The amount of dirt and clumps of decomposing leaves littering his path surprised him. It appeared his sleeping place was not as clean as he thought. Now much larger than they were before, some of the former crumbs of debris were large enough to require stepping over. Walking on the tan foam rubber proved to be difficult, and numerous potholes slowed him further. The experience reminded him of videos he had seen of men walking on the moon, as the soft foam sank with each footstep. After his first tentative steps, he found it easier to bounce his way to the ladder.
In a state of disbelief, he made his way to the bottom of the ladder. Rather than rushing to climb to the impossible craft, he sat down to gather his nerve and tried to figure out a logical reason his senses would be playing games with him. He could think of none.
The ladder was warm to the touch and fashioned from a type of metal with a light golden cast. It felt very real. Jim pinched himself, and it hurt. He slapped his face and confirmed he was not sleeping. As far as he could tell, what he was experiencing was reality.
Above him, the open hatch beckoned, and a soft light emanated from inside. The camper shell was getting darker, and the temperature was falling. At the far corner he could see the small mountain that was his pillow. Behind that, the sleeve of his heavier coat poked from underneath the white mound, a covering now large enough he could fit in the pocket. After a minute considering these insights, it only reaffirmed his original conclusion. He had to climb the ladder and enter the drone.
He wondered, What if I return to normal size while I’m inside. Is that a possibility?
In the end, he decided it was worth the risk. Wandering around outside while the size of a mouse was out of the question. Besides, he had to know more about this strange craft that put him in this position.
The spacing of the rungs leading up made for an easy climb. Still, he hesitated at each step. He was going someplace magical. Somewhere only imagined in dreams and science fiction. Jim needed time to process the experience.
****
The interior of the craft was a pale white and resembled the inside of an egg. The walls, ceiling, and floor glowed with a soft light that left no shadows. There were no furnishings except a high-backed chair located in the center of the deck. Jim circled the armchair, all the while searching for clues to understanding this improbable ship.
The seat cushion and back were upholstered with something resembling leather, and the frame that supported the cushioning was constructed from the same metal as the ladder. He felt the seat and found it soft and inviting. The efforts he put himself through to relocate the ship had made him tired, and the adrenaline pumping through his body as a result of this ridiculous situation was causing his heart to beat fast. Standing was getting progressively more challenging—so he sat in the chair.
“Did I ask you to sit?” said an insistent male voice from nowhere and everywhere.
Instantly, Jim jumped from the chair. “Hello?”
The voice replied, “Hello to you. You did not answer my query.”
“I’m sorry. I could not help myself. My legs are wobbly, and the chair was empty.”
“Do you often take possession of unattended items?”
“Do you mean—am I a thief?”
“Precisely.”
“No. I had no intention of stealing your chair.”
“Very well.” The tone of the voice softened when it continued. “You may be seated.”
Now reluctant, Jim sat down. “Where are you?”
“I am here.”
“What do you mean? I can’t see you.”
“I understand your confusion. I am all around you.”
“You’re kidding me—right?”
“Is this the proper time for deceiving you?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“Then I will be truthful. I am the starship you occupy.”
“I’m inside a starship?”
“Affirmative.”
Jim thought about this and asked another critical question.
“Why am I here?”
“You are being evaluated.”
“Evaluated for what?”
“I cannot answer your queries at this time.”
“Why not?”
“If I answered your questions, the test results would be corrupted.”
The hatch was still open. It occurred to Jim if he moved fast, he could probably make it to the ladder. The entity must have noticed his furtive glance at the door, for it proclaimed, “If you leave, I will return you to your original size, and I will be gone. There will be no second chances.”
“And if I stay?”
“If you meet the necessary requirements, it will be an opportunity to assist your fellow humans.”
Jim mulled this over for a few seconds and decided he needed to follow along. The alternatives available to him were few. His current lack of money, friends, and a place to live paled in comparison to the possibilities this mysterious ship might provide.
His hesitation changed to resolve, and he said, “Alright. What do you need me to do?”
****
The first request the ship made was for Jim to clean up. It complained he was making it difficult for the surface nanites to clean up behind him. An oval door appeared in the bulkhead behind the chair, and inside was a compartment designed for personal hygiene. He stepped inside and was told to disrobe, and place his dirty clothing in the open drawer to his left. When his hand withdrew, the drawer disappeared with a sigh.
To his right stood a transparent stall. A clear tube big enough for a person to stand inside that rotated to reveal an opening. “Please enter the chamber,” the voice commanded.
“Hey, wait a minute. What is going to happen?”
“You will be cleansed.”
“Not sure I like the sound of that. Let me ask you this. Is it going to hurt?”
A pause. “No, James Thompson. It will not hurt.”
After the stall had sealed the door, a dense fog enveloped his body accompanied by a sweet scent. The mist was warm and relaxing, and his fatigue melted away. Too soon, the fog was sucked from the chamber and followed by a blast of air from above and below. Five minutes from entering the high-tech shower, he stepped out clean, dry, and refreshed.
The drawer was open when the stall door opened. His clothes, smooth and folded, waited inside. When he put them in the drawer, his jeans were stained, and the pant legs ripped. The shirt he wore more than any other included a widening hole in one sleeve. To his surprise, both now appeared brand new. In a matter of minutes the ship had cleaned, pressed, and repaired his clothes.
Above the drawer, a slim cordless razor sat on a small ledge with a mirror above. His hair and beard had grown in the past few months, and his reflection in the mirror startled him. The razor made quick work of his scruffy beard, and soon he was clean, shaven, and appropriately dressed.
Jim felt even better when he returned to the chair and found two thick cheeseburgers and a bottle of water waiting inside a rectangular recess in the hull before him. A small table that wasn’t there twenty minutes ago had grown from the deck next to the chair and provided him a place to place to sit and eat.
“I took the liberty of providing you with sustenance,” the voice said. “Please be seated, and I will begin your indoctrination.”
“Indoctrination to what?”
“The situation is easier to explain with visuals.”
A clear and sharp picture appeared on the bulkhead before him. A high-resolution image on a six-foot screen. It showed a twenty-something man standing by a shiny red Mercedes Benz. He was tall and good looking, with perfect blond hair and a confident smile. The ship’s voice began. “You are the third candidate I have tested for this campaign. This man was the first and failed very early. He proved to have insufficient motivation.”
The man and his car were replaced by another image. This new picture portrayed a short heavy set man in an expensive gray striped suit, standing before a line of well
-dressed people. He was older than the previous person, with white hair combed to perfection. His arm was raised, and his mouth was open as if pushing a point to an audience.
“This man also failed to pass the examination. He was unacceptable for several reasons.”
“How was he unacceptable?” asked Jim between mouthfuls of hamburger.
“The reasoning behind my conclusions is of no consequence to you. You need only know that you are not the first candidate. The individual components of the test that provide me the information I require can prove to be difficult.”
By this time the burgers were gone. Jim discovered he had been hungrier than he thought. The fact they were warm and juicy made them disappear quickly, leaving only greasy fingers. When he looked back at the table, the plate was gone, and in the recessed box was a white napkin ready for his use. “What happened to the plate?”
“The surface nanites have recycled it.”
“…and the napkin?”
“To clean your fingers.”
“I mean where did it come from?”
“The food and the napkin are replicated from elemental sticks I create and store.”
It was an explanation that enlightened him very little. “You can make whatever you want?”
“Yes—within reason. There are, of course, restrictions.”
Jim moved on. He knew a little about nanostructures. They were tiny machines with countless applications that many scientists found extremely exciting. “You have skin made of nanites?”
“Yes. I can reconfigure the interior as needed and recycle unnecessary items as needed.”
“So I don’t have to pick up after myself?”
“That is correct—to a point. I can provide you with a waste receptacle if you wish. Your assistance will make the nanites more efficient.”
“Glad to help.”
Jim was losing the ability to be surprised and used the cloth to wipe his hands. Then he asked an important question—well, actually two. “Who are you and where are you from?”
“I will answer the latter question first. I am from the planet Senara—a world some light-years from here.”
The voice continued, “My planet was once much like yours. Unfortunately, we do not have the same favorable climate conditions you take for granted. We are experiencing a prolonged ice age. I will not go into detail, but I am here on a mission. My world needs the help of someone from yours. It is a matter of vital importance that will affect the welfare of both planets.”
“You want my help? Why?”
“You fit the criteria, and my surveillance of you has been encouraging. In addition, James Thompson, you passed the first test.”
The view screen changed and presented candid images of him performing the tasks of everyday life; Jim leaving the gym, talking beside one of his homeless friends, and sitting outside his truck. There was a shot of him sleeping in his pickup taken with night vision.
Jim was alarmed. “How long have you been watching me?”
“My investigation began fifteen days ago. I prefer a longer trial period. However, I am pressed for time. I have done extensive searches on your profile in your planets digital network and gained knowledge of you. In the past, you spent three years manipulating ground vehicles in Western Europe and received an honorable discharge from the military. I am aware you were partnered with a female for a respectable period for your species, and my analysis indicates you maintain an open mind. It is possible I know more about you than you.”
Jim laughed, “That would not surprise me. My memory is not what it used to be. What I tell myself is I forget some things so that I can make room for new stuff.”
“That statement is not based on logic. Everything you ever experienced is still stored in your brain. You only lack the ability to access it.”
“Can you help with that?”
His question was ignored, and the screen before him split into two. Videos began showing Jim in the alley when he found the ship. Somehow the ship had cameras on both ends of the passageway, giving two perspectives of his actions. It saddened him to see what he looked like in his dirty, ragged clothes while dumpster diving.
“Was this part of the test?”
“Yes. These videos represent the conclusion of stage one and are meant to assess your curiosity, your inventiveness, and how you react to new data.”
“I guess I passed?”
“You managed to transport me discretely to safety without damage. Your fabrication of the conveyance device was ingenious and allowed me to elevate your intelligence score. Yes, James Thompson—you passed.”
“Well, thank you for that. I didn’t think the cart was that big of a deal. It wasn’t that difficult.”
“It might surprise you how many of your people avoid facing new challenges, and struggle when confronted with difficult tasks.”
Jim could not argue the fact that people sometimes feared change. Life is a lot easier when you stay inside the box. He decided to repeat his previous question. “And who are you?”
The drone/entity/ship replied, “My given designation would be meaningless to you, and cumbersome to use. You will need to assign a name that simplifies our communication. Let me just say I am an autonomous interstellar spacecraft, shrunk in size to minimize risk at high velocities and maximize the use of resources. My time is limited, and I require human assistance for an important objective.”
“First off, you did not answer my question. Are you the ship's computer? Are you a little bald, wrinkled guy sitting in a back room with a microphone and cameras?”
“I understand. I believe the people of your race would classify me as an artificial intelligence. The spacecraft I inhabit allows me to interact with the natural world. I have not been assigned a title you can associate with my physical being.
Jim needed to call him something. A moment's thought brought a solution. “I have always been fond of a name that seems to fit you. I think I’ll call you Vincent. You strike me as one that invites trouble.”
The Earthling imagined the search that would be initiated by the A.I. It would undoubtedly find a reference to the notoriously gifted, but tragic life of the famous impressionistic artist.
“The designation Vincent is acceptable.”
“Alright, Vincent. When do we start phase two? I have to admit I am a little concerned about where this is headed, but I’m up for an adventure. Tell me what you need me to do.”
Vincent hesitated—as if he required a few extra nanoseconds to record the transition from one test to another. When he continued, Jim thought he heard a touch of underlying concern in his voice. He got the impression Vincent found this part of the test to be significant.
“Stage two requires you to request something important to you. I have the resources to grant you whatever you desire. You can have as much money as you wish, or I can provide you with cars, airplanes, or your own private yacht. You can go wherever you want, both on and off the planet. Would you like to see the moon—close up? I will provide you with one wish and one wish only, to be used at your discretion.”
A flurry of possibilities swept through Jim’s mind. It soon became apparent he had no idea what he desired most. A gift like this requires a lot of thought. He said, “That is a lot to consider. Can I sleep on it and give you my answer in the morning?”
In response to his inquiry, a second panel slid open behind the chair. Jim got up and entered the compartment to find a traditional bed, with soft blankets and a pillow. The ship included a bedroom for humans. “I guess that’s an affirmative.”
“Yes. You are in need of a sleep cycle. We can continue the test in the morning after you have rested.”
He did not fall asleep right away. It was the first time in months he slept on a real bed with a mattress. Still, he had a hard time getting to sleep. When he did, the combined effects of the shower, the meal, and the sheer comfort of the bed resulted in a deep slumber. He slept so soundly he did not hear the banging when it began. For
a few hours, he was allowed to sleep as he used to until the outside world again intervened.
****
“James Thompson. Please wake up!” ordered Vincent. “We have a visitor.”
“What? I don’t have a sister,” he mumbled, before forcing his eyes open and sitting up.
“No. A ground vehicle is parked next to the one we occupy. I believe it is one of your authority figures, and the person appears to be searching for an occupant.”
The door to the bridge was already open, and Jim ran to it. “Is there a way I can see outside?”
The top half of the bridge disappeared, and Jim exclaimed, “Can he see us? I mean can he see you?”
“I activated the cloaking system after you entered. We are not visible. What do you wish to do?”
“Just hang on, let’s see what he does.”
The banging came again; muffled by the hull of the ship. The man was knocking on the back window of the camper shell and seemed quite insistent. “Hello. Is anyone in there?”
The windows were not clean, and it was dark. The beam from a portable torch lit the bed of the truck and swept the interior. The light moved on towards the front of the vehicle and reflected off a badge pinned to the man’s chest.
“It’s a cop!” groaned Jim. “Maybe he’ll go away when he finds no one home.”
The policeman attempted to open the cab doors and found them locked, then walked around to the back. There was the squawk of a radio, and then him talking. “We have an abandoned truck under the I-70 overpass. Send Elmer over with a tow truck, and I’ll meet him here.”
The short conversation concerned him. “We can’t let them tow my truck. Everything I have is in here, and I’ll never have enough money to get it out of impound.”
“You no longer require the use of this vehicle, James Thompson. I can supply you with all your needs,” replied Vincent.
“And if I fail the test?”
“You must trust me. I will not leave you worse off than I found you.”
Vincent Page 2