by Greg Curtis
Knowing it had to be his top priority he’d stopped building his forge for a day or two, and taken up hunting. It was a skill he had absolutely no natural ability for, and after endless futile spear throws, he’d switched to trapping. The gophers were the best targets he’d quickly decided. Though they looked nothing like gophers, the principal was the same. Large, relatively slow moving worm like things that lived in burrows and occasionally popped their heads out, usually at dusk. But at least they were furry. Hungry as he was he couldn’t have eaten a real worm.
His plan was simple. It was also all that he could manage. He sat in a small crevice immediately above the colony of burrows, with a hand full of crude spears and waited. The sun was close to setting, and he’d left a pile of the long grass he knew they ate, immediately below the colony. Once the gophers came out and started feeding, he planned to throw every spear he had at them. Surely one had to hit.
It was a long wait. He saw the sun go down and gripped the spears tightly. They were crude, but the best he could make with nothing more than stone chips, sticks and grass twine. But this evening perhaps they were suspicious. Maybe they could smell him out there. Or maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him again. And in his clearer moments he knew it was, sometimes. Even concentrating as hard as he was, he couldn’t seem to keep his mind properly on the job.
Either way it seemed an eternity until he saw the first of the snouts appear out of the ground. It wiggled around a bit, he guessed sniffing the air, and then slowly wriggled its bulk out of the ground. It must have been a sign as a second and a third snout appeared from the holes beside it. It was a process that kept repeating itself, and in another twenty minutes he could see a whole family of the animals tucking into the grass he’d left for them. Perhaps twenty gophers. And there was enough meat on any one of them to feed him for a week, assuming he could eat it.
He rose slowly from his crouch, five spears in his left hand, and one poised in his right. Twenty animals, less than fifteen metres away from him, all tucking down into their evening meal. Even he had to be able to hit one of them.
Silent as a mouse he raised the first spear in his hand like the javelin throwers he’d seen at the Olympics, and then let it go. It flew through the air sweetly, directly towards the middle of the pack and he could feel that it was a good throw.
But it never made it. Even as he was transferring another spear to his throwing arm and watching the first arc down towards its target, it exploded into a cloud of dust in front of him. His eyes practically popped out of his head. How could a spear explode? Had it? Or was his mind playing tricks on him again? It didn’t matter though. The explosion had spooked the gophers and he watched them wriggling at nearly supersonic speed back to their burrows while he stood there, stunned. Still trying to take in what had happened.
“Now that’s not nice Doctor. Hurting those poor creatures.” The voice came out of nowhere, but it wasn’t unwelcome. He turned to face the speaker, a woman whose voice he knew better than his own, wondering if he was finally having his complete nervous breakdown.
“What harm have they ever done to you?”
“Karen? Doctor?” It was her. He could see her smile and glistening green eyes even in the darkening light. But it couldn’t be her either. He was light years from anywhere, and sentenced to die alone on an alien planet. He hadn’t seen so much as another person in over two months. Except in his dreams. Besides, if it was her, why was she wearing a Force uniform? He’d never seen her in anything other than her doctor’s outfit. And why was she carrying a disrupter?
He just stood there for the longest time, wondering if he was finally going completely mad. None of his hallucinations thus far had spoken to him. At least that he could remember. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t day dreaming again. Some of his dreams lately had been both intense and frightening. But worse was the understanding that they were only part of whatever insanity was slowly gripping him. Now he’d apparently entered a new phase. His hallucinations were becoming real. But at least she was a pleasant hallucination.
“Well?” She holstered her weapon and put her hands on her hips, and he slowly realised she actually wanted an answer, just as if she was really there.
“I was hungry.” Surely it was obvious. If from nothing else, his serious weight loss. And the fact that he was now not only suffering from hallucinations, he was talking to them. But then would a hallucination know that?
“That?” She pointed at the burrows where the creatures had sprinted back to. “It’d likely kill you. The proteins, the amino acids here, they’re all wrong. Even if you survived the tryptophan overdose, and the natural alkaloids, the lysine deficiency, mineral and vitamin deficiencies, and manganese levels would kill you in six months.”
“I don’t have six months. They took everything from me at the prison ship. And I don’t have any other food.” Surely she knew that. Didn’t she? How could a hallucination not know? And why was she even asking or for that matter, why was he telling her? Either way she didn’t respond.
“And what’s with the skirt?” He looked down hurriedly, wondering if he was exposed. It was more than possible with the limited ability he had developed at weaving. Likely in fact. But there was no sign of it falling apart around him, as several others had. Besides, why should he care? She was surely only a pleasant delusion. Except that while a daydream should be pleasant, she was being anything but. Maybe even his own subconscious hated him. But then he knew many of his delusions were frightening, even if he couldn’t remember what they were about. Maybe this was one he’d had before and simply forgotten.
“Come. Show me your capsule.” Her voice had gone hard for some reason, and he wondered if he’d done something wrong. Maybe she just didn’t like the thought of hunting, which made sense. He didn’t like it after all, and she was a doctor. A doctor with a gun, but still a doctor. But if she was a delusion of his mind, why did she have to be mean? Couldn’t they just go to her place and make love as he’d dreamed of? He asked her and got no answer.
Instead, after more prodding, he led her back towards his modest home such as it was, past the stone kiln and partially assembled forge. Once there though she ordered him to stay and wandered inside while he wondered if he was in more trouble. Although how could he be? He hadn’t done anything except try to survive. But then again what more could they do to him than they’d already done? And how could he be in trouble with a figment of his imagination?
“Where’s the food dispenser? The water still?” She emerged from the cell and barked the questions at him like a policeman, and instinctively he backed off, for a while thinking that she was angry with him and unsure why. He didn’t actually know how to answer her. He didn’t even know quite what they were and he had the strange feeling she was accusing him of having lost them. Yet he was sure he’d never had them. He just shrugged and mumbled something.
“Your med kit? Clothes? Blankets? Toiletries? Survival manual?” He shrugged some more. She might have noticed his grass skirt, woven flax like blankets and the fact that he hadn’t shaved in two months. It wasn’t a fashion statement.
“Did you eat any of the animals or plants here?” For a moment she sounded worried and he wondered why. Perhaps he’d committed another crime. Meat eating. But he nodded anyway. Whatever he’d done, he wasn’t going to lie about it. Not to her. Not even to a delusion of her.
She pulled out some sort of scanner and started playing it over him.
“Dear Lord you’re a mess. Advanced systemic poisoning, with at least a dozen different toxins. It’s a wonder you can stand. You’ve lost nineteen kilo’s in weight, you’re badly dehydrated, suffering from multiple deficiencies already, there’s some sort of fungus growing between your toes, another on your eyes and a couple of parasites in your intestines.” What did she expect he wondered? He’d been sent here to die. He knew it even if they hadn’t said it plainly. He held his tongue.
“And you need a bath.” She wrinkled her nose at
him.
“There are big things swimming in the river.” It was all the excuse he could come up with. He didn’t want to go swimming with them. Ever. Some looked as though they could swallow him whole. But why was he apologising to a hallucination?
“Well there’s nothing swimming on the Ocelot. Let’s go and get you cleaned up.”
“Go?” For a while he just stood there, wondering what she meant. Go? Go where? There was nowhere to go. He’d been right around the local woods when he’d first landed, when he was fitter, and he knew there was nothing of any value to him anywhere other than his base. And he didn’t want to leave his capsule. It was his only safety in this alien nightmare. Leaving it would be suicide. All of a sudden his delusions were trying to kill him.
He planted his feet firmly and then sat down outside the capsule determined not to move. No matter how many strange tricks his mind was playing on him, he knew he couldn’t afford to leave the only refuge he had in this place.
“Get up.” She actually screamed it at him, and he realised his once pleasant delusion was now becoming a nightmare as she slowly became angry with him. But he still couldn’t afford to leave and sat firm on the ground. Then he felt hands on his shoulder, and realised his fantasy was becoming solid. That scared him. He remembered hearing stories of people who’d been physically touched by their ghosts. Usually ship captains, alone in space for a long time. But he’d never heard of one who’d survived such an experience. When the ghosts came calling, you knew it was bad. When they touched you it was a sure sign you were near the end.
It was only after a second Force officer showed up and started indicating that he should follow him, and then tugging at him as well, that he realised that they really were determined to take him somewhere. With or without his consent. Somehow they hauled him to his feet, and then when he refused to go, started dragging him away from the capsule. And they were strong. Far stronger than him.
He panicked then, and started screaming like a little child, but there was nothing he could do. Somehow it seemed, his madness had become stronger than him.
In short order they had actually dragged him so far away from his home that he knew he was lost. He couldn’t get back. With the last fragments of his sanity he suddenly realised his danger, that his death was so close, and he tried even more desperately to break free. He didn’t want to die. But he couldn’t. His ghosts were stronger than him. Far stronger. And they were angry. From where it came he had no idea, but a stinging pain made itself known across his cheeks and he realised they’d slapped him. Surely he thought even in his shock, illusions shouldn’t be able to do that. But these ones could. Not only that but they could do more as he found his arms twisted cruelly behind his back, and he was forcibly marched away.
From there he was escorted by them and yet another Edenite Force officer who’d arrived out of nowhere, to a small shuttle, which had landed a mere five minutes from his capsule. And he’d never heard them land. Seeing it though was another powerful shock to his system. Seeing Karen and the others had been staggering enough. But at least he could chalk them up to some sort of delusion.
The shuttle though was different for some reason, though he couldn’t quite grasp why. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t understand how he could imagine a shuttle. It was that it stood there in front of him, solid as a rock. No matter how many times he blinked or turned his head, when he turned back, there it was. And it was solid. As he approached it, he could feel the warmth coming from its drives even three or four metres away. And the touch of the metal under his fingers, that was something else again. He pushed hard against it and it resisted. He tapped it and he could feel the impacts on his knuckles, and hear the sounds it made.
While he stood there, doing nothing but feeling the metal skin of the shuttle, trying to take it in, hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders again, causing him to jump, and then guided him firmly inside. Once there he was hastily strapped down in a chair, and then quickly ferried to a much larger ship in orbit. Even as he was trying to deal with the concept of antgrav drives at work, and feeling the fluctuations they were making to his weight, he saw the new ship in the front screen. It all seemed so real and yet he knew it wasn’t.
It wasn’t the Targ though. It was nowhere near that large. In fact he suspected, though he couldn’t be sure, that it was one of the two hundred man mini-warships the Targ carried. He’d never been allowed to get close to one before.
On board he was greeted by more familiar faces. Halco and Ryal, both of who were waiting at the docking bay when the shuttle landed. It was when he saw them, that something inside of him finally cracked. He knew then that he was dying. That his mind had finally gone to pot, and that he’d fully entered the dream world. But for some reason it wasn’t important any longer. He’d known he was doomed before he’d left on the transport. This was just his mind protecting him from the horrid truth as his body shut down.
For no reason at all he felt tears running down his cheeks, and the beginning of hysterical laughter in his throat. He was dying, but he was also finally free. There was no need to struggle any longer. No need to worry, to panic, or just to live with despair. There was nothing he could do anymore, except enjoy his last few hours.
Laughter welled up out of him, weak, hysterical laughter, and he gave in to it. There was nothing else to do. He simply let its painfully thin sound, rip through him as it would. He felt weak all over and yet filled with energy. He could almost fly, if he could control his feet enough not to fall.
“By the Divine you’re not well.” Karen was suddenly standing in front of him again, looking upset. But he didn’t care. Let her be upset. Let the galaxy be mad at him. It didn’t matter any longer. He just laughed some more, until she reached out with her hand, touched something to his neck, and his knees went weak.
It was the end he knew, and for some reason it didn’t scare him any longer. Instead, when the darkness came for him he let it flow right through him.
Death was death after all. And it was so much easier.
Chapter Twelve.
On the trip back to Unity and the Targ, Daryl spent most of his time once more in sick bay. It was becoming a new home for him. His flesh had been slowly poisoned by the planet’s atmosphere, and he was being put through a detox process. Actually he didn’t feel that ill. Mainly just a bit tired and occasionally nauseous. Much as he had on the planet. But at least his mind was clear. Karen, who had once more become his doctor, told him that was just because he was too stupid to know when he was being poisoned.
Lord it was nice to be abused by her. Especially when he was her only patient. So nice that he went out of his way to say completely silly things, just to have her shoot him down. Or telling really bad jokes, just to see if he could make her smile. It was becoming a game between them, and one that he thought they were both enjoying. Several times he’d almost thought he saw the beginnings of a smile curling up the corner of her mouth and crinkling her eyes, and teased her about it. Naturally she shot him down in flames, but he knew she meant none of it.
While he still had many things he wanted to say to her and couldn’t, at least it was a chance to know that there was one human being out there who didn’t hate him. It also gave him a chance to find out what had been going on in his absence.
First, as he’d assumed, they were heading back to Haven, or Unity as it was correctly known, where he’d be reunited with his cat and the crew of the Targ. Scratch meanwhile was in cat heaven, so he was told, playing with Tigger at Karen’s family’s home. Apparently the two cats were becoming friends, something he’d long suspected. The cat’s true loyalty was food and comfort and she’d found it in his absence. But he wasn’t too sad. At least one of them was finding acceptance with her people.
Meanwhile the Targ was undergoing the final stages of its refit, an extensive operation that had tied up hundreds of engineers for nearly two months. The damage done to the great ship was extensive, so much so that the Force was surprised it
had made it home at all. But they praised the work of the engineers and as one of them, Daryl was actually being considered for a commendation.
That amused him. As a scientist he was reviled, even though that was his calling. As a human being the situation was much the same. And as the man who’d started all this mess with a seventy-year old mystery, he was absolutely hated by his own people. But as a simple engineer fixing broken wiring, he was to get an award? Sometimes life made less sense than the so-called secret communications of quasars.
On a brighter note a certain Scientist Helos had finally been transferred from the Targ’s holding cells to more permanent ones on Unity. Apparently he was still in a lot of trouble. But not just with the Force any longer. His own university wanted to know how they could possibly owe so much to the Force. Especially when they’d given Helos what they thought was an ample budget and now were actually looking at having to cut back a lot of their other research programmes because of him. Helos would not be making professor any time soon, something that gave Daryl the odd moment of pleasure. He wasn’t above pettiness.
Karen could also give him at least some of the basics of his fabricated arrest. Though actually, as he was told repeatedly, he’d never been arrested. He couldn’t be, since he’d committed no crime. The charges against him were both bogus, which from his perspective was the important thing, and a clear violation of Force policy which was what Karen wanted him most to know. He had already been tried, convicted, sentenced and discharged for the same offences by a Force captain. Therefore, no one, not even the High Council of the Interstellar Community could charge him again for the same crime.