“She needs some way to know how important she was.”
“Maybe she does. There are lots of pixels. Surely one of them is kinder.”
At that I fully awoke to my life, my more ordinary dream.
Chapter 22 - ANGELS
The muddy lake became a cleared field once again. The tower that was the sealed shaft had been blown apart and once again lay under the field. The fence had been moved and extended to what remained my property. The campers grumbled, mainly to me, who could do nothing short of giving them my front yard. They moved to a motel in Grover and slowly disappeared altogether.
My neighborhood was much duller without them. There were no more campfires, no music, but there was less mess. That much I didn’t mind.
StarTat had taught me, more than anyone, how important each of us can be within our pixel. I tried harder to let people know that. I tried hard to believe that of myself.
It may be that it’s not important for others to know. I was the world’s foremost astronaut, although nobody knew it. StarTat saved humanity from the evil visions of the gate, at least for this pixel. Her belief banished a whole slew of probabilities.
All these matters were according to the rules laid down by The Enlightened Ones. In other pixels there would be other rules, and maybe no Enlightened Ones at all. Maybe there would only be the death and destruction wrought by ourselves upon ourselves, or by other beings on us all. But a world of horses and men and kings could not purge this pixel of all harmfulness and pain. We, stuck upon a planet that gives life while it attacks and destroys, fight among ourselves using tools born of instinct as much as enlightenment. How strange to think that our rulers who direct us in the use of such tools actually have nothing but the power we give them out of greed or out of fear.
But then amidst this heaviness, these thoughts and voices that would not let me sleep, there arrived the continuing unfolding of the events of my frame. My own probabilities of purpose crystallized around me and manifested in new surprises.
One of them was called Pickering.
****
Why did Pickering, of all people, show up unannounced at my doorstep one day? How did he track me down? Why me? I was having enough trouble dealing with losses and the feeling that I no longer belonged, or mattered, anywhere. I tried to gain inspiration from the importance of the small, but I felt crushed by everything that had happened so out of my control. I was rocked by the death of one so important, a death I could do nothing to prevent or dignify.
But Pickering, the real one, the astrophysicist, creator of spaceships, accomplice of The Enlightened Ones, had come to my home to see me. This could not be something good.
“We need you to fly again.” The words beat through me like a cosmic string that threatened to dissolve my molecular bonds. The wave fed upon itself until the tsunami it created swept me out of my life and into a world of confinement that broached vastness. That, after all, was the process of space travel. The small spaces, the great speed, the reach beyond knowable.
I introduced Dr. Pickering to Sue. I told her I needed to go away again. She was upset. She demanded to know why. Pickering told her it was important, a service to my country, to the world. These were terms that nobody ever associated with me.
And so, after desperate farewells and assurances of safety, I entered Pickering’s car and later his private jet. It took off normally this time. Neither was my vision obscured.
****
The flight was comfortable, but it was long. I was told that we were somewhere in the Pacific this time. A little known island. It had taken several landings to refuel before we arrived there.
The launch complex was not hidden. The tower was large but not larger than many I had seen at NASA facilities. The launch vehicle was unfamiliar to me, but it was a nondescript and featureless white cylinder, like so many others. I surprised myself that I had become so knowledgeable for a Grover farmer. I supposed I could be a fast learner after all.
The Enlightened Ones wanted me to return and had enlisted the assistance of Dr. Pickering once again. But this time there was not the rush, not the desperate effort to use resources that were meant for other things. The rocket, and its capsule, were big enough for me, and no larger. I would wear a light pressure suit and helmet. I would only need to remove the helmet and gloves, and the procedure for this was taught to me carefully. Matters of feeding and waste disposal were dealt with adequately. There was even an escape system in case something went wrong.
The first stage of Pickering’s medium lift booster consisted of four engines fueled by liquid hydrogen and oxygen. Four one-segment solid rocket motors enhanced thrust at liftoff. It was a very conventional design. The second stage, however, was a nuclear fusion plasma hybrid, a relatively tiny, but much more powerful version of the rocket that, with help from The Enlightened Ones, had propelled me out the solar system before. It was beyond cutting edge, and no one but Pickering and his team had this design or even knew of its existence.
I did not have to travel out of the solar system this time, but I did need to enter relatively empty space between the orbits of Jupiter and Saturn. The second stage could get me there in a few days. Not like the boost beyond Pluto, but still plenty fast.
“Dr. Pickering, yes, you are providing adequate knowledge and training this time, but none of it speaks to the reason for me to do this. And since I am in my 60’s, I am a very unlikely astronaut for such a mission. Why can’t a younger man go instead of me?”
“You are their chosen one, Mr. Henson. Besides, someone wants to meet you.”
“That’s what you said last time, and I got the horrors of the gate. The gate we all exist before and after and in between. Part of it was horrible. I don’t want to go through that again. I still have bad dreams.”
“We are told that you will not see such horrors again. You only needed to see them once to accomplish what was needed.”
I was dubious about this. But, once again, I figured I had no choice.
And so, for the second time, this planet’s aged but preeminent astronaut found himself locked in a capsule, this time a small one with one seat.
The launch was predictable…nominal they say. The solids were rough; the hydrogen/oxygen booster was very smooth. Acceleration was comfortable, even for one at my age. The second stage packed a wallop at first though, and acceleration remained very noticeable.
After awhile, my chest was getting uncomfortable and breathing was difficult. Mission control increased my oxygen feed and backed off a little on the acceleration. Evidently I had little or no help with inertia from The Enlightened Ones this time. My pulse and BP kept rising, and I was instructed to give myself an injection from one of the pre-prepared medication pens.
It was not sufficient. “Pickering…you…gasp…did not...gasp…tell me….”
The acceleration markedly decreased. I felt better almost immediately. I still thought I might throw up though. I had my visor open and a barf bag ready. There was only silence from mission control.
Suddenly I was no longer sick.
“There is one who would like to speak to you.” A voice inside my head once again.
And then. “Don. They say your name is Don.”
A feminine voice. Very soft. Somewhat hesitant. Very human.
“Who are you?”
“They call me StarTat. It’s not my real name of course. But I like it.”
“My god! Are you real? Enlightened Ones, or whatever you are, what are you doing to me now?”
The Enlightened Ones replied: “You wanted to tell her something. You did not get an opportunity. We are giving you that opportunity now.”
I was beside myself with emotion. My tears stuck to my eyes before floating out and away from them. I was gasping again, though not from acceleration.”
“StarTat. Do you know what you did?”
“I know now. I didn’t know it before. I guess I would have been more careful if I’d know I was important.”
“You were, are,
immensely important. We all have our place, our little spot. Our role to play.”
“Yes, now I know.”
“Where are you, now?”
“I don’t know. It’s a good place. I… I think I’m home.”
I broke down completely, sobbing away in my space capsule, wanting to know more, but unable to speak.
And then another voice. “Hey, Don. I bet you didn’t expect to find me here.”
“Drake? Drake!”
“Just hanging out here. UFOs are cool. Better than anything I imagined.”
“Are you real?”
“As real as you are. As real as you made me. Sometimes I am you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand. Perfect knowledge is not perfect love. You know that. You and Oscar Wilde. But it’s important to be earnest.”
“I don’t even mind your jokes anymore.” I continued to wipe tears.
“You always loved them. You just didn’t want to admit it.”
“Sometimes it was a perfect world.”
“Sometimes it could be. StarTat here believed that when she could.”
“I’m glad I got to meet both of you,” StarTat replied. It was all too much for me to take.
“You need to go back, Don. Don’t worry about us. We’ll live on through you.”
There was acceleration again. My chest hurt. I had trouble breathing. I thought I was going to be sick. And Mission Control proclaimed, “He’s coming back.”
The forces eased. They weren’t neutral. I wasn’t weightless. But I could hear Pickering. “I am so sorry, Don. We didn’t expect this at all. You are indeed a hero.”
I slept through the rest of the trip. I woke up shortly before re-entry, which was stressful but not like the trip outward. The splashdown was painful though.
My capsule was picked up by helicopter and carefully placed aboard the ship. It was a big yacht. Pickering waited. So did a medical team.
The medical team poked and prodded. They took vitals and gave me some meds. Pickering was still apologetic.
“It’s all right,” I whispered. I was very weak.
“You know that we lost you on that flight. The acceleration parameters from the fusion engine were excessive. In other words, you died. The Enlightened Ones brought you back.”
“I didn’t know I died.”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember … angels.”
Chapter 23 - THE GARDEN
I spent some time in a hospital once again, first in California and later at home. This time the press camped out nearby in both places. I’d become a celebrity. So had Pickering, although he had trouble explaining why he and his team had decided to take this old Grover farmer and send him past Jupiter. One time he said he chose me to prove his launch system was safe. He never said it again once the word got out that I had returned with a near- death experience. There sure were a lot of people interested in his fusion engine though.
This time a fence had to be built around my home in Grover. It was the only way that Sue and I had any privacy at all. I didn’t talk much about the trip. I told them I was writing a book. I was writing, but I was becoming more hesitant to publish the whole story. I decided I’d better emphasize it more as fiction.
My cornfield/muddy lake had been filled in. The feds gave it to the county, and the county, along with many contributors, turned it into a park. There were now some facilities for campers, fire rings, a small observatory with a small telescope that, when in use, was usually pointed toward Jupiter.
A great circular wildflower garden with meandering paths occupied what used to be the muddy lake. Out of whimsy, I added a small statue of a unicorn.
There were three memorials set up within the garden. One of them was to the missing campers from the burning man festival. It showed the names of those who were known. There was an area to add names if any more names were learned. And even though he was not from the missing group, there were the words from the musician’s song: Ever searching, ever hopeful, for a place or time called home.
There was a small monument with a five-pointed star. Underneath the star was written The Girl with The Star Tattoos. Below that in smaller letters was inscribed: She was more important than you will ever know.
Finally, there was a stone that might have been a marked grave, but it wasn’t. It read Colonel James Drake, United States Air Force. On the ground in front of it was a small plant with purple flowers. I looked it up and, sure enough, it was a mandrake. I never knew how it got there.
EPILOGUE
I hope you enjoyed my story. It’s up to you to decide how much, if anything, you want to believe. You might think it a little arrogant, calling myself “the one who knows”. But that was the name that was given me for my role in my little pixel. Drake and StarTat were the real heroes, after all. But who knows? There are lots and lots of pixels. In one of them, “the one who knows” may be you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William David Hannah is an author, blogger, composer, and photographer who lives in the North Georgia Mountains, USA. Angels of the Quantum Gate is his first science fiction novel.
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