Abel

by Zack Metcalfe

Chapter – 19

   

  I now required more attention than my sister. How embarrassing. I could only move at a limp, and rarely would my family allow me to go anywhere alone. Someone would always be under my arm, helping me on my way. After a week in the medical room, I improved. As usual, my family fed me more than my share, took up my chores, and refused to blame me for my shortcomings. Things like this had happened before, an unfortunate side effect of a playful mind. I felt my family wasn’t giving me enough grief. I deserved it. My state of mind was certainly bizarre, but it was I who lost control.

  According to my father, he found me in Robert’s room, lying on the bed. Apparently, I had shattered the shards of mirror with the persistence of a madman. I threw them, twisted them, and even crushed them beneath my feet.

  No one else knew why.

  I knew why.

  I remember what the mirror showed me. I remember its lie. I remember the music, so powerful and unyielding. The music was wrong.

  So I smashed it.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  My father was supporting me, guiding me through the route he and I had managed to open. Thank goodness for him. Had he not worked so quickly, had he not come after me, had he not fought so hard to get me to help, I wouldn’t have survived.

  As we walked…as I limped, I noticed the route was clear. No doubt the family had been hard at work. Even lights had been activated.

  “This place has improved,” I commented.

  “Just wait until you see the command deck,” my dad insisted. “Your brother has been very thorough."

  The painting of Earth came to mind. It was obviously painted with bare fingers, using colours only a mind as dull as mine could conjure, but it was still beautiful. I admired it in my mind’s eye, focusing on the creativity and detail my brother described. Then, for whatever reason, the image slowly dimmed. It didn’t vanish, only became darker, threatening. I recalled Mary’s statement, then Robert’s, their cryptic descriptions of Earth in its final moments. Sure enough, the painting of Earth became foreboding. It was a mystery to me, how a planet could inspire so much fear. I still didn't know what happened the day Earth was abandoned. I felt, however, the answer would be inescapable in time.

  We entered the command deck. The change truly was astounding. There was good lighting, no visible dust, and most of the stations were functional. It felt oddly welcoming, perhaps a reaction from Robert. Following my instruction, my father brought me next to the leading most terminal. With delicate movements, I shifted my weight from my father to the station. I longed to be under my own power, even if it restricted my mobility. My father stepped back cautiously, until he was confident I wasn’t about to fall.

  I continued to look around. What captured my attention most were the surrounding walls, covered with my brother’s paintings. Each picture was related to our journey. Many were of Earth, some of Mars, some of Luna, Earth's moon, a few of this ship. It was astounding how talented he was. These images were more vivid to me than the objects they depicted.

  Finally, I was face to face with the massive window before me. To my surprise, it was flawlessly clean, as clean as it had been for Robert. I couldn’t bring myself to look away, no matter how much the sight terrified me. There in the window was the glowing orb of Earth. My mind substituted one of my brother’s paintings, the one I believed to be the most realistic. Still, I needed no substitution for the black expanse of space. Eternity jumped out at me, engulfing me. I endured the intensity for now.

  “What do you think?” my father asked, smiling.

  “It’s…done,” I said, casting another look around the deck. “It’s…completely done…without me.”

  My father smiled again. “We thought you’d appreciated it.”

  I did. I was slightly disappointed that I didn’t get to contribute, but I knew that was foolish. I did find the damn thing.

  My father turned to the window. “You should be proud, Abel. You did something incredible.”

  “We did something incredible,” I corrected, carefully stepping away from the terminal.

  My father shook his head, so I stared at him curiously.

  “We helped you, Abel, but it was you who followed through. No one else could have done this.”

  No one else could have done this.

  It was true.

  I couldn’t help but smile myself. No genetically perfect, strong, educated, sane minded person could have done this.

  My father turned to the window again, and I watched his smile fade. He narrowed his eyes, stepping forward for a better view. He looked puzzled. I watched him, and then turned to the window myself. I saw nothing strange, though my vision wasn’t reliable.

  “Is there something wrong?” I asked him. His stare became narrower still.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked with an eager curiosity. I looked to the window again, focusing on the planet.

  “What are y…” I began, but was rendered speechless. I saw what had caught my father's eye, but just barely. There, on the planet’s surface, was a subtle change in colour. It was difficult for me to be sure, but in the centre of what appeared to be a vast mountain range was a speck of blue. Could it be water? Not only was there blue, but the atmosphere laced amongst the mountains and their peaks looked…different. The air looked...clear somehow, crisp. And the ground wasn’t a deathly grey…but a healthy brown. This place was nowhere near the oceans.

  “That looks like inland water,” my father commented. "It's nowhere near the oceans...in the mountains...and I see...white clouds." He stepped still closer. "Fresh water...It doesn't seem possible. Abel, are you seeing this?"

  “Yes,” I answered. “I can see it...”

   

  __________

   

  My sister threw her arms around me joyfully. She hadn’t believed me before, not really. It wasn’t something you could take on faith. We stood on the command deck now, all of us, celebrating for having done the impossible. My sister and I were both leaning on each other.

  “I told you we’d find something!” I said in my sister’s ear, as I held her close to me. “I told you!”

  “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I can’t believe there is anything left on this planet!”

  My mother and father were standing together, locked in the most wonderful embrace. They were both crying quietly, years worth of struggle melting away. They looked cute, for lack of a better description, my father’s strong arms wrapped tightly around my mother’s short, delicate body, and my mother clinging back.

  My brother was kneeling in front of the window, enthusiastically painting yet another picture of the planet before us. He claimed it was his final version.

  We had no promises. We had no facts. We didn’t know what exactly we were seeing down there, but that didn’t matter. Our greatest fear on this journey was that we'd find nothing. We feared reaching a planet that could offer us only a place to die. This wasn’t the case today. Today, as the planet slowly turned to show more of its face, we found something.

  The same hope was racing through all of our minds. We hoped the air was breathable. We hoped the water was drinkable. We hoped the soil was fertile. Most of all, we hoped a garden was possible.

  We had the plants. We also had hope. Maybe this time, that would be enough.

  “Now we just need a way to reach the surface,” Cain observed. He didn’t do so pessimistically. He spoke with the glimmer of hope. The prospect of reaching a planet’s surface from orbit didn’t sound all that daunting to my family. We managed to take a ship from the wastelands and use it to reach a distant planet. Few things were intimidating to us, and nothing was impossible.

  My parents parted slowly, wiping away lingering tears.

  “If I know my son,” said my mother, “he’s already narrowed down our options.”

  Cain chuckled, adding the finishing touches to his latest painting. He stood up and turned to
face everyone.

  “If I know my brother,” he added, “his options aren’t going to be easy.”

  I nodded.

  It amazed me sometimes, how simply they could anticipate me. Granted, my plans were often of the insane sort, but sometimes that's what it takes to solve a problem. I've proven that.

  “It’s going to take everyone working together,” I said. “There can be no mistakes.”

  Everyone waited patiently for me to continue.

  “We’re going to land the ship.”

   

  __________

   

  My suggestion for reaching Earth’s surface may sound like the obvious choice, but I assure you, it wasn't. An atmosphere is a very unforgiving expanse, and passing through it requires a great deal of planning. I've learned, by studying my ship and its computers, that most spacecraft were actually built in space. They were designed with the ability to land, but just barely. My ship had been landed in the past. Hopefully it could do so again.

  I spent hours in the engine rooms, modifying more than I would have liked. The more changes I was forced to make, the greater the chances for error. It was hot here, one of the few places on the ship with temperatures this high. I was sweating, lying awkwardly on my back under one of the machines. I didn’t know its name, or what it was even meant to do. I only know what I had to make it do. That was the case for most machines on this ship. In fact, that was the case for the ship itself. I didn’t know what it was called, and didn’t care. It was ship, because that was the need it filled. It didn’t need a name to distinguish it from all others, because as far as I knew, there were no others.

  I finished my task, crawling out. It was no easy feat. Not only was I weak and in a confined space, but my hands and feet weren’t of much use. They were wrapped tightly enough to keep my wounds clean, but still allow me to work. The bandages didn't take the pain away. I got to one knee, and looked down at my trembling hands. I wasn't an able bodied person to begin with, but these injuries took me to a whole new level of uselessness. I hated this feeling.

  I looked around for something with which to support myself. I still couldn't walk very well, but I'd stubbornly left my cane in my room. After crawling around on my elbows for hours on end, I regretted not bringing it. I tried resting my fists on the machine I had just tampered with, but my upper body was far too weak lift me. I tried using my fists to push myself off the ground, but my wounded hands complained. The stinging pain came washing over me, and I buckled, falling to one side. I prepared myself for the sharp impact, but it never came. Someone caught me.

  I opened my eyes in surprise, looking around to see my saviour. It was Robert. At first I was alarmed. Last time I saw the man, I almost died. My fears subsided after a few seconds. Robert looked like he had after reacting to my question in his room days ago. He was animated, translucent. I could see colour in his skin, and emotion on his face.

  “Ready?” he asked, getting a grip under my arm.

  I nodded, and with his help, I stood. It was still painful, but bearable. He led me to a railing. I leaned on it, still quite shaky, and Robert stepped away.

  “Perhaps you’re more stupid than brave,” the man commented, looking me over.

  I was offended. I didn’t know how else to be. Turning as fast as I could, which wasn’t very fast, I faced Robert. I was surprised to see a small and harmless smile on Robert’s face.

  “A joke,” he assured me. It became apparent in that moment how long it had been since I’d heard one.

  “I can handle myself,” I told him. “My family has other things that need to be done.”

  “I know,” he said. “I was referring to your intentions with this ship, not your working habits. I mean to say that landing this ship on a dead world is…”

  “Insane?” I finished.

  “Abel,” he said, genuine compassion appearing on his face, “You’ve accomplished so much. You’ve created a place to live from a scrap of a destroyed world. I just don’t understand why you insist on throwing all that away.”

  The comment took me aback, mostly because it was from Robert. There was merit in his words. I realized how truly insane my intentions must seem to an outsider. Why, if I had something to eat, drink, and a warm place to sleep, would I attempt landing on a dead planet? I had an answer, of course, but it might not make enough sense to someone like Robert.

  “Because I don’t believe there's anything left for us here,” I answered.

  Robert gave me a look, clearly asking for more.

  “My family and I…have survived. What we want is to live. If there is the slightest chance that there's something more on this dead world, then it’s worth my life to find out. There is nothing more for us on this ship…”

  I at least made some sense to him. Of this I was sure. Simple survival didn’t mean much to us anymore. We couldn’t reproduce. Our water supplies would run out eventually. The reactor wouldn't last forever. I didn't even know how long my ship would survive out here. With so many variables working against us, the chance was worth taking.

  “Maybe…” Robert said. “Maybe there is something more this ship could give you.” He pointed a long finger at my chest. “Your shirt is torn. Come with me.”

  I looked to where he had pointed. Sure enough, a large portion of my shirt had been lost while under the machine. Looking up, I saw Robert walking away with the expectation that I would follow. I did so. My work could wait.

  The journey was surprisingly long. We were traveling to the rear of the ship, near the water storage pools. We were exploring areas I had never seen. These older corridors frightened me. They were longer, darker, and carried echoes much farther. That was enough for me to avoid them as much as possible. Fortunately, I had company, so to speak. It made me less fearful, and a little more confident turning corners. It was almost as if Robert was carrying my fears and doubts. He was taking invisible weight off my shoulders. For all I knew, I was doing the same for him.

  I did my best to memorize our route, to form a more complete map of the ship in my head. It was an egotistical habit of mine. I had to know my ship as well as possible, better than any other. The fact that Robert knew where we were going, while I didn’t, bothered me.

  “Where are you leading me?” I asked.

  “You will see,” he assured me. “We are very close.”

  “I’m not one for surprises."

  “No,” he agreed, “but you’re clearly one for patience.” He smiled at me, then gestured to the surrounding ship.

  “Sometimes," I answered, "when the situation demands it.” My voice sounded near hostile, but Robert ignored me, still grinning. I was confused by his rather sudden change in character. He wasn’t a ghost anymore. He was starting to behave downright…human. I found it disconcerting.

  Our destination was a solid wall at the end of a wide hall. I looked at the wall, puzzled. I then looked back down the hall, then at every visible surface. It was dark, and there was nothing.

  I knew this place. There were many of them at the rear of the ship. I always assumed they were dead ends.

  Robert walked slowly toward the wall. He placed one hand on its surface and pushed, but nothing happened. I thought he may have drifted into some kind of incoherency, but held back my judgement for now. He moved his hand and tried again. Still nothing. He moved it a final time, but only needed to apply modest pressure. A section of the wall literally flipped, replacing the flat metal with a small terminal.

  “This was always a design flaw in my opinion,” Robert commented, typing in a few numbers.

  I limped forward, eagerly trying to get a better look. Robert was finished with the terminal before I got too close, flipping it back into the wall. Then, slowly, and with an awful racket, the large wall began to move aside, metal grinding on metal as it went. Beyond was a small chamber, I guessed for storage. The uncreative and bland appearance of the place told me as much. Inside were a series of containers, standing randomly about. Robe
rt marched forward, pulled off the lid of one, and reached inside. This was only apparent to me because of the noises he made. I could barely make him out in the dark.

  “Here!” he shouted.

  From the dark materialized a shirt, grey, old, but intact. It was aimed rather well at my face, so I caught it. Observing it, I began smiling.

  …The shirt was clean.