From Whence They Came

by Thomas Zman

  “I feel like gelatin,” one passenger described as he gripped tighter the handrail that ringed the deck.

  “Yeah, that explains it perfectly,” another agreed.

  If it had not been that there were no longer any continents in our stomachs, I’m sure the entire deck would have been amassed with slimy projectiles of vomit.

  “This, my friends,” Burl informed us plainly. “Is the part of our journey that isn’t much fun. I wish I could tell you all that this will be over in a short while, but you’re all individuals and things of this sort effects each of us differently. Now is the best time to find your cabins and try to relax. There is much to be seen once you feel up to it. And, I may add, the discomfort you feel now will be more than compensated for later.”

  A whirring commotion stirred from behind as a NIM had exited the lifts and scurried towards us. He circled the deck with dizzying quickness then halted himself in the middle.

  “Ahhgg!” the mechanical man clamored as his head spun. “My electrostatus of is out of sync; my capacitors don’t know whether to increase reserve power or shutdown. Maybe I’ll go for a space walk once we’re passed the moon. Perhaps the fresh vacuum will help clear my circuits.”

  NIM’s absurdity was well taken, but yielded us no relief.

  “Now, if you’ll follow me, we will see about your rooming arrangements. This way, Please.” NIM whistled and we followed.

  Millions of miles later, after having passed Venus -- which few passengers were up to witness -- we were speeding our way towards Mercury. We were traveling at a velocity far greater than any ever achieved by conventional rocketry. I had quickly overcome my nausea and remembered touring the decks with Burl. It just so happened that his quarters were situated across the hall from mine and we soon became good friends therefrom. His female companion had her own quarters away from ours; and I seldom saw she and Burl in close company. Burl told me about the crew: how a NIM was an invaluable member; it being immune to any space sickness, weightlessness, Astro-phobia, or what have you – I wondered if the mechanical man ever went for his solar constitutional?

  Burl had also informed me on how the saucer was controlled by the lone alien we had seen earlier – the only Phoebian aboard. That the alien’s body became one with the ship’s circuitry, and that the Phoebian’s nerve impulses were passed directly from his system into the workings of the ship. ‘The intricate simplicities of electro-phoebetics’, I believe he called it.

  As we walked, passengers, one-by-one, exited their cabins, each finally having become accustomed to the effects of space travel, and the peculiar means by which they remained attached to the floor of the ship without floating away. About half of the ship had recovered as Burl and I spoke. He continued by telling me Dan was aboard. But then quickly added that he was one of those who hadn’t yet emerged from his convalescence. It seemed strange that the Phoebians, with all their technology, hadn’t yet fabricated artificial gravity.

  We made our way to the Observation Deck where we stood looking out at the brilliantly starred darkness beyond. The sun was port; we, starboard. The port window shields were closed, due to the fact that if they had been opened we would have been showered by the sun’s brilliance and unable to view the stars. We remained starboard for viewing purposes.

  “When I was young,” I reflected, “I saw movies about space. And every time there was a rocket, the stars in the background moved. I know it was to give the impression of motion, but we’ve been standing here a while now and I’ve been watching that star there,” I pointed, (Sirius) “the brightest one, and it hasn’t moved. None have moved.”

  “Distance,” Burl said. “All a matter spatial relations. However, if we were to come upon a small planetoid, and you weren’t expecting its’ approach, it would flash by without our even realizing it. Right now we’re traveling roughly six point five million miles per hour. I might add, this is the fastest we can travel while maintaining a margin of safety; since the ship’s guidance systems must be allowed calculation/reaction time to avoid collisions. Any greater a speed and we could crash into a meteor or other piece of cosmic debris.”

  I kind of figured that -- me being an Air Force pilot (and all that).

  We approached Mercury by way of an elongated arc, which would invariably converge our flight path with that of the planet’s orbit, keeping the saucer on a course where starboard remained adequately shaded. Mercury could be seen on a large viewing monitor that had been lowed from the ceiling. The swift little planet started as a negligible glow, and steadily increased in size as we neared. Saucer velocity would soon be decreased and we’d glide into the planet’s orbit at a diminishing rate until we caught up and finally entered its atmosphere.

  Earth’s sister planet, Venus was not toured. Her surface (I was told) was so clouded with carbon dioxide that visibility was zero, from any altitude, and landing on its surface would yield a view of perhaps several hundred feet or so. Instead, the saucer skimmed along the cloud tops of the planet’s noxious atmosphere, barley within her gravitational grip. A few people who were recovered at that time (myself included) got to see this world of tainted beauty; the most brilliant of all heavenly bodies in the evening sky – next to the moon that is. But still, this planet, our closest relative in the solar family, remains a mystery: her true nature hidden beneath obscurant skies.

  “Ahhh,” Burl sighed (his signature sigh), “we approacheth the world of the mythological messenger: the wing-footed Mercury. This cosmic courier, whose duty it is to inform the gods of heavenly happenings, is truly an ensign of the ethereal abode.” Burl smiled complaisantly; some of the gathered, too, expressing pleasure in his prose.

  “Please, people be quick to soak in the scenery,” he directed. “For we shall swoop across the surface of this inferior planet in no time, and then be gone in a flash to travel to what are known as the superior planets. Questions anyone may have?.”

  “Or perhaps an ensign of this abode,” I quipped; catching Burls ear before anyone else. I directed us to a spot on deck, far from the others.

  “I was inspired by your Mercurial metaphor,” I confided in him.

  “Ensign Kurt?”

  “Yes, what do you make of him?”

  “His unsociable attitude?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, first off,” Burl elaborated ruefully, “One must be sympathetic. But before all of this, Kurt was serving on a Naval ship in the South Atlantic. He had gotten word telling of his wife and little girl being killed in an auto accident.”

  “Drunk driver?”

  “Texting.”

  “Good God!”

  “They were his life. No other family. He never even left the ship to go to their funeral. Then, Kurt volunteered for ocean rescue drills in the South Atlantic when things went awry; his life raft was caught up in heavy seas and was swept away before the rescue-copters had a chance to pick him up. Luckily, a Phoebian saucer spotted him and took him onboard. Now he clings to his job here in an almost obsessive manor. He works hard, as if still serving the Navy. It’s sad . . . he’s allowed himself to become so detached from people – people who want to help him.”

  I felt saddened. Here I thought of Kurt as arrogant. Now I know his plight. I know how it feels to have lost family. Though mine are home safe – or are they?

  “Not many people know this of the Ensign,” Burl continued. “They tend to simply ignore him – ice him, if you will. Few take the time to try and get to know him, understand his behavior – yield him the compassion that is deserving of every human being . . . “

  “Look at me – the gossip.” Burl picked up the tone of his voice. “So what do you think of me?” “You’re probably wondering how I got to be so ‘well rounded’ in a place where one ‘does not partake of the daily bread’.” He took a deep breath and looked down at is protruding belly.

  I raised my eyebrows, smiling.

  “It’s simple,” he laughed. I just take deeper breaths than others!”


  We both laughed.

  “Actually, it’s just the way I am. I’m a large person. I even enjoy joking about my dimensions. I like to come across as humble, not too stuffy. I find enjoyment amusing people, sharing my thoughts with them. Yet, I’ll only talk of others if I feel it will help their plight -- thus, Ensign Kurt.” He grasped at his beard, stroking it philosophically.

  I nodded; agreement.

  “Those who have come to know me no longer see me as oversized, though occasionally overbearing.”

  “At times you speak . . . poetic. Do you write?”

  I speak in such a manor for I believe that all things of beauty, importance, should be expressed with flare, elegance. As for writing – no. All my material is fleeting. I take it you have an interest in such endeavors?”

  “Somewhat. I only started keeping a journal since becoming a part of the Sanctification. “It’s really nothing,” I said modestly.

  “Nothing!” Burl was astounded. “We’re part of a Revelational Event and you say it’s Nothing! I may recite trivets of information, but you – you my friend, record! You’re an immortalizing scribe. You make it possible so that others of the future may know the truth! Relive -- first hand -- the Sanctification of Mankind!” He raised his fist to the air for emphasis. “Surely you have greatly underestimated your importance. I commend your most noble gesture.”

  “Burl, I’m sorry to intrude,” a passenger begged his attention; he excused himself from me and was off.

  His words moved me. For the first time I felt to be worth something in this society – besides one of its laborers. Before I was blind as to what my purpose was here. Now, I was enlightened. Thus my path for true devotion lay ahead; my mark I shall leave behind.

  During our conversation I failed to realize all observation deck windows had been unshielded and that we had arrived at Mercury. Descending through its thin atmosphere, a panorama expanded into view: the desolate world of craters and peaks configured a geological coarseness common to all ‘inferior rocky worlds’. Voices and excited comments from nearby passengers filled the deck as we soared in for a close reconnoiter; remaining at an altitude of several feet we skimmed above a long plateau and sent up clouds of livid dust in our wake. The air was bright; the sky above, dark. Because of the weak gravity, so weak that we hardly felt our weight, the atmosphere was tenaciously visible as an amber hue of light. It was dark to the west (our left, though I had no real concept of direction) as we pitched up thousands of feet -- passengers bracing themselves, clinging to the railing as if on some sort of amusement park ride-- to clear the ramparts of a crater, and then dove down into its enormous basin, into what seemed to be a treacherous nether world. The shadows grew eerily darker as we descended, finally giving out to total darkness. We swept along in the abyss for a moment, and then began a rapid ascent.

  We exited the crater into brilliant light, the sun glaring ominously from the night sky. The self-adjusting window tints did much to decrease the sun’s radiance, which whited out all space around it. The sun was double the size as when viewed from earth and yielded an infernal heat unencumbered by any sort of compounding atmospheric layers – though none of its blaze could be felt through the remarkable insulation of the saucer.

  We sped across the parched landscape where it was quite evident that changes from searing heat, over eight hundred degrees, to temperatures well below zero, had, over great spans of time, reaped havoc on this world. It too was evident that the constant bombardment of meteorites had effaced much of the planet’s features, though some areas possessed virtually smooth plains from ancient volcanic flows, and that the mountains, craters, and ridgelines were all hauntingly familiar to that of our own earth’s moon.

  We swept over a final range then sped away from the planet – its frail gravity a small reminder of what it felt like to support our own mass. Into the void of galactic nothingness we soared, on our way towards the outer solar system, towards the Jovian worlds that had inspired man ever since his first studies of the night sky.

  Burl had an appointment for his workout in the gravi-gym located at the center of the Cabin Deck. Everyone was required to visit periodically to keep his or her muscles from atrophying in this weightless state of space travel. The gym was a single-person centrifugal chamber where one sat encompassed by an assemblage of toning devices, exercising amidst a field of artificial gravity. I had done my exercises earlier, and so, retired to my cabin until we came upon Mars. As I lay back, absorbed into to my plush couch, which was scenically situated next to a porthole, I began to wonder – again -- why the saucer hadn’t any form of artificial gravity. I then reached for my tablet computer and proceeded to do some mathematics. From what Burl had informed me as to the speed of the saucer, the entire tour of the solar system -- compensating the erratic path we would need to follow since the planets were by no means in alignment -- could be achieved in roughly 40 days . . . terrestrial time. I hadn’t thought that way in a while. Since we would be in a weightless state for so short a period, the danger of physical atrophy was quite minimal. Though it would take some adjustment before getting our ‘land legs’ back once we returned to earth. I hadn’t calculated the effects any ‘leaps’ would produce, or any additional exploring beyond our own solar system would have on the time element; those mathematics would always remain a mystery to me. And who knows how long we would be away according to the established rate of time everyone of earthly residence abides by. My thoughts returned to Kris. He didn’t seem to age but a day, though mature he did; I could say I hadn’t missed him about the city for too long a period (relatively speaking).

  I let the time paradox fade from my mind as I watched the stillness of space outside, trying to spot the movement of a planet – preferably earth. I searched, but found only the unmoving twinkle of distant suns. I stared, hoping that some sort of celestial hypnosis would relax me enough for a short nap, but found that the more I watched the more wakeful I became. I was uneasy and stirred restlessly. From my shirt I removed the small pin April had gifted me. I studied it; read over and over its inspiring script. I found this journey remarkable and I wanted it to continue. But I also wanted to go back home, back to April. God only knew what changes might come between us while I was away.

  I later walked the ship in hopes of dispersing my inhibitions. Thoughts, redundant, ebbed from my consciousness as we gained on distant worlds. Insecurity filled me, as I had no one with whom to share my despair. It seemed – and was – pointless to worry, for nothing I could do would change nor answer my questions; yet they prevailed: How old would April be when I got back? Would she have waited for me? Would she still love me?

  I was about to enter the elevator when the doors opened and I was pleasantly surprised to see Dan. We talked, re-establishing our friendship with casual events; however, I anticipated the moment when I could confide in him hearteningly and disclose my emotions for April. Dan happened to be on his way to the gravi-gym, but stated he hadn’t been feeling well lately, and obligingly changed his mind, accompanying me to the Observation Corridor.

  The Observation Corridor was a spectacular part of the ship, providing a serene atmosphere for discussing personal matters. The corridor was a transparent band, which circumscribed the entire saucer, one level below the Observation Deck, which again was one level below the bridge. It ringed the Lounge Deck, which consisted of a large theatre and vestibule, used for general meetings, movies, and over all entertainment. As we walked along and spoke, our visual senses were occupied with the magnificent void beyond its curving, transparent walls. The corridor was filling with critically commentative passengers who had just finished viewing a documentary from inside the lounge. At one section of the corridor we paused to behold the dwindling sun as it faded into the background of its kind, no longer whiting out the space around it, but merely a brilliant disc in the celestial macrocosm.

  It was here that we met up with one of Dan’s acquaintances, Budd, who had just viewed Dance of Starry Night: an
epitome on universal expansion. He stood gazing off into space, seeming to marvel at the vastness; his mind full of images conjured buy the film’s depiction. Dan said hello to him, giving the tender man a start. We were promptly introduced:

  “How are ya!” replied Budd, squinting as his eyes adjusted to our nearness.

  “So, you went to see that film after all?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah,” sighed Budd, his voice atremble. “My plans of a quiet walk with – uh – fell through. Turns out she’s engaged. I’m glad she told me . . . “ His dispassioned gaze returned to the stars.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I realized that Dan’s friend needed him more than I did, so I excused myself from the two and headed off. I had not forgotten my worries; however, by losing myself in the thrush of people about the ship the severity of it was diminishing.

  Mars came upon us with incidental glory. Those aboard regarded the red planet, enveined trenches of mysterious geological significance, with indifference; my guess that since mankind had virtually ventured here on several occasions the excitement of our rendezvous was taken for granted.

  As we rounded the planet I could sense that the ship was filling with an enthusiasm that would be more appreciative of the sights that were to come, sights that would shadow by far these smaller rocky worlds. For ahead lay the giants of our heaven, the planets that in all due respect could have formed a second solar system apart from the one we just toured. A system whose planetary mass and configuration was so outlandish that they could be paradoxed to the worlds from which our alien oversees came . . .

  We passed over (or under, which ever your perspective of space is) the asteroid belt, over strewn chunks of a once median world caught up in a gravitational rip-current, and left it far behind us as we moved towards the great planet Jupiter . . . . And it was much later on that we swept under the faint gossamer outer rings that encircled the Jovian world; a world girded with flowing colors and attended by an array of moons – orbiting servants to the god of all gods.