had wanted to grow up on his own terms and had plans to make that happen.

  Next, thinking back on his unexpected illness and the toll on his family, Thomas clearly saw in his parents’ eyes, when he woke in the hospital, how much they loved and cared for him. But amid the adventure and danger found on Remeon, he had felt needed in ways he had never experienced on the farm. Could he really save another race? And would he sacrifice himself to do so?

  Adventure was one thing but, surveying his current surroundings, dying quite another. And he hated to admit, even to himself, but he felt something for Arista. It was scary, and he didn’t even want to name it. He felt uncomfortable and uneasy around her. His ways were childish and his actions unimportant in her presence, which was undeniably quite regal.