Station

by Jarrett Brandon Early

  And it was there that Hadder found it, backlit by startling light and submerged in shadow. But he saw it clearly, like catching eyes with a good friend in a crowded room. It looked back with the beckoning call of an old habit that promised one more good time while bringing nothing but pain. But Hadder had nowhere else to go. And was fucking curious. And needed answers.

  He marched towards the city in the distance, hopeful that it was more dream than nightmare, more heaven than hell.

  When judging distances, most people quickly learn that they don't know shit about it. Hadder was no different. He walked and walked; footprints instantly erased by the secretive winds. His form created an array of shadows, long and short in every direction, the show above painting the canvas below with dark and light.

  As he walked, Hadder's mind was blank, stripped clean of both thought and emotion from the trials of the past years. Electronic soundtracks echoed in his head, playing off wind-sound and emptiness. He strode with purpose, eyes focused solely on the city before him, getting slightly more substantial by the step, slightly less invisible, slightly more real.

  After what could have been an hour, the details of Hadder's destination began to fall into focus. At least, one significant feature became clear – the wall.

  The place was fucking walled in.

  Still too removed to approximate the actual height of the enclosure, Hadder was close enough to decide that two words could be used to adequately describe it - vast and imposing. But was it to keep the desert out, or something else in?

  As he continued, Hadder noticed a significant brightening of his desert surroundings. He looked up, expecting to see the moon receding in fear of the incoming sun. But there the moon still sat, arrogant in its rule of the night sky. It remained in the exact location as before, a Japanese flag draped over the heavens. It appeared larger, however, and was now radiating significantly more light than when he first set out onto the desert plateau, like a sun with the volume turned down. Hadder kept walking, willing to accept that an oversized moon that alternates size and brightness was par for the course here.

  Finally, under the serene face of the eccentric moon, Hadder arrived at what he prayed was a city. He stood in awe of the high wall before him, reminded of those that surrounded great cities of antiquity. Its earthen quality matched that of the desert floor, blending in with the barren landscape. It appeared to be more than two hundred feet in height, with a surface that would give no purchase for foot or hand.

  Hadder placed his left hand on the wall, leaving it there as he walked its length, much as he did back at the cave portal. It gently turned in a massive circle large enough to encompass several of America's great amusement parks, and Hadder wondered about the rides awaiting him.

  Thousands of steps later, Hadder's hand, still held fast to the wall face, ran over an almost unnoticeable seam in the earthen material. Like finding the end of a roll of tape, it was easier to feel the seam than see it. A slight difference in rock color was all that distinguished one slab from the other. Something else, however, clearly marked this area as something special, something necessary.

  Two feet above Hadder's head, painted in a red scrawl, rested the words for which he had risked what was left of his diminished life, seemingly traversing worlds and wandering aimlessly. In a slight double arch, much like a grandmother's wooden welcome sign over the front door, laid what he needed to read to believe.

  Welcome to Station.

  CHAPTER 3

  Marlin Hadder's eyes followed the faint outline of the door but were unable to locate keyhole, handle, or knocker. Seeing no alternative, he simply pressed both palms against the slab's cold surface. Almost immediately, Hadder felt a strange vibration flow through his arms as the barrier warmed to an uncomfortable level. Just before having to remove his hands from the now blistering wall, something invisible clicked, and the door swung in silently. If there were hinges present, they were entirely hidden and immaculately greased, leaving Hadder to believe that something more than sophisticated engineering was at play here.

  Slowly adjusting to the new shadow created by the open doorway, Hadder stood for a moment, still unable to wrap his head around where he was and how he had gotten here. A common mantra - this is fucking crazy – played incessantly in his head. As his pupils dilated once more, he began to make out another, deeper shadow in the darkness. Two golden eyes appeared as the shadow grew, moving closer at a measured pace. One hand was held up in an affectation of peace.

  "Greetings, greetings," came a calming voice like the bubbling creek behind Hadder's childhood home. The sound, still emanating from a golden-eyed shadow, continued. "Welcome to your new home. I know you've been through some real trials to find us. We all share in your suffering."

  Words stuck in Hadder's throat like a key as the man stepped out into the strange moonlight. He was a slight black man just shy of middle age, wearing trendy, well-fitting casual clothing that made him immediately appear engaging and credible. Smallish in stature, he barely reached Hadder's chin. What really stood out, however, were those golden eyes of his, two beacons that seemed to penetrate meat and bone to peer into one's soul. Hadder had yet to speak a word by the time the man was upon him. He held out his hand. And this time, Hadder took it.

  "Welcome to Station, my new friend. I'm sure you're feeling a mix of confusion and fear and curiosity and a million other emotions. I wish I could assuage all your concerns at once, here and now, but things don't get any more normal from this point on."

  Hadder heard the man's words but found himself failing to comprehend them all, so transfixed he was by the golden orbs that swam in the night air.

  The man noticed and cleared his throat. "I apologize for how my eyes must appear to you. One of the little perks of our fair community. Trust me, these will be the least of things to catch your eye by this time tomorrow."

  Hadder shook off the stupid look he was sure to be wearing. "Sorry for staring. My name's Marlin. Marlin Hadder."

  "No need for sorries. I'm sure you're quite flummoxed right now. Who wouldn't be, with that nastiness with the key and that musty cave and that trackless desert and this King Kong wall? It's almost enough to make a black man white and a white man honest." He smiled. "That was what we call a joke around here. Don't worry, you'll loosen up soon enough. My name's Miles, and I've been granted the pleasure of showing you around. We're all so very intrigued. You're the first new resident in quite a long time, and there will be real chatter about what that means. So please come in, there's a world for you to explore. Make sure to keep an open mind, lest you lose yours."

  With that, Miles turned and walked back into shadow. After a brief moment to collect his thoughts before realizing he had none, Hadder followed, completing the journey from one world into another.

  There really was a city behind that wall of earth. If one found the term city to be a bit strong, none could argue that it was, at the very least, a large town. Squat buildings, no more than three or four stories, sprouted up to Hadder's left and right. He turned around to glimpse one final view of the outside desert, only to find that the door had moved ninja-quiet back in place, leaving only the barest impression that it even existed.

  A monster moved to stand before the sealed entrance, and Hadder quickly came to understand Miles's veiled words.

  "Jesus Christ," he shouted, shuffling backward so fast that he tripped over his own feet to land hard on his ass. The man or thing that stood over Hadder was around eight feet tall and swathed in a thick layer of muscle not seen outside of film special effects.

  The monstrosity's skin was the color of a drowning victim, a pale blue with white scars crisscrossing his bare chest and face. He wore sturdy, calf-high boots into which were tucked pants that seemed to sparkle with starlight. He wore a jacket of the same material that was accented with a fur collar. No undershirt, of course, that would detract from the effect. To complete the look, his long hair was held tight atop his head in an odd ponytail, which fell
to the side to tickle his cheek.

  If Hadder weren't about to shit himself, he would have had to admit that he sat before a striking specimen of the highest order.

  Miles began to giggle from above and behind, an annoying high pitch laugh that sounded more witch than man, a break from his projected poise. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you about the guardians of Station. Most are gentle giants, really, as long as you do as they say. And they rarely say anything at all. They don't bite unless you're truly unruly. Then they leave permanent marks." Miles lent Hadder a hand and helped him up. "This one's Galba. He's an alright fellow. Some of them can be real thugs at times, but Galba's courteous enough." Galba stared down at Hadder.

  "You mean there's more than one of him?"

  "There used to be twelve of them. Now there's eleven."

  "What are they?"

  "They guard the Skirt and maintain a general peace here in Station."

  Hadder caught the use of "general peace," but thought better of asking about it. "What's the Skirt?"

  "We're getting a little ahead of ourselves. Let's get moving, and I'll try to explain along the way. We haven't had a new resident in a long, long time. Many are going to want to meet you. Many are going to have questions. Best that you're somewhat informed about your surroundings before the bombardment commences. This way…Marlin? Or do you prefer Hadder?"

  "Either is fine."

  "Well, just so you know, you can call yourself anything you want here. This place is a hard reset, in more ways than one. We were all obviously unhappy out there, so we've been given the gift to rebuild ourselves in Station. Here, you can become the person you always wanted to be but were unable to become. But make sure you select a name quickly, or some humorist in the group will christen you with a name you may find unbecoming. He or she will place it around your neck like a garrote, and there it will sit uncomfortably for the entirety of your time here. Pick one before it gets picked for you."

  "Is that how you became Miles? Or is that your real name?"

  Miles hesitated a moment, his face betraying something deep beneath those calm waters. "You have to understand something before we continue. Out there is no more "real" than in here. The Before - time prior to arriving at Station - is now the dream, was the nightmare. Station is real. Station is the now. Station is the reality."

  Hadder involuntarily flinched at the small rant, the speeding up towards a mania buried deep within the otherwise composed man who called himself Miles.

  Miles took a deep breath in and straightened his already immaculate clothing. "But to answer your question, I gave myself the name Miles. It is mine now, and it is who I am. Who are you? Who do you want to be?"

  Hadder needed no pause. "You can call me Hadder. I never hated who I was, just what I was."

  Miles delivered a smile that was not quite easy nor forced. "Up to you, my caucasian friend. And we continue." Miles motioned around as he walked. "So, this is Station, Hadder. Do you know what that is?"

  Hadder shook his head in the negative. "Still trying to process."

  "It's the end of the line. Well, it's the end, or it could be the beginning depending on your perspective. Some look at it as an opportunity, others as a curse. Which of those it will be for you will be of your own making."

  As they walked, the two began passing short buildings on the left, the size of small restaurants. The names of the buildings had similar themes, ranging from Live Again and Energizer to Good Vibes. Outside of several, people in loose white garb performed a kind of bastardized Tai Chi, chanting as they went through ridiculous motions.

  Miles shook his head. "I see you've spotted the Haight-Ashbury section of Station. These gentle souls are still searching as if Station isn't already the end of their quest. Crystals and energy and wavelengths and whatever other flavors of the month. Happy as heck to be here. Tiresome, but they can be a good time if you're in the right mindset."

  One of the white-dressed figures, a middle-aged woman with wild gray hair, ran up to Hadder excitedly. "Your aura! It's all fire. Wait, no! It's blood on fire! Who are you? I think Station has big plans for you. Or maybe you for it! Here, take this crystal; it will help focus your chakra."

  Miles intercepted her. "Please, Miss Star, let the man settle in before you hit him with your mumbo jumbo. Come on, Hadder."

  They walked on. Star continued to stare; Hadder could feel her eyes burrowing into his back. She shouted after them, "I see you, young man! And Father sees you, too!"

  Hadder shouted behind him. "I'm not that young, but thanks!" He turned back to Miles, "Father? Some Station deity, I presume?"

  Miles continued walking, staring straight ahead. He seemed to get a bit more rigid, but it was hard to tell. "In some ways. But don't get me wrong, Father is quite real, in the physical sense. That's what some call Mister Rott, creator of Station. Others consider him a god or a devil depending on your take on the city."

  Hadder almost tripped on a loose cobblestone in the walkway. "So, some don't like it here, I gather. Seems pleasant enough." And it really did. The footpaths were clean, the buildings in good repair. The air was crisp and clear. Looking around, Harder could see workers dressed in tight black skin suits tending gardens, fixing structures, and carrying loads. All in all, it seemed the sort of charming town that one might find in Canada, that wondrous land to the North, brimming with beauty and healthcare.

  Miles thought for a long moment. "Station's like a partially filled glass. Some say its half-empty, others half-full. Up to your outlook, I guess."

  "Looks like summer camp to me."

  "Only if summer never ended. And there were no parents to call to come pick you up."

  They kept walking along the cobbled footpath. Plentiful bushes and flowers bordered the path, all well-manicured and kept. "Looks like the grounds crew does a nice job," Hadder remarked.

  Miles laughed politely again. "They aren't complaining."

  While the landscape remained the image of tranquility, the characters that dotted the stage changed almost immediately. Where there were overly polite Tai Chi practitioners frolicking, there were now people in various forms of disarray, passed out on lawns in an impossible medley of positions. In other areas, drunken men and women hunched over crying, catching their tears in dirty hands. Far to the left, a man screamed at the large moon, accusing it of stealing his child.

  "Miles, what the hell?"

  "Oh sorry, Hadder, I've been here so long I forget how strange it can appear at first glance. Station tends to organize itself according to the disposition of its residents. Back there are the new age energy riders. This here is what we lovingly refer to as the Weep. You know the weepy fools that frequent daytime bars across America?"

  "The ones that never let me drink in peace."

  "Yeah, well, this is an entire area of them. Most got kicked out of the other areas. So here they are, feeding off each other's misery. Really should have done themselves in when they had the chance. The free booze, drugs, and time aren't good for their distinct dispositions. And the rest of us have our own problems; we don't need to listen to theirs."

  "Seems like a terrible place."

  "Looks like small-town America to me." Hadder couldn't disagree with Miles's take.

  Miles continued walking, his pace unrelenting. "Where are we going, Miles?"

  "My job right now, Hadder, is to orientate you to this bizarre new world. I'm taking you to the best place to do that, so bear with me. But if our destination has you worried, that's where we're going." Hadder followed Miles's pointing finger, past numerous other squat buildings. In the near distance stood a cylinder-like structure with a flat observation area at the top, a middle finger pointing to the heavens. "Please hold all questions until we get there. Better to see it for yourself. Otherwise, I'm tinkling into the wind here. For every drop that goes forward, another flies back to sprinkle my face, and I'm not into that. But if that's your bag, some Bars will accommodate you."

  "Bars?"

&
nbsp; "We're almost there." He took off faster without answering Hadder's question.

  On they walked through the Weep, passing men and women alike, but predominantly older males, a depressing slice of ennui in an otherwise lovely environment. Even amidst this melancholy, however, everything was maintained but the people. More squat buildings faded in and out of view. Broken Dreams on Hadder's left, The Regret to his right.

  Hadder squinted to read other names. "Miles, what are these buildings?"

  "Bars. You can call them whatever you want to call them, but most of us refer to them as Bars. Places to relax, sleep, and party. For some, places to get completely messed up in. For others, carnal pleasures dominate their time in a Bar."

  Hadder couldn't keep the wonder from his voice. "These are all bars? I haven't seen so many in one place since Thailand. Is there anything else here?"

  "Yeah." Hadder could tell that Miles wanted to get to the Perch fast, hoping to deliver a speech that would answer all questions in one fell swoop instead of providing the information piecemeal.

  The Perch was reached several minutes after an inebriated man screamed, "Why did she do it?" over and over again as he sat Indian style in front of a bar called Better Times. Miles had no reaction to the outburst.

  Like a simplified, miniature version of Seattle's Space Needle, what the Perch had in height, it made up for with a lack in charm. It was a simple metal cylinder with a spiral staircase entwining it, speeding its way to the top. At its pinnacle, there was a simple circular platform with a polished guardrail protecting its edges.

  Up they went, more than 75 feet above the ground. Miles had scampered up ahead and was leaning dramatically against the rail when Hadder broached the platform. "Glad you could make it." Miles threw his arm out and turned in a circle, ending with a theatrical flourish that would have made any two-bit magician proud. "Welcome to Station. This is your city. This is your life. There is nothing else."