NEILL: Well, do you want to go? (A pause.) Five minutes. Cut the wire.
LOG OF DOCTOR THEOPHORUS
27.08.2144 (12:10)
Patient: Elijah Baker
The subject was unconscious upon arrival. A quick diagnosis determined that he had simply fainted, perhaps from an excess of vertigo. However, smelling salts initially failed to wake him; his face contorted repeatedly and he fell into an apparent spell of logorrhea. His words were completely unintelligible; they might as well have been another language. After a few repetitions, he fell into a constant rhythmic syllable that sounded something like “ya! ya!” His contortions extended to his limbs and intensified. I administered a sedative, and he lapsed into unconsciousness. I will keep him in sick bay for further observation.
(19:32)
The patient woke from an apparently deep sleep. After a brief physical examination, which detected no anomalies, I sent Baker back to his quarters and notified the captain that he requires at least a day’s rest. I attribute the fainting spell to overwork and space vertigo.
FLIGHT RECORDER TRANSCRIPT
Recorded 27.08.2144 (15:47)
BROOKE: I don’t know. The captain’s still down with him and the doc. GILL: Hope he’s all right.
BROOKE: What do you care? I thought you hated him. GILL: What—no! I never said that.
MOSS: Yes, you did, too, Luce!
BROOKE: The week he came on, what’d you say? GILL: I don’t remember.
MOSS: You remember. GILL: I don’t.
BROOKE: You remember. He ate your little box of strawberries, and you said something very cruel about him at mess. Remember?
GILL: I don’t know what you’re talking about. MOSS: You called him a “frog-looking fuck.” GILL: (laughs) I did not!
BROOKE: You did! MOSS: You did.
GILL: Well, can I help it? He does look a lot like a frog. Big bulging eyes. He’s got that wide mouth, and his skin’s really pale. He looks moist all the time. You ever notice that?
MOSS: Yeah, I guess he does.
DIARY OF ELI BAKER
28.08.2144
So the doctor tells me I had a “fainting spell.” And the captain says he came to my rescue, and leapt into space and pulled me back to the relative safety of the ship, and that I was insensible when they brought me to the doctor (why can’t they just go ahead and say “delirious”?), and said some strange things, and this all after we cracked the rock open and I saw—
What did I see? What did I do? I did what the captain wanted me to; the rock talked to me, and I talked back. “Split me open,” it said, “and I’ll tell you everything.”
And what did it tell me? We peeled it like an onion, and it said, clearly, there, in hundred-foot-high letters, “DO NOT FUCK WITH THIS ASTEROID.” And no one can see it but me. But the captain will want to blast it some more, in a few days, and I’ll do it. I’ll find the spots and set the charges. But not because he tells me. And I know when I walk, my body will rebel but I’ll walk anyway, and it will feel like my bones are going to rip through the skin as I’m torn two ways, between doing and not doing. I will not do it. I will not do it.
(I have to speak to Luce about that flute. It’s late, and God! She’s awful.)
LOG OF CAPTAIN JARVIS NEILL
29.08.2144
We have suffered a delay; Moss has been remiss in his duties in the foundry. The belt snapped today, causing a catastrophic failure in the line. Before he could shut it down, Moss was tangled in the malfunctioning machinery and three of his fingers were broken. We will lose several days in processing the ore. I may choose to continue the blasting as soon as possible, and wait to process the ore. It is imperative that the blasting not be interrupted. That’s the whole reason we’re out here, after all.
E-MAIL FROM DR. JEFFREY THEOPHORUS TO MRS. ALISON THEOPHORUS
(Indianopolis, Indiana, USA, Earth)
29.08.2144
My lovely Alison,
Things are getting interesting here. I’ve had more work than I initially expected; today I treated the foundryman for a crushed hand. He somehow managed to get caught in the belt and suffered three broken fingers on his left hand. The captain tells me these sort of injuries are uncommon, owing to the high amount of automation here. Nevertheless, it’s still inconvenient, and will slow down our work by several days, he says. I set the fingers and administered painkillers. He’ll be back to work in a few days.
I’ve had a stranger case, though. Yesterday, Baker, the geologist I mentioned earlier, fainted on a spacewalk for no apparent reason (beyond vertigo . . . I imagine it’s fairly frightening out there)—but when the captain brought him down to sick bay, he had begun to contort and spasm as if caught in some vivid nightmare. A sedative seemed to sort him out, but upon awakening he was considerably more distraught than the norm, especially considering the drugs in his system. He murmured the strangest things while he was under, too. I lack the proper psychiatric training (which I’m coming to regret), but it seems to be a case of paranoia or perhaps mild delusions awakened by his spacewalk. I’ve ordered him off-duty for a day (so that’s a third of the crew out of commission), and I’ll check on him again. I really do regret that I’m not sufficiently qualified to help him more . . . I saw something like real fear on his face, and it moved me, Alison. I keep thinking of our Jackie, and the look on his face . . . I’m afraid I’m getting melodramatic, my dear, which means it’s as good a time as any to put down this communiqué for a while. I’ll finish it later—adieu!
FLIGHT RECORDER TRANSCRIPT
Recorded 29.08.2144 (09:24)
BROOKE: . . . he saying?
NEILL: Don’t know. Sounded strange, though. Something about faces, or someone having no face, or not the right number. And something about goats? I do know he said “yellow” a few times, but don’t know why . . . and then the really strange talk started.
BROOKE: Is he okay?
NEILL: Well, that’s why—
(sound of a door sliding)
BAKER: You wanted to see me, sir? NEILL: Brooke, dismissed.
(sound of a door sliding)
NEILL: Sit down, son. (a pause of perhaps eight seconds) How’re you feeling?
BAKER: Doctor says I’m fine, sir. NEILL: How do you feel?
BAKER: I feel fine, captain.
(another pause)
NEILL: You don’t look fine. BAKER: Sir?
NEILL: You look like hell. Did you sleep at all last night? BAKER: (laughs) Well, yessir.
NEILL: Any . . . nightmares or anything?
BAKER: (laughs) Well, yes, sir, now that you mention it, I didn’t have the most restful sleep.
NEILL: You are on the seventieth step?
BAKER: Ah . . . I didn’t sleep well, no, sir.
NEILL: Well, I need you back in action as soon as possible, Baker. Get another tranq from the doc if you need it.
BAKER: I believe I’ll be okay tonight, sir, but I’ll keep that in mind.
NEILL: See that you do. I seem to have cut myself. I’m bleeding all over. BAKER: I don’t see any blood, sir.
(a knock on the door)
NEILL: Render unto Pan what is Pan’s. Come in!
(the sound of the door sliding)
GILL: Hey, cap. Hey, Baker. Sir, do you know if we have any more C23 carbon filters? I asked Moss, but he just gave me the runaround like he always does, and—
BAKER: Luce! I wanted to ask you something. GILL: (annoyed) What is it?
BAKER: Would you mind not playing your flute at night? I know I’m not the only one trying to sleep, and these walls let the sound right through.
GILL: I . . . don’t have a flute.
BAKER: (laughs) Okay, then who is it? Brooke? Come on, I know it’s you. It’s fine! Just try not to play it at night anymore, okay?
GILL: I don’t have a flute!
BAKER: (quietly) Of course you do.
GILL: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, captain, Moss is really a pain sometimes. I wonder if—
&
nbsp; BAKER: (shouting) COME OFF IT, YOU STUPID BITCH! I know you have a flute!
NEILL: Hey! Hey!
BAKER: You think I can’t hear you? I HEAR YOU! Through the walls, all night long! You idiot whore! You fucking ape!
NEILL: BAKER! Out of line! GILL: Captain!
(sound of a struggle—scuffling, grunting)
NEILL: Com the doc. Get Brooke up here.
BAKER: Let go! Let GO! You fucking idiot! You stinking slut! NEILL: That’s enough, Baker. Let’s go.
(sound of the door sliding)
GILL: (sobbing)
(sound of the door sliding)
NEILL: Well, of course I haven’t cut myself yet.
LOG OF DOCTOR THEOPHORUS
29.08.2144
Patient: Elijah Baker (09:35)
The subject arrived under the compulsion of Ensign Brooke, and had to be forcibly restrained; once restrained, I administered benzodiazepines, at which point he instantly lapsed into a deep sleep. He had suffered several contusions and abrasions under the care of Ensign Brooke, which I treated. I suspect he may have suffered some injury on his spacewalk, possibly a minor cerebrovascular incident, but I lack the equipment to perform a proper cranial scan. He doesn’t display any of the symptoms associated with ischemia. His condition may be psychological in nature, in which case I am unqualified to treat him.
(10:03)
The subject stirred in his sleep. His face contorted briefly, then relaxed. He suddenly sat upright, opened his eyes, and, looking straight forward (showing no response to my presence), said, “The tabernacle isn’t finished. I have to assemble the instruments. Well, of course I haven’t cut myself yet.” Whereupon he immediately returned to unconsciousness. I note this for the sake of completeness, should the case be turned over to a qualified psychiatrist later.
(11:44)
The subject awoke. He was alert and responsive, answering my questions. He had no memory of his somniloquy, and claims no history of sleep disorders. A thorough physical examination showed no anomalies (especially none consistent with a stroke); he appears to be in acceptable health. He has no recollection of his earlier violence toward Gill; as he showed no signs of resuming that violence, I released him (under the care of Brooke) to his quarters, where he is to be confined for the remainder of the day.
DIARY OF ELI BAKER
29.08.2144
(Luce and that fucking flute. Christ. And now—a drum? Is she playing a drum, too? Her and Moss must be starting a band down in the foundry. Unbelievable. He can’t keep a beat, either.)
Did I dream? Not in sick bay, no, but in my celestial slumber. Think back: there I was, sleeping peacefully, tumbling in silent slo-mo head over heels, the glowing spheres in all directions, no up, no down, massive boulders surrounding me. And before the embrace of the captain pulled me back to the ship, and before the doctor pulled me back to this waking world, what thoughts tumbled through my head?
Think, think. How much is imagination, and how much is fleshy truth? I see now a vision of a fantastic city—I see a landscape of impossibly high spires, twisting in beautiful mad shapes, and slender towers thrown aloft with seeming whimsy—and peaked roofs, or elephantine domes, crystalline and iridescent, shimmering like the overturned vaults of infinite heaven.
(Here’s my poetic side running away with me again—abort! Abort!) But how much do I imagine now, and how much did I really dream? As much as dreams are veracity (not much). But can I conjure such a sight in my mind’s eye? Was it perhaps—put there?
I was twelve feet tall, with a limb for every function I could devise, and happier than I’d ever been. Never knew that sort of happiness, and—God! I wanted to stay there more than anything. I recall the cosmos, stripped nude and laid bare and willing as a bride, ready to unfold her secrets and p l e a s u r e s — not the hellish cryptogram of these four walls, of these steel corridors!
But then—the light of reason, man’s reason, extinguished, and covered by the desert—the desert, so indifferent it might as well be malevolent. Hostile to life. The sands rise up—no, not rise, merely resume their station—and we are choked and drowned beneath the dry deluge.
But I retain something of this place where man, in the glory of his reason, rose to join the one true God (named: Jehovah, Kali, Ramses, YOGSOTHOTH, Jesu, Alhireth-Hotep), and walk hand in hand through the magnificent city called BAVEL. And if the sand should whip the feet of Ozymandias, there is the past glory providing foundation for present desolation.
So—we have this porthole, through which I view the cosmos, the illimitable barrenness, and it takes little imagination to exchange the lone and level sands for the lone and level vacuum . . . the colossal wreck not EGYPT but our vessel EARTH. An oasis in the endless anti-life! The vacuum abhors nature; I can feel the indescribable pressure of it crushing the pockets of life, rolling them in its palm; my temples pound; oases crack and dry and run to ruin!
FLIGHT RECORDER TRANSCRIPT
Recorded 29.08.2144 (13:03)
(A klaxon sounds)
NEILL: Report.
BROOKE: Registering a radiation spike from the asteroid, sir—engaging
EM shielding.
NEILL: Reroute power from auxiliary systems.
BROOKE: Shields engaged. (The klaxon stops.) Captain—do you see this? NEILL: Yeah, I see it.
BROOKE: The asteroid—it’s emitting some kind of—it’s glowing, sir. NEILL: Scan it.
BROOKE: Scanning. Geological stability acceptable. Radiation limits above average, but declining.
NEILL: We are on the seventieth step. Have you seen Moss?
THEOPHORUS: (via intercom) Captain, I need you in sick bay!
DIARY OF ELI BAKER
29.08.2144
And it happened that in the Year of the Dog, the Lord our God, who wears only the face of no face, sent the Tishbite to the land, where the people were sinful and suffered from their own damn foolishness, and the Tishbite—that is, Elijah—came skipping and dancing and playing a holy tune on his panpipes, and he warned Ahab and all the damned fools of the land—“Look, ye fuckups and retards, and see the product of thine own hand!” And they saw the barren fields and the burning piles of tires and the graffitied walls (on which was written MENE MENE TEKEL PARSIN) and they said, “Verily, this is our own damn fault and no one else’s. Ideas bring no action. Sex brings no fruition. The king has fallen and the land is blighted.”
And Elijah, whose name means The LORD is our GOD, cried merrily, “Now you get it!” and he smashed in their stupid heads with his mighty staff, and the blood did flow. And Elijah looked upon this and was satisfied, knowing he had done a Right Good Thing, and knowing he had fulfilled his purpose—that the Lord had called him from the barren plateau, from the infinite chaos to do this one thing, and, having done it, he knew happiness.
So Elijah receded into the gulf, to a hiding place beyond Jordan, and he was fed by ravens for two years. Black birds bringing morsels from the night, so that in the blackness, it was impossible to tell what was bird and emissary of God and what was darkness. So Elijah took all, and he left with his great secrets all packed up and ready to go.
And he showed them, by Harry, what was what. The priests of Baal and the knowledge of man all in one were set upon and butchered and the bones picked clean by birds and bugs, and Elijah knew he had done a right Good Thing and shown that there is no god but the true God, and his name is YHWH, the name none dare speak. The knowledge of man fell useless against the infinite majesty and inscrutable infinite power of our Lord— reason fell fallow before the unfathomable.
But Elijah went up to heaven one day, saying “You bloody idiots will never learn! I’m outta here!” and the desert, which never even noticed Elijah or Ahab or the priests of Baal, covered his works and all the works of his people with sand, and the reign of reason rose again, and great works were prepared. The priests of Baal constructed a ship to take man to the heavens, and they named it BAVEL II, and they freighted it with bleating calves, and t
hey really are gonna do it this time, you see, and Elijah was right—they never will learn. The one true God will have his due—a cathedral must be prepared. A tabernacle in the wilderness! And no man is happier than when he knows and serves his purpose.
LOG OF DOCTOR THEOPHORUS
29.08.2144 (15:23) Patient: Luce Gill
The subject entered sick bay at approximately 13:00, covered in blood and barely able to stand; she collapsed soon after arriving. A blow had been dealt to her right temple by some blunt instrument, and she has suffered a Grade V concussion. She remained unconscious for about 13 minutes, and upon waking had difficulty speaking. She also seems to have mild retrograde amnesia, and was unable to describe the events leading to her injury. However, an examination has satisfied me that she will have no permanent brain damage; I will keep her in sick bay for observation for the next 48 hours, or until symptoms subside.
LOG OF CAPTAIN JARVIS NEILL
29.08.2144
Gill was attacked, or else had some unfortunate accident. It is possible she tumbled down a ladder or stairwell. At any rate, the doctor has restricted her to sick bay for the next two days; Baker is unfit for work; Moss is injured—and missing. Once I learned of Gill’s accident, I summoned Moss to the bridge, and he failed to show. Brooke must remain at the helm, the doctor must remain with his patient, and Baker must remain in his quarters, so it falls to me to find him.
I searched the foundry and the cargo bays in the two hours after Gill’s accident and found nothing. Now I must set aside the search and plan for tomorrow’s blasting. Baker may be unfit for work, but I feel that the work must go on. Morale remains high!
LOG OF DOCTOR THEOPHORUS
29.08.2144 (19:06) Patient: Luce Gill
The subject has slept unevenly, and at 18:44 vomited without waking. I am concerned that the concussion has inflicted some permanent, if mild, damage. Continued observance proves necessary. She is also displaying somniloquy, murmuring something repeatedly in her sleep.
20:29
The patient has awakened. She is noticeably agitated; upon waking, she gripped my coat and said several times, “Baker. Baker.” I suspect we have the name of her attacker. I commed the captain at once. Brooke, however, told me that he was not on the bridge; he has been searching the ship for Moss, who is still missing. I must go look for him myself.
MIdnight Diner 1: Jesus vs. Cthulhu Page 31