THE CUBE

by Alex Gore

  And this love.

  When she was offered the PH. D. position in London, she did not hesitate for an instant and left, without even thinking about the price she was going to pay. That was the chance of her life. They fought for a whole week, she cried, he shouted and broke things all over the flat. He loved her truly, but nothing could take him away from the hospital in Bucharest, where he would any moment now be promoted to head of Cardio-surgery.

  The operating theatre was his life. University was hers.

  He lived among patients and for the saved lives, she – among the laboratory experiments and the lectures.

  The alarm on her phone took her out of this reverie. She was grateful to start the day in the real world. As hard as it was, the day was conquerable, while her dreams would not leave her alone.

  She would not admit to herself that she was lonely and much hurt by the doctor.

  She met him at an age, when she was no longer a naive child, but had not yet entered middle age with its cynical freedom of moral burdens. She still had her dreams and he materialized them in their complete colorfulness.

  He was tall, handsome, with long hair and mesmerizing smile. Every move he made was confident, showing his talent and power to control.

  This attracted and aroused her greatly.

  She was ready to forgive him all but one thing.

  He never proposed.

  Meteorological station “North”, 12 miles north of Cairo, day 4, 7:04 a. m. The hurricane “Leslie” is nearing the African west coast. Atmospheric pressure is dropping and stormy winds are expected in the following three days. The center of the hurricane is moving in direction south/south-east and is expected to pass through the second parallel and cause sand storms with hurricane speed.

  The population of these regions is recommended to evacuate immediately and to not go outside for the next 48 hours.

  The base, the canteen at breakfast, Day 4, 9:00 a.m. “Okay, I might have drunk a bit more vodka than I should last night, but I clearly remember that we did not discuss the main issue in the fucked situation with the frigging submarine…” Michael was trying to alleviate his hangover with a big cup of coffee.

  Everybody was sitting in the canteen in dark mood. “I only remember that Hans started philosophizing and we all

  fell asleep except for the lady”, Sergey said. He was drinking some juice with orange color, that had a suspicious smell of alcohol, and had not lost his sense of humor. His disheveled hair and redrimmed eyes prompted he hadn’t gone to bed at all. His baggy old jeans and dirty t-shirt did not win him much appreciation from the orderly and well-groomed soldiers in the base.

  Norman came in, accompanied by two sergeants.

  “I’d like Sergey to leave, please. Accompany him to his room.” The two strong men fulfilled his order immediately. They

  wringed his arms behind his back and took him to his room. Sergey had no strength left to protest and just dropped his head to his chest, resigned to the fate that the morning had prepared for him.

  Norman went on coolly, as if nothing had happened. “So, gentlemen, we have a problem. All of you were on the ship yesterday. I want answers. Here and now!”

  “Good morning, Sir”, Alan replied. His sleep had been uneasy, but he had not drunk much, so his mind was sober. “In our opinion the name of the submarine was ‘Albert Einstein’ or at least that was the only thing we could think of while sleeping.“

  “Enough with the bullshit, Alan, we are all too tired to listen to dumb jokes.” Norman really wanted serious answers.

  “What happened to the ‘Core’, Sir? Do we have an answer to this question?” Marcela clearly remembered that this issue was addressed to the Russians.

  “Our Russian colleagues were kind enough to give a full report on this topic.”

  “And to inform you that this submarine was travelling in time”. Hans was slowly sipping his orange juice. Hangover was for him a suicidal evil, which he had never known.

  “I need from you answers to totally different questions”, Norman said, seeming confused for the first time.

  “I beg your pardon, but if you want us to participate adequately in this situation, we need to know absolutely everything.” Marcela was really a little bit offended that they were not told everything.

  “Whoa, people, I think there’s something super cool going on here, only nobody can explain it”, Michael remarked.

  He had to admit to himself he was not yet sober after half a liter of vodka and four hours of disturbed sleep.

  “I don’t believe there’s much to analyze here. The ship was stuck in the desert after some climatic phenomenon, an anomaly, something that whirled it in the air and that’s it. The rest of the things are just coincidences.” Alan did not much believe in aliens, although they would be perfect in terms of TV ratings.

  “What about the Cube?” Marcela asked him. She had a small box and a sheet of paper in her hands.

  “The Cube is some kind of a toy of the Russian military, some secret weapon, which they do not want to reveal to us… That must be it”, Michael suggested.

  “Not true. You know everything you need to know and it just can’t be that”, Hans said, sounding absolutely convinced. “I told you, the ship comes from the future.”

  “I don’t know when it was constructed, gentlemen”, Marcela said, “but I made an analysis of samples of the corals that we found on board. According to the period of semi-decomposition of carbon, that we use, its accuracy being only to ten years, the corals, gentlemen, are at least twelve thousand years old.”

  Control room, day 4, 12:3 p.m. “You’ve got to see that, Sir!” Babyface sounded concerned and it was not a good sign. “We decoded the records from the black box, Sir.”

  “Coming right now. Call the German guy and the Biology lady to be prepared, we might call them if necessary.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The recording on the video-wall showed a stocky Russian with bright eyes. He was in a navy-blue uniform with a lot of stars on his shoulder straps; he was talking something in his language and was raising a large glass of vodka, obviously making a toast on some occasion. He was grinning at the lens, the camera followed him, while he was walking to the bridge, sipping quite often from his drink. It wasn’t clear how sober he was.

  “What is that, Lieutenant?” Norman asked, knitting his brows. “It’s Russian, Sir.”

  “I can see it’s Russian, but I don’t know a word of Russian.

  You speak the language, don’t you?”

  “That’s right, Sir. Only my Russian is… err… far from perfect

  and this man blurs the words and he’s speaking in some local

  accent.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Norman shook his head and

  waved at the soldier at the door. “Call the biologist and the rest of

  the scientists, they must see this.”

  The canteen, Day 4, 1:12 p. m. It was only them four in the canteen now. They had finished their meal, but nobody felt like leaving, they preferred being here. Only when they were together they felt safe and secure.

  Alan was picking his molars with a toothpick. Marcela was obstinately trying to pick a lonely pea in her empty plate with her fork. Hans had sunk back in his chair with arms crossed over his chest and was gazing at the ceiling deep in thought.

  Michael took a rolled by hand cigarette and a box of matches out of his pocket. “Mikey, you know that the Major forbids smoking on the territory of the base”, Marcela reminded him. “You were given twice already a ‘final warning’, you know.”

  “Fuck the Major and his orders. I don’t give a shit about them. Moreover, what can he do to me? Arrest me or what? Screw him, I’m dying for a cigarette.” The young man lit his cigarette and inhaled the smoke to the bottom of his lungs.

  “I really dig Mike, he doesn’t care about anything”, Alan said smiling and made a move to throw a crumpled napkin at him.

  “Smoking’s bad for you, Mi
ke”. Marcela looked at him with a motherly strict glance in which there was affection too.

  “Listen to the woman and you can’t be wrong, kid.” Alan had stood up and put his palms on Marcela’s shoulders, to which she reacted by throwing a disapproving glance back at him. He removed his hands and slowly walked to the water dispenser in the corner. Having poured a glass of water he came back to his seat, looking slightly embarrassed.

  The German scientist was still focused on the white ceiling as if nothing was happening around him.

  “Hey, Hans, where are you? Won’t you comment on this whole story”, Michael said, shoving him gently with his foot, at which the plump scientist jumped.

  “I was just reflecting on the meaning of this message, based on Einstein’s most famous formula.

  “Do you think the words from the Bible are related somehow?” Marcela asked.

  “Yes, they are definitely related, but I rather believe this ‘bloody’ message, indirectly pointing to cruelty and aggression, was left for us from a crew member. I don’t think it’s from ‘them’.”

  “Why is it that you, scientists, always idealize alien intelligence, defining it as ‘friendly’, ‘good’ and by all means ‘better developed and more spiritual’ compared to us?!” Alan asked a bit theatrically.

  “If you do not believe in the good basis of science and evolution, everything stops making sense, my friend”, Hans replied to him ironically.

  “And that bit with Einstein?” Michael asked.

  “It definitely sounds well-intentioned to me. The language of pure science is always a language of peace and concordance. Somebody or something wants to make contact with us and on a high level at that. Specific knowledge of the universe is demonstrated…”

  “Tell it to the chimpanzees, used for experiments in some laboratory of a powerful trade corporation, or to the mice on which research is done in universities”, Marcela interrupted him.

  “Well, science needs some minimum sacrifices”, Hans conceded.

  “I hope this time the ‘minimum sacrifices’ in a cage are not us” Alan remarked.

  “As much as it hurts me, I must admit this time you are right. Still I feel that this is just the beginning of some type of communication, it definitely seems a sign of a desire for a friendly dialogue.”

  “You mean, something like a ‘chat’, eh?” Michael winked at him.

  “I don’t know, ‘fishing for people’ does not sound very ‘human’ to me”, Marcela expressed a doubt.

  “Actually, the biblical meaning is different from the way you understand it, taken out of the context”, Michael noted. “The fable says that while walking along the coast of Galilea lake, Jesus saw two of his disciples, Simon and his brother Andrew, fishing. He appealed to them to follow him and promised to them not money or some payback, but that he will send them ‘fishing for people’. They submitted instantly and dropped their fishing to follow him.”

  “Jesus made them hunt for people and kill them?”, Marcela asked in amazement.

  “No, on the contrary: to fish for lost souls and attract them to the good faith. They were simple fishermen but the meaning was that if they followed truth blindly and demonstrated the patience and the skill of a fisherman, they could reach men and convince them about the path to healing and salvation.”

  “The path of Christ”, Marcela nodded as it dawned on her.

  At this moment the Lieutenant came in, saluting them formally.

  “The Major would like all of you to go to the command room. Now!”

  Command room, Day 4, 2:01 p.m. “I studied Russian at school” Marcela announced. “It was an obligatory foreign language for the countries behind the Iron Curtain.” She put the headset on in order to hear better. “However, I must warn you, my level is very basic. Actually, why don’t we call the Russians? They will translate it to the last detail…”

  “What do you hear?” Norman interrupted her, eager to know what happened to the ship and the crew. “The Russians will translate after we see it first.”

  If he knew but a little bit of Russian, we too would see it much later, if at all, Alan thought while sitting in front of the screen.

  The merry commander appeared again on the wall. Behind him several crew members were seen, engaged with different devices in the command room of the submarine.

  Marcela knitted her brows together in concentration, while she was watching the video for several minutes, then pressed the ‘pause’ button, took off the headset and said:

  “This is the captain of the ship, who congratulates the Russian people with the successful start of the mission and the leap in time that passed without complications as per schedule. He says a phrase from Orthodox Christianity: ‘God be with us’.”

  She pressed ‘play’ again and the picture moved. People in uniforms were seen, climbing a metal staircase, laughing and playing with each other. There were at least six men and two women. Obviously, the crew was in high spirits back then.

  The shot changed and now just clear blue sky was seen. The operator pointed the camera back down and they saw the merry group on the deck by the tower of the submarine. The camera made a circle of 360 degrees and showed the sea – only blue water as far as the horizon. The captain reappeared on the screen, leaning on the tower and raising a toast to the group.

  Suddenly the picture disappeared and the screen became fuzzy with strong cracking of static electricity, the recording was obviously damaged. Marcela abruptly took the headset off and pressed the fast forward button.

  Unexpectedly the image became clear and everybody instinctively took a step back. Marcela turned her head aside. The screen showed the command room of the ship: people, objects and devices were in utter turmoil. Bodies and pieces of crushed metal equipment were flying all over the place. The cries of the dying sailors were echoing loudly and piercingly and blood gushed from their bodies in all directions. The faces were with gouged out eyes and lacerated mouths, the limbs were separating from the corps, accompanied by unbelievable agony. Some people, dressed in Russian military uniforms were attacking other people in uniforms. All of them looked the same, nobody could distinguish between victims and butchers.

  The struggle was unequal and looked more like a planned slaughtering of cattle in a sophisticated slaughterhouse, than like a battle for survival.

  They replayed the recording and were struck by the fact that the attackers used no weapons whatsoever – no guns or knives or anything. They killed their victims with bare hands, sticking their fingers in the eyes of the wretched human beings, who were hauling with pain. The hands of the assassins were surprisingly strong, they pierced the skin and muscles of the victims, breaking their bones as if they were bread-sticks.

  The recording was interrupted now and again and its quality was exceptionally bad.

  The film was cut to black screen at some point, then it was resumed outside by the very corps of the submarine. On the tower a scary man with pale face and puffy eyes was dragging the body of his victim. Under the military uniform the inhuman strength of his body was quite visible. He lifted the body high above his head and thrust it down over the periscope, that pierced the chest. The poor being was still alive, although as if impaled, and desperately moved his limbs in final attempts to escape death. The convulsions of his dying flesh were synchronized with the music that sounded from the camera of the military person. A somber symphony in the last hour of the dying man.

  An Orthodox religious hymn.

  It resembled a sinister musical.

  The man in the navy-blue uniform thrusted both his arms in the victim’s abdomen and tore the body into pieces. In seconds he took out the liver and stomach and waved them above his head. The fresh blood was trickling over his face. He looked like a fiery shaman, performing an ugly human sacrifice. His lips were moving in an unintelligible whisper and his eyes were directed upwards. He stood as if in a trance for about a minute, after which he took the wretched person’s inwards to his face, licked
them with his tongue and brushed them down from his forehead to his chest.

  Then he started writing letters on the corps of the tower. His writing could not be seen, shielded by his body, but when he finished, he stepped to one side and everybody in the room saw it clearly on the screen:

  Come, follow me, and I will send you out to fish for people. The blood, still hot, was dripping down and blurred the letters on the metal.

  Marcela turned away her head, sickened to the core of her being and ran out of the room. Alan followed her.

  He reached her only outside the dome, where he saw her throwing up on the sand with her head buried between her hands. Her hair was in disorder, brushing the sand. The contents of her stomach were expelled by the spasms, she could barely breathe, sobbing and choking.

  Alan waited for a minute, then approached her, lifted her up and embraced her.

  Control room, Day 4, 6:28 p. m. “Do you have any explanation, Hans?”, Norman asked and shot a searching glance at him.

  “I prefer not to have one, Sir.”

  “Then why are you here, if you have no answers, Professor?”

  “I am here to solve codes and equations, not to watch horror movies, don’t you agree, Sir?”

  At this moment a soldier came in and whispered something in Norman’s ear.

  “Yes, okay, let them come in.”

  Sergey and Ivanov both entered the room and their eyes went straight to the screen where the shot with the man writing with blood was paused.

  “Can you translate for me, gentlemen? Rewind to the beginning, Lieutenant. Then you can explain to me why you lied about the Core, the submarine and tell anything else that you have concealed. The rest of you, take a rest till I call you back.

  Hans, Alan, Marcela and Michael stood up and started for the door.

  “One thing bothers me”, Hans said and stopped for a moment. “There isn’t a trace of all that mayhem in the submarine now.”