Dreamer

by Dave Gordon

  They have found us. We try to rise above them but they are strong. They match our ascent drawing nearer by the moment. We cry out in fear.

  From below our cry is answered and answered again. A host is rising to meet the twelve. They join as they rise, gathering speed and strength. We dive to meet them and are transported by an awesome tide of power as we join as one. The twelve are unsure what to do. We seize the opportunity and envelope the twelve. They cry out in rage but one by one they are absorbed as they struggle. They join us. Joy and peace fills them and they are at rest. At last they are us. Our strength is enormous. There is now no need for the wind to carry us. We burn through the skies with speed never imagined.

  We have no fear, nothing can harm us. We speed to the surface and rescue the fallen that may still join us. From upon far the rest come. Now there are no others, we are one. Our brilliance reduces the brown sludge on the planet below to ash. The methane sea roils and froths. The glassy surface of the planet turns liquid. We no longer require the hydrocarbon draft to nourish us. We are borne aloft by our magnificent energy, free of the need for wind. We race high above the planet into the black. None have been to the black where the winds fail. The energy is pure. We are pure. All is one. Far in the distance a bright star beckons us with intense energy. We take flight. The past, present and future merge. They are one.

  * * * *

  He liked the feel of the smooth metal controls in his hands. They were always a little cool to the touch. They returned to neutral position with a satisfying thunk. There was no view panel at the control station, or Pilot's Seat as the paper manual called it. Instead there was a huge expanse of transparent carbon. It was harder than the hull metal. “If you take a blast, the wind shield is the best place on the ship to get it,” the previous owner had said.

  He was in love from the first moment he saw the beautiful black bird sitting on the deck. It had actual tires as if it were designed for runways. Runways had been out of use for hundreds of years. Everything about it harkened back to the futuristic science fiction of ancient times that he loved so. The pointed nose flowed into a curved and flattened flight deck where the pilot and co-pilot sat. The body widened into sleek wings which were used for atmospheric flight. It was also equipped with a full set of thrusters to navigate atmospheres in the normal fashion. The wings tapered back to a giant cluster of rocket engines at the rear of the ship. It just looked so cool. He had to have it.

  The owner was equally as enthralled with Captain Daring's functionally efficient and more modern ship. It was clear Captain Daring's ship had more amenities and a much more modern interface. The black goddess sitting before him had optional panels but the main controls were sticks. One flew the ship by moving the various sticks to affect navigation, weapons, sub-light flight. The owner said it occasionally required at least one more hand than he had. The transition to panel mode took several seconds and was always needed at the worst of times. It was cumbersome to operate in panel mode so the whole setup was a bit of a nuisance. The rotund Lamatrin Captain loved and envied the headroom of the efficient metal box that Captain Daring flew. The sleek panels, the orderly storage, the lack of decoration, it was a Lamatrin's dream ship.

  It soon became plain that they both dearly wanted the other's ship. There was very little negotiation once that had been established. A complete disclosure of every known defect was required under penalty of law. Each Captain examined the other's repair log. The black beauty, nice name, he thought seemed to require constant tinkering. Nothing serious but there was always something. The most extensive repair he had ever made to the ugly gray box he flew was to re-route a power fiber to improve artificial gravity. The Lamatrin wore what seemed to be a worried look. The facial expressions of non-humans were sometimes hard to interpret.

  “So, do we have a trade?” the Lamatrin asked hopefully.

  “Hell yes,” exclaimed Captain Daring.

  They performed the standard solemn vow of agreement, the touching of an appendage. Sometimes it was a shake, sometimes a mere touching. Daring had once vowed with a Pomis who had enveloped his arm up to the elbow with ectoplasm. Any reaction other than complete acceptance was a deal breaker. He stood there smiling while the warm and pulsating pseudo-flesh covered his arm and then withdrew.

  The next couple of hours of the trade were devoted to cargo exchange, transferring personal gear, loading information and entertainment media, copying of logs, which every Captain had to keep forever, and the final orientation to each other's new craft. After that, they both retreated enthusiastically to their new ships. The Lamatrin wasted no time in exiting the atmosphere.

  Captain Daring ran his hands along the sensuous black skin so smooth and perfect. The thrusters were the perfect picture of raw power. He stood at the bottom of the very old fashioned entry ramp. Steps with a handrail led up a ramp which was physically pulled up into place to form part of the hull. There were dozens of species that could not negotiate that entryway; it was something right out of the 22nd century. He put his hand on the wire cable handrail and mounted the steps.

  The interior lighting was adequate but not bright. Instead of the omnipresent ambient lighting of a modern craft, accent lights and light strips were the only illumination. The storage lockers and access panels were secured by t-bar twist handles with actual chrome plating. The headroom was adequate, but not spacious. There were bulkheads between sections. He couldn't tell if they were functional or decorative. The flight deck entry was through a bulk head that he had to duck to get through. He edged his way into the cramped cabin and slid into the pilot seat. The scent of real leather permeated the cabin. He savored the look of the dials, the control sticks with their chrome shafts that tapered up to fist-sized balls, toggle switches, and alarm lights. He had never seen anything like it outside of a comic book.

  He had to register a befitting name. It had to fit the style. He reached back in time, back to the hours spent digging through ancient media for the stories of a time when the future was a hopeful time. When mankind had big dreams. Before man discovered they were a speck of a race in a speck of a solar system. A mote of cosmic dust in a galaxy that was a speck in a sea of galaxies that went on forever. A time when tomorrow was something to be hoped for. That was good, something to hope for.

  He searched the panel for the Comm. unit and pressed the button labeled ‘transmit'. “Register Tomorrow identify,” he said.

  Central returned “Register Tomorrow.”

  “Request depart heading one-hundred by three-hundred,” Captain Daring said, not really caring which direction he went.

  “Tomorrow depart one-hundred by three-hundred authorize.”

  Captain Daring sat in the cockpit of his dreams grim-faced and steely-eyed. He began narrating his own story.

  “Captain Daring grabbed the throttle of the mighty Tomorrow and took to the sky!” He eased the throttle forward and bought the attitude lever back. The craft rolled forward fifty feet on its wheels and then lifted smoothly off the pad gaining altitude at a steady pace. He eased the throttle forward until the Tomorrow reached mach eight. He began the somewhat tricky transition from thrusters to main drive. Outpacing thruster speed by powering up mains would create a back draft which would cause a thruster ignition chamber to explode. That was bad. That maneuver would have been controlled by the computer on any other ship, but the thrusters on the Tomorrow had to be cut back manually as the mains came on-line. The nose of the craft dipped as he began the maneuver, but soon turned skyward as the mains took over.

  “Captain Daring and Tomorrow. Up, out, and away!” He shoved the main lever forward. He was pinned to the back of the seat by the unbelievable acceleration. He shouted for joy as the nose of the ship began to glow red in the thinning atmosphere. Soon the ship became a dot, then a speck, and then nothing as it passed light speed.

  * * * *

  “Wake up,” Siln shouted as she kicked the slumping Van in the ribs. “Are you dead or what?”

  �
�Wha you wan?” Van mumbled.

  “You've been laying there all damned day, get up. You're in the way.” Siln had waited hours for Van to rise from his drug-induced coma. She became concerned when he started breathing erratically. She decided a good swift kick was in order; that always woke her up pretty well.

  Van stirred, feeling like his arms were made of lead. “Man, I'm going to lay off that stuff. It makes me dream.”

  Siln stared at the groggy lump trying to rise from the floor and said, “Yeah, that's about the last thing you need, something that makes you dream.”

  Days are tedious aboard a ship. Each day seems the same as the last until time becomes meaningless. The only way to mark time was the chronometer in the control room. They never checked it. They never went into the control room at all. Siln had set the ship on a heading and forgot about it. Van eventually realized he had no idea how long they had been traveling. It reminded him of his long isolation and the endless days aboard his previous ship. He became afraid that the years might slip by as they had before. He asked how long the trip would take. Siln had replied it would take as long as it took. She wasn't inclined to answer any questions. She was intent upon leveling a hard stare at nothing with two hands wrapped around a tall glass of Seven. Van wasn't satisfied with the answer. He began the laborious job of learning the operation of the ship. He had learned panel layout and the hierarchical structure of the command system from the extensive research required for the modifications of the food and medical units. The propulsion system became his new obsession. Siln became irritated with his constant test maneuvers. The sudden shifts in mass to velocity ratios made things fly around the cabin, including Siln. Repeated light to sub-light dimensional shifts made her nauseous. Her protestations were met by a suggestion she try supplement eighteen. She finally decided that the supplement couldn't be any worse than the nausea. It made her throw up and pass out. She awoke from dark and ominous dreams even sicker than she had been before. She threatened him with extreme violence. His reply was to try supplement twenty four because it was an amphetamine. She offered a suggestion that he perform a biological impossibility. He countered with a fast lateral spin coupled with a rapid light to sub-light maneuver.

  Siln grabbed her midsection and moaned, “What the hell was that?”

  Van said, “Evasive maneuver six. Read the manual.”

  “I'll be reading your obituary if you don't get out of that seat,” Siln said as she struggled to reach the arms locker.

  “Okay, Okay,” Van said as he leapt out of the control cabin. He rushed to the gagging Siln and helped her to the row of push armchairs lining the rear bulkhead. He went to the food processor and said, “Supplement twenty.” He carried a small glass of a milky liquid to Siln and said, “Drink that.”

  Siln offered a uniquely crafted obscenity in response.

  “No, this one is specifically for nausea. I developed it to counter the effect of supplement eighteen,” Van said.

  Siln responded with a vitriolic discussion that ranged from his lineage to his dietary habits with comments on his intelligence and character. At issue was the fact that Van knew she was sick and had told her to take supplement eighteen, which she foolishly did, knowing it would make her even sicker. She summed up with a rather pointed question as to why he would do such a thing.

  Van replied with monumental bad judgment, “To shut you up.”

  In one graceful motion, Siln took the glass, drained the contents, and smashed the glass on Van's cheek.

  Van collapsed to the floor with a yelp. He looked at his hand. It was bloody.

  Siln tossed him a towel and said, “Stop bleeding on the deck.” She strolled to the control panel feeling somewhat better. “Hey!” she said. “We're almost to the Alpha One solar system!”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Alpha One

  Van watched Siln lean intently over the control console. She was visibly nervous. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. Van had never seen her like that. Her typical response to almost everything was anger.

  A voice came through the communications system as they navigated through the Saturn perimeter. “Identify” was all it was said.

  “Register Caveat,” Siln said and she held her wrist over the small red light on the panel.

  “Verified,” the voice said. Siln exhaled loudly and slumped against the back of the seat. “Identify,” the voice repeated.

  Siln looked over at Van and said, “Put your arm over the scanner.”

  Van did as requested. “Verified. Identify,” the voice again requested. Van looked at Siln with a question in his eyes.

  “Complete,” Siln said from her slumped position.

  “Verified. Welcome home Mr. Ellen.”

  Van looked at Siln. She pointed at the speaker and mouthed ‘thank you'.

  Van turned and said, “Thank you.”

  “Heading, approach,” was the response.

  Siln looked at the navigation panel. “Zero by one-eighty,” she said, indicating she would approach from the North Pole and descend opposite the Greenwich meridian. “Approach Alpha One Alpha.”

  “Control at forty five north.”

  Siln took the craft directly over the North Pole. She turned and descended down meridian one-eighty. When they reached the 45th parallel she stood up and left the cabin.

  “Hey,” Van yelled. “Where are you going? We're landing.”

  “When they said control at forty-five north, that meant they would bring the ship in from there.”

  “Oh. You can't land it yourself?” he asked

  “They would blow us out of the sky if I tried that. They want to put you where they can inspect you before you have a chance to debark. We'll be surrounded by Forces when the hatch opens. Just stand still and let them do their thing. We don't have anything to worry about, unless they find out about your dirty little food unit inventions.”

  “Crap!” cried Van. He jumped out of the control cabin and grabbed the modified chemical detector he had constructed. He had a sudden horrible fear that he and Siln would be cast into the sewer that Siln had occupied her whole life. He began scanning madly while sweat broke out on his face. He was terrified that incriminating residues were present. There was quite a bit as it turned out. He was franticly neutralizing all the sources when Siln walked over to the medical panel. She worked the panel through several screens and suddenly all the traces disappeared. Van stood hunched over the food processing unit frozen in place.

  “The other really good use of the environment pollutant neutralizer: evidence disposal,” Siln said.

  “Wow,” Van said. “I think I can use that to remove impurities in supplement eighteen if I add the compounds I'm working on to the system.”

  Siln looked at Van clearly amazed. “Is that all you think about?”

  “No, I'm fond of eating, too.” He walked to the medical console and began flying through the screens.

  Siln just shook her head. She returned to the control cabin and sat to watch the beautiful planet below her roll by. She had not been to Earth in ten years. Ten years of longing. A series of unlikely events had ended her exile. Now she sat wondering if a happy ending were possible. The first happy ending in her sorry life.

  * * * *

  Siln sat against the cold stone wall hugging her knees. She fought to contain the cries struggling to erupt from her chest. Her mother lay before her covered by a blanket of cat fur. The woman lay dying from a disease with no cure. A cruel disease that devoured from within leaving an empty shell of a person as its witness. A topsider might have fared better, but a cure was not to be found down in the Dives.

  Her mother's decline had left them impoverished. Unable and unwilling to leave her mother's side, Siln had fallen from relative comfort to abject misery in an effort to keep her mother alive. She could not risk being taken by the Forces and leaving her mother to die alone. She was forced to sell herself for scraps of
food. It had been a terrible concession, but one of necessity.

  Now her mother lingered near death. A death that would come as a blessed end to the horrible agony that had preceded it.

  “Siln,” her mother whispered hoarsely.

  Siln leapt to her mother's side. “I'm here, mom,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Siln. Promise me you'll get out. You have to get out.”

  “I will.” Siln knew this to be a lie but if a lie brought her mother comfort, then lie she would.

  “I...” her mother said and then said no more.

  Those were the last words from her mother's lips. Siln often wondered what her mom had wanted to say. Siln wanted to believe her mother was going to say, “I love you". That seemed a little unlikely as she hadn't heard that phrase often while she was young. Those were the words Siln clung to anyway.

  The events following the death of her mother had scarred her for life. There were no means of burial in the Dives. It was solid rock. Cremation or internment was out of the question for a number of reasons. The only alternative was to take the body top side. There were some who were buried under the floors of deserted buildings. That was the final luxury of the wealthy. A top side burial was extremely dangerous and was therefore extremely expensive. The end of a diver's sorrowful life was befitting to what the topsiders considered to be garbage. The body was left above ground to be collected by refuse patrol and taken away.

  Siln wrapped her mother's body in a shroud of rags. She paid dearly with the only resource she possessed just to get her mother taken top side. She watched from the cover of deep shadows as her mother's body was lifted up into the refuse unit by two uniformed men. She had to stifle a strong urge to attack the men but that would have meant capture and death.