Night
Mist
This 7,000 word story is one from my book
People First (iUniverse, 2004)
that grew out of an eerie night that began with a hellacious nightmare about
being consumed by a monster -- much like the opening dream in this story. I was
already paraplegic from my M.S., but still independent and able to care for
myself, but this dream was scary. Not at all my usual type of dream. When I woke up to get ready for my night
job, I found the reason for my dream: one of my cats (a fat, retarded
sweetheart) squatting on my chest and kneading me with his paws and purring
mightily. I might have forgotten
about it immediately, except for the fact that as I rolled out to work, my
apartment complex was embraced by an incredibly dense fog like I had never
before, and have never seen since.
It was like being in a dream... well, you guessed it: one dream thought led to another as I
wondered what the fog might be hiding.
Thus "Night Mist" was born. It yielded several very positive editorial
responses, but was either "too disability" or otherwise "...very
good, but not quite what I am looking for...", or words to that
extent. And I’ll honest:
it’s a "Mary Sue" story
(what fanzine editors call stories where the main character is a thinly
disguised version of the author) -- but so is "Examination", and here
it fits right in.
* * *
Night Mist
by
F. Alexander Brejcha
The constricting shadows that swallowed him
hungrily slowly drew the air from his lungs, and all around him he could hear a
deep rumbling that grew louder as the tightening grip on his chest slowly and
inexorably moved towards his throat.
Once again he strained his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his unseen
adversary, to get some idea of who was trying to kill him. But the darkness was complete, almost a
living thing in itself that just wrapped him tighter in an expectant choke
hold.
Rebelling against the attack, his stomach
lurched and the bitter taste of bile backed up into his throat and mouth. He swallowed harshly to force down the
stinging taste, secretly relieved by the distraction. But as he struggled on to free himself,
a strident beeping came from his right, and the terror that had gripped him
eased...
¶
Jack woke to the electronic beeping of
his alarm clock; it was nine p.m. and time to get up for work. In the dim light from the parking lot
that filtered in around the heavy roll-down blind over the window, he saw a
massive shape perched on his chest, fortunately claw-less feet kneading his
throat in time with its rhythmic purring.
Gently he moved aside the eighteen pound bulk of his fat surrogate son,
Wacky: a bastard mixed-breed cat
who was lovably retarded.
"Move, dummy! You're too fat!" He could picture the vaguely puzzled
look probably aimed at him right then and could almost hear the cat
complain: 'but Daddy, I was just
getting comfortable!'.
He was still breathing heavily from the
dream, but at least the surge of adrenalin had him fully awake and alert, which
was fortunate since he hadn't gotten to bed until after five in the afternoon.
Reluctantly, he reached over to turn on
the light.
The sudden brightness revealed a
befuddled-looking black and white whiskered face staring up at him, wide green
eyes blinking while slitted pupils shrank.
He pushed Wacky over further to the side and threw back the covers,
covering the cat completely as he reached up for the overhead trapeze to pull
himself up a bit. He twisted to the
side to take advantage of the usual waking spasticity to jerk his legs up and
over the side of the bed to get him into a sitting position.
Then, for a minute, he just sat there
staring at the waiting wheelchair.
He felt the warm lump behind him shifting briefly under the covers until
there was a sigh and a faint burbling snore as Wacky made the best of it,
settling to sleep.
As he sat there, he couldn't help feeling
a sense of foreboding, as if the dream had been more than just outside
discomfort invading his sleep.
No, that was silly.
He dismissed the feeling and pulled the
wheelchair in next to him so he that could transfer over and head into the
bathroom to shower and get ready for work.
¶
As he finished shaving, the feeling of
somehow being watched and measured by some intangible presence, grew
stronger. He sat in front of the
mirror drying his face slowly as lingering steam fogged up the mirror to partly
obscure his reflection in a strangely disturbing manner.
No!
This is stupid, he decided as he ran
a comb through his hair, vowing for the fifth time that week to get it cut in
the morning. It was time to get
dressed and get to work.
¶
An hour later, all doom and gloom
forgotten, he rolled out of the apartment in the power wheelchair he used when
going out and he twisted back to pull the front door shut and lock up. Then he faced forward again to take aim
before heading down the ramp to the sidewalk. But as his hand reached for the
joy-stick, he froze and stared out over the changed complex.
While he had slept the evening away, a
heavy fog had rolled in over the area, and as he saw the gently embraced
buildings around him, their geometric contours softened, he felt somehow
soothed by the billowing mass. It
had been a long stretch at work, seven nights with one to go, and he had been
getting edgy. But now, there was a
stillness in the air that seemed to reach deep within to relax him. With a smile, he aimed himself down the
ramp, muttering "Banzai!" under his breath as his tires slipped
briefly on a worn patch of the moist grit-paper surface.
He'd had to park further away than normal
because of the usual crowded Sunday-morning lot that had faced him at eight
that morning when he had gotten home, so he headed up the driveway to where he
had found a spot -- on the side of the driveway so he could drop the lift on
his van -- and he marveled over how dense the fog was. It was amazing how it swallowed up the
whine of the motor and the hissing of the tires on the wet pavement.
Then, he suddenly stopped.
Dense wasn't the word for it! He couldn't even see the cars right next
to him anymore! It was
ridiculous. He was only a few yards
from either curb and yet, he felt like he was miles from anywhere. Angry with himself for being spooked, he
moved the joy-stick to the side to feel his way to the cars on the right. But as he pushed on the stick, nothing
happened! He cursed and looked down
at the power gauge, shocked that he could barely see it. He peered closer, only to see that it
was dead! The LED bar-graph that
should have shown a full charge from being plugged in all day, was dark. Experimentally he pushed the horn
button.
Nothing.
A sudden wave of helplessness swept over
him. The power wheelchair gave him easy
mobility where a manual one would be impossible to use because of fatigue
problems from his multiple sclerosis, but with a dead battery, the chair was a
brutal trap that kept him prisoner.
He felt weakness overwhelm him and the world flickered.
He awoke? Had he blacked out? He didn't know. And if so, why?
With a curse, he reached back and down to
disengage the motors on the chair.
Pushing a 200-pound wheelchair with a 210-pound person in it was no joy,
especially since the wheels had no hand-grips, but it could be done on a level
surface. Bit by bit, he swung
himself around to the right, gauging the turn from the hand position. When he was facing to the right, he
started forward. If he could just
get to his van, he could use his mobile phone to call for help. It was at times like this that he hated
his M.S. with a particularly bitter passion.
Before long, his knuckles were bruised
and bleeding from banging into the brake-clamp and he was still blindly lost,
not even able to make out the ground under him. By now he should have reached the cars,
he realized, and sighing, he turned the chair ninety degrees and tried again.
After at least twenty useless feet, he
stopped again, confused. He
couldn't have missed the cars! He
should have hit a curb, if nothing else.
Getting angry, he cursed and rotated the chair again, trying yet another
direction, and then a fourth.
Nothing! All he was doing
was working up a good sweat and bruising the shit out of his hands. Feeling stupid, he opened his mouth to
yell for help, but nothing emerged.
Too startled to be afraid, yet, he tried shouting for help again. But while he did everything to yell, and
it felt normal, not even the faintest of whispers emerged! He tried whistling -- he was a damn good
whistler -- but nothing; not even the sound of air moving.
Anxiously he pulled out his keys from his
shirt pocket and shook them. Not a
sound!
Was he deaf all of the sudden? He couldn't think of any way to test
that, so he tried yelling a few more times, just in case. For the moment he was more angry than
afraid. He could just picture the
evening shift getting concerned as eleven o'clock came and went -- he was never
late, unless he got stuck in traffic, at which point he always called from the
car to let them know. He could see
them calling his apartment and just getting the answering machine with its
inane apologetic message and aggravating beep. Then they would try the car and get
another recording. Then they would
really get worried.
Thinking of the time, he peered at his
watch which was naturally dead.
Just like the chair.
He sat feeling helplessly frustrated for
a while, until something that had been nagging him finally penetrated. The driveway was not truly level, and it
needed repaving, yet he had been rolling across it as easily as if it was a
smooth concrete floor! On impulse
he took the left arm off his wheelchair and, holding on to the opposite side of
the chair with his right hand, he leaned over to plant a palm flat on the
ground, and he got another shock.
The ground should have been wet, rough pavement; but instead it was
perfectly smooth, silky soft and dry, and seemed to pulse with a faint life of
its own.
Now he
began to feel fear!
¶
For a while he just sat there, spiraling
depression threatening to overcome him as his dream came back to haunt
him. A true premonition?
Then he shook himself angrily. He was not going to let himself be
scared to death by imaginary dangers.
This was not some writer's nightmarish vision.
Think! What did he know?
First, he was no longer at home ('I don't
think we're in
He was close to being scared shit-less,
that's what! But he didn't see how
that would do any good, so he closed that thought away.
But it wouldn't be easy because as he sat
there wondering what he could do, he realized that the fog was rising around
him and growing denser, surrounding him with an overwhelming whiteness that
threatened to -- no did -- wipe everything away.
He was blind!
Actually, not blind. He could see the white, but nothing
else. Frantically he blinked and
shook his head, lifting his hand to almost stab his eyeball, but he couldn't
see a thing. Then the whiteness
grew even brighter and brighter until everything was pure and blinding light
that stabbed into his brain even when he closed his eyes and buried his face in
his lap. The light was more than
just optical, one corner of his brain whispered -- or was that a whimper? His visual cortex was being directly
stimulated somehow.
Then the light started to change. The intensity dropped until it was just
a pearly glow that seemed to bathe him.
He opened and closed his eyes, but as he'd expected, there was no
difference. At first it was like
sitting in front of a heat-lamp, its rays soothing him. Then the sensation -- hot, but not heat
specifically -- increased and changed to something else, something that burned
in to his very bones, cutting like a million tiny scalpels all over and through
his body.
Then just when he thought he would black
out from the pain, it was gone.
Like someone flipping a switch.
Once again he was soothed, surrounded by
a gentle pale glow that slowly tinged with color: Yellow, at first. Then it deepened in hue and ran up and
down the spectrum until all was suddenly black.
Blessed gentle darkness.
He wiped his eyes dry from the tears
provoked by the ever-changing stresses of the lights, realizing belatedly that
he could hear again. Double
relief! He heard himself
breathing... he hadn't realized how loudly... stress probably... except it was
awfully loud!
Then he noticed a growing and strange
double thumping in the distance.
No, not in the distance, all around him. Getting louder and louder. Thump thump... Thump Thump... Thump THUMP... THUMP THUMP... THUMP THUMP...
His breathing grew louder and louder also
as the ominous booming beat at him until hurricane gales buffeted him without
ruffling a hair... Damn! It was his own breathing and heart
beat! Accidentally, he jangled his
keys and cried out as a metallic blast rolled over him followed by a numbing
bellow of pain that assaulted him and forced him to cover his ears, cowering in
agony. But, like the light, there
was no relief.
Then it was gone.
In a strange way, the sudden silence was
as deafening as the assaulting sounds a moment earlier, but gradually he
relaxed and found that his hearing was unaffected as his experimental key shake
produced only its usual gentle little jingle.
About the same time he noticed an easing
of the smothering darkness that had been draped over him and he could see his
fog-shrouded arms and legs again, and could even glimpse the strangely
glistening floor he rested on.
Was it over?
¶
He didn't know how long he sat there
before it started again. First, he
found himself gasping for breath and hallucinating, and then he found himself giggling
helplessly as pressure changes popped his ears and the air was filled with the
smells of seashores and thunderstorms.
Temperatures were next as he was
alternately baked and frozen, and as he shivered under the freezing sweat that
had just covered him, he laughed -- just a tad hysterically, maybe. But in relief, too, since he knew now
what was happening!
While he didn't enjoy his tortures, none
had been fatal and most had been illusions; and finally they were making
sense. He tried to look and sound
confident as he glanced up -- as good a direction as any -- and spoke to his
invisible captors. He knew they
were watching. A bond of sorts was
beginning to form between them; he could feel it, somehow.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, Gentlebeings,
whomever or whatever: I hope you're
learning about us and I want to let you know that I understand what you are
doing, and that I don't resent it.
Well, actually I do, a bit.
But, I figure it's worth it."
Would he get any response?
He waited, but there was no reaction.
Mentally he ran through the sensory and
other tests he had been through.
Vision, hearing, pressure, atmosphere, temperature, and what? Direction and stress? Taste and smell were probably next,
though there had been no real pattern.
Mentally he flipped a coin, and lost.
Smell was next as he was subjected to a
wild and dizzying array that somehow never lingered and that ranged from
fragrances that aroused him physically to nauseating odors that literally had
him vomiting on the ground next to the chair. An embarrassing mess that was silently
absorbed by the living floor beneath him.
He ran surprised fingers over the dry and smooth surface. Perhaps the surface was alive in some
way.
Taste was next, as an amazing range of
flavors insinuated themselves onto his taste buds, the final one leaving him
with a gnawing hunger. A hunger
that soon faded and was replaced by boredom.
Then, hours seemed to pass without
anything happening, and he idly wondered why he couldn't seem to work up any
concern or curiosity about it. He
did notice happily that his normally impatient bladder was quiet and that
neither hunger or thirst seemed to bother him. What were they up to?
¶
Then he saw something out of the corner
of his eye. A fleeting glimpse of a
change in the fog. He wasn't
sure. He scanned around carefully,
but it was as if whatever was there knew he was looking and faded out as his
eyes crossed them. The only
substance they seemed to have was when he was looking away, and he could just
see them out of the corner of his eye.
He closed his eyes and tried to join the
scattered images into a whole, but it was no good. The closest he could get was an
impression of ever-changing amoebic forms that seemed to be only partially
present.
He felt excitement growing in him, just
like when he had watched the Apollo launches when he was a little boy. It was the same feeling of broaching the
unknown, of being on the verge of tapping into a whole new realm of
existence. Was he finally going to
meet his -- captors was such an ugly word -- his examiners? Already he was censoring his thoughts,
just in case.
True to his hopes, they flitted closer
and closer, seeming to float through the fog like fish through water, and as
they approached he finally got a better a look at them. They were like giant soap bubbles, the
long wavering kind you get with a large hoop and a good solution. They shimmered with a spectrum of
colors, but parts of them faded in and out as if they weren't entirely
there. Involuntarily he cried out
as one of them passed right through him, but all he felt was a cool tingling as
the being penetrated his body, emerging unchanged on the other side.
Then, he began to see a pattern to their
movement as they started dancing around him, circling faster and faster. As they whirled around him -- seeming to
absorb some of the fog as they spun -- they merged, forming a solid ring around
him that climbed up and filled in towards the top. Soon he was covered by a glistening,
iridescent dome that looked just like the floor under him. He started to feel queazy and
light-headed, like he was falling, but he wasn't falling, he saw -- he was
rising slowly as the wheels of his chair lost contact with the floor, one by
one!
He realized that the fog around him was
thinning more and more, and as it did, the floor began curling up and questing
towards the descending dome over him.
And as it changed its appearance, it was apparent that the "floor"
was simply another mass of the alien beings that had supported him and taken
him... somewhere, while he was unconscious. Soon, the bottom edge of the dome had
merged with the living floor and was creeping in around him until he was
totally enclosed in a shimmering and living sphere.
As the encapsulation was completed,
gravity disappeared fully, screened away somehow. The chair holding him floated upwards
gently at some unseen urging, and only his seat-belt kept him strapped in
place. He clenched his teeth in
anticipation of violent nausea that blessedly never came.
He drifted upwards within the living
globe around him until he was hanging almost in the exact center. And there he was stuck!
Suddenly a vibration filled the air and
he felt his clothes disintegrating around him. Then his lap-belt unsnapped itself and
the wheelchair was pulled away from him to be withdrawn from the bubble,
followed by his watch -- which also opened itself -- and the remaining shreds
of his clothing. Before he knew it,
he floated free, suspended in the middle of the bubble and stark naked. And embarrassed! Not just due to his nudity, but also
because his external condom-catheter and the connected leg-bag had been removed
along with everything else. Pretty
soon his bladder was going to wake up, and then his hosts would find out even
more about human physiology! His
hands clenched in frustration.
But after a while, boredom was again his
biggest problem. He relaxed and
waited for the next act, realizing that he was enjoying part of his
predicament. Except for when he
strapped himself into his standing frame to keep his tendons stretched and get
weight-bearing on his legs, this was the closest he had been to standing on his
own for years, and he straightened his body out to add to the illusion as the weightlessness
held him suspended. He started to
spin from his movement, but as something reached in to steady him, he
relaxed. For a moment, he
daydreamed, closing out the reality around him.
Or had he blacked out again?
For some reason he had the impression
that he had been studied further, having been 'turned off' again for a while.
Some time later, he happened to notice a
change in the appearance of one area of the globe, almost as if something was
pressing against it from the outside -- a giant finger against the balloon he
was in! He was the surprise gift at
a giant child's birthday party -- he laughed a little hysterically at the vivid
image.
And as the curved wall reached in closer
and closer, he could see that something was definitely there on the other side
-- and then a hand suddenly broke through.
Another hand followed, then slim arms until finally the whole body was
pushed through. It was a young
woman, about his age. As naked as
he was, but badly sunburned. She
was disoriented from being pushed through into his bubble and he reached out a
hand to help steady her, only to have it slapped away -- sending both of them
tumbling wildly until something reached in to steady them.
"Get away from me!" She held herself ready for defense as he
held his hands out, palms up.
"Relax, my name is Jack Barnes, and
I'm not going to hurt you. I'm
stuck here, too. Although at least
I didn't get fried like you did!"
It looked painful.
"They didn't do it." She tried unsuccessfully to turn away modestly. "I feel asleep by the pool... and
yes, I sunbathe nude. It's a
private pool. Do you mind?" She glared at him.
"Sorry." He carefully avoided looking at her
revealed body, which wasn't easy, and focused instead on her face. It was a pretty face, heart-shaped with
full lips and wide green eyes flashing with fire. And, without gravity, her hair floated
around her like an ebony cloud, a perfect frame for her features. He was suddenly embarrassed as he
realized he was staring, and she knew it.
Looking away from her face was no help, because his eyes were drawn to
her body, which was very definitely not in the poor shape that his was!
Trying to get his bearings again, his
mind seized again on something he had noticed. Or more accurately, that he hadn't
noticed. He tried to think of a
diplomatic way of leading to it, but was stuck, so he tried his best. Besides, he had to break the awkward
silence somehow.
"This is going to sound weird, but
I'm trying to get a handle on what they're doing to us -- you do know we're
being tested somehow?"
"Yea, by invisible little green men
from, wherever. I figured that out
alrea..." She started to snap
back, but stopped as she realized they were in it together. "I'm sorry. I'm Pam Ryan, by the way. So, go on."
He felt a bit tongue-tied, but got it
out. "Have you noticed any
need to go to the bathroom, or anything?" He thought again about another missing
reaction he was glad to use to broach the subject -- instead of his other
missing body response. His M.S. had
resulted in impotence for years, but he was sure even his body would have
reacted in some manner in response to her appearance.
For a moment she looked at him with a
mixture of confusion and annoyance, and then a wicked grin appeared on her lips
and she looked pointedly down below his waist. "Why Jack! Are you trying to tell me you're not
gay?" Then she laughed, seeing
his expression. "And I'd bet
that you might even be blushing right now, if you could." She reached out a hand to touch him
gently on the arm.
"I'm sorry, I needed ‑‑"
"-- to get a laugh," he
finished, understanding what she meant.
"It's okay" He
gave her hand a quick squeeze.
"I can't say I blame you.
And so I still blush..."
He shrugged. "It can come
in handy as an ice-breaker."
His turn to grin and they both broke out laughing for a while.
Then it was time to get serious, and she
began. "As a matter of fact, I
haven't had to go to the bathroom since I got here, at least twenty hours ago,
although I was unconscious for ten of them..."
"Twenty hours? Unconscious for ten?" He couldn't help himself as he
interrupted her. "How... Sorry, go ahead."
Her instant glare at his interruption
vanished as he apologized, and she continued. "About twenty hours, or so. And I hadn't gone to the bathroom for a
while before, either. And on top of
that, I'm in the middle of my period, and haven't had any pads for quite a
while, but... She looked down,
obviously embarrassed even though her face didn't redden. Another involuntary reaction that had
obviously been damped. Remembering
how he had felt without his catheter and leg-bag, he moved on quickly to take her
mind off it.
"Well, that settles that." It had probably been hours that he had
been floating naked in the bubble, and without a murmur from his bladder. "So, while they were taking us
apart and examining us, they put some things on hold, for whatever
reasons."
"I guess we ought to be grateful for
that." She laughed again; a
bit nervously but she was relaxing, just like he was now that he was no longer
alone and was starting to feel a bit more in control of himself.
But that brought him back to his question
of time. "Pam, how did you
know how long you'd been here, and how long you were unconscious?"
She looked surprised. "A watch of course, ever hear of
them? With a calendar."
"No kidding. But I had one too, and an electric
wheelchair, both of which were dead from moment one."
"Oh." Then she smiled. "It's gone now, but chalk one up
for pre-battery technology. It's
mechanical, and self-winding.
Remember those?" She
smiled again. "I got it years
ago. 'Takes a lickin' and keeps on
tickin'.'" Then she was
suddenly serious. "What do you
mean 'electric wheelchair'?"
He explained and her face clouded over. "I'm sorry, I didn't
know." Then she shrugged. "Well, scratch one idea."
He was confused. "Scratch what idea?"
"Well, I had this idea about us
starting up a pendulum swing and trying to smash through the side of the
bubble. It probably wouldn't work,
but it would have been worth a try."
He silently cursed his M.S. again, and
then thought of something.
"It was a good idea, if they would
have let us do it." He thought
of the invisible force that had stabilized him. "But are we still near a floor, or
ground?"
She bit her lip glumly. "Ouch! That could be a wee bit of a
problem." The she chuckled. "Life's a bitch, ain't it?"
He had to grin back at her, it was
infectious. And for a while they
just hung there with matching idiotic smiles on their faces, unable to think of
anything to say or do.
All the while, though, he kept having the
same thought. He was lucky. Chance had paired him with a companion
who was obviously as bright as she was beautiful, and who had kept her sense of
humor as well as her wits. Between
the two of them, they'd figure out something. He was sure of it.
¶
They didn't realize it, at first, but
while they had hung there, it had slowly been getting darker inside the bubble,
and as it sank in, they looked around a bit anxiously, drawing closer to each
other. Soon they were in near total
darkness until images started flitting across the inside of the globe. They were blurry at first, indistinct
and formless, but soon they took shape and Pam and Jack found themselves
staring raptly, even if they were a little confused. The fear that had begun prodding them
again gave way to curiosity as they sensed that they were finally going to get
some answers as to why they were here and who was holding them captive.
It was also dawning on them that the
bubble around them was not a prison, but somehow a bridge between two
worlds. The images appearing around
them were being offered to help them understand. They were guests more than anything else
and were not in any danger. They
weren't sure how they knew, but they felt it somehow through a bond that
was forming between them and their hosts.
It wasn't telepathy, not even empathy -- though that was close -- but
feelings of a sort were being transmitted to them along with the images that
surrounded them.
They focused on the display around
them. The first images were of a
fiery, coalescing mass of energy, huge and overpowering, but in turmoil. Chunks of its matter were being torn
loose and dragged away from the core, staying in tenuous, but separate
orbits. "We're seeing the
birth of the solar system!"
Pam guessed and Jack shared her awe as they stared at the scene. In one of the smaller orphaned orbs,
there was life, torn from the larger original mass, but still alive. It was not yet composed of separate
beings, but splinters of a whole, a fragment of a larger whole that had
survived the shock of the birth of the planets.
As the planet cooled, the life within it evolved
to survive the loss of energy, though it retreated from the surface to the
remaining fires within. Much of the
organism decayed and lost the spark of life. To survive, the remaining organism
changed further, splintering into individuals that were the same, yet
different. Able to exist alone, but
still forced to merge periodically to renew a core of energy and life.
Gradually the surface of the planet grew
hard and cold, and the beings were forced to retreat further into the dwindling
core, changing still more in order to be able to survive the reduced
temperatures. By now they were able
to live, for short times at least, away from the heat of the planetary core,
but it was painful.
Time passed and the beings dwindled in
number, only a few changing enough to be able to survive and reproduce as their
home died around them. By now they
were able to visit the surface and did so periodically, braving discomfort to
sense with 'longing(?)' the brilliant home-star that beckoned beyond their
reach.
Mesmerized by the unfolding scenes around
them, Pam and Jack drew closer, drawing comfort in each other's presence
because of the overwhelming feelings of 'despair(?)' that flooded them. It was hard to put a name to the
surrounding 'emotions' because they were totally alien. Only the extensive research the
insubstantial captors (hosts?) had done allowed Jack and Pam to share even a
part of what they were being exposed to.
He felt her shaking slightly in his arms and looked down to see that she
was crying softly. He couldn't
blame her. His own eyes were
burning from thinking of how these beings were slowly being destroyed without
them being able to do a thing to stop it.
Then the surrounding mood seemed to
change, and they both looked up to see new scenes unfold.
Ages had passed and the surface of their
world had frozen solid and been polluted with complex forms of ever-changing
organic waste that now covered much of the surface. New elements had formed, but always in the
random structures that were normal; until there was a change.
Regular patterns of matter were springing
up, growing, changing and decaying only to be replaced with larger more complex
forms that were unnaturally regular.
Explanations for this were sought but none could be found until a theory
was developed that suggested externally imposed patterns. The hypothesis was tested, and found
logical, but there were no traces of the beings responsible.
Meanwhile, changes in the artificial
structures were appearing. More and
more, there appeared within them sources of life. Dim fires at first, but slowly more
sprung up and scattered among them there were brighter ones, beckoning to those
who had been forced below. The
fires were too weak yet to be useful, but logic dictated that they would grow
in number and size.
And they did.
The smaller ones did not grow much in
size, but they multiplied to spread over large areas of the surface, spreading
to fill the growing number of artificial shapes whose purpose was unclear. But the larger fires also multiplied and
grew brighter and brighter. And a
new kind of flame flickered occasionally.
From time to time there came flashes of brilliant and pure flame, so
like their home-star. Many of these
were within the ground. Perhaps the
as-yet unseen beings of the surface were trying to re-awaken the frozen world
under them?
The need to find and communicate with the
surface beings became a top priority.
"They didn't even know we
existed!" Jack was amazed as
he realized that the beings around them had watched the development of human
civilization without even being aware that mankind existed. The 'fires' were of course furnaces,
power-plants and finally the first nuclear tests. The uneasy feeling he'd had before came
back. 'Where was this leading?'
Pam was right with him. "They haven't even gotten to atomic
plants yet. Wait till they see
those!"
"Then what? Are they going to try to help wake the
Earth up?"
"Maybe they did, but goofed, with
Three Mile Island and
More of the star-flames were appearing
now, and these were steady. Much
dimmer, but burning continuously.
Even though the new fires were weaker than the momentary ones that still
blossomed occasionally, they were refreshing. Migrations began to come from the core
of the world where the temperature was comfortable, but the life-giving
radiations were much weaker than in these new artificial pools of energy. Around the world, those from below came
up to bathe in the luxurious rays, crowding each other to absorb as much as
possible. For the first time in
ages, new generations were being formed, now that the right energies were
available.
If only there were more!
Finding the beings who were building
these fires was vital; here was hope for a dying race, at last! Revitalized and curious minds settled in
to the task and they strained their senses, seeking all the bands of energy,
straining to improve their understanding and perception of dead matter, even
the organic debris of the surface itself.
And at last, success! At first, the theory was rejected, but
the evidence was undeniable. The
beings responsible were part of the dismissed organic waste! Tiny bits of dead matter animated by
almost unmeasurably small amounts of energy.
These were the saviors?
"Hmph!" Pam snorted indignantly and Jack had to
laugh at her expression as she looked up defiantly: "Maybe you can barely sense it, but
it works just fine for us, thank you!"
Jack kissed her lightly on the
forehead. "For me,
too." She felt incredible in
his arms as she returned his embrace, but then another wave of 'feeling' broke
over them and they were nearly overwhelmed.
The creators of the fires had been found,
now they had to be contacted. The
existing fires were insufficient (But, if they were altered just a little, all
at the same time, it might be possible to... further analysis was necessary).
Reaching the builders became even more
imperative. Further and further,
senses were developed, trained and exercised until the beings could be fully
investigated. Finally, success had
been possible and samples taken and fully analyzed for practical
knowledge. Samples that even now
were being contacted.
"That's us!" they burst out at
the same time.
The presentation was over, and the
outcome now depended on the reactions
of the samples. For now, attention
was withdrawn.
¶
As the images stopped, Pam and Jack broke
free of the near-trance that had held them both. They hung, embraced and clinging to each
other while they absorbed what they had learned, trying to make sense of
it. As it all fit together, Pam
shivered and buried her face in Jack's shoulder.
He stroked her hair silently a moment,
unable to say much to comfort her.
The message had been all too clear.
"They want more nuclear plants, or
even better, to alter the existing ones..."
"To try to set up a chain-reaction
that will make the planet more comfortable, for them. Never mind that it would destroy
us!" Pam finished in a
frightened whisper.
"And they want us to
help!" Jack was numb. "They probably feel we'd adapt as
easily as they have, or if not..."
There was another frightening possibility. "That it's irrelevant whether we
survive or not. These... beings are
alien."
"Do you think they know we won't
help?" she whispered.
He shrugged. "Who knows? All I know is that they expect us to
want to help."
Pam laughed a little hysterically. "The sad thing is, if they keep
waiting, we might do it on our own, anyway."
"No!" He held her chin lightly. "No more!"
"The eternal optimist?" She looked up at him, a faint smile
wavering on her lips.
He shrugged. "Somebody's got to be. The point is, what now?"
Her smile faded. "I don't know. What worries me, is, if we don't help
them, what will they do? Try
themselves?" She looked
justifiably frightened as she grabbed his arms tightly. "Promise me one thing Jack. When, and if, we get out of here, you'll
look me up! I have to know this was
real, that you're real. I'm in the
book, I live," she grimaced, "right near
"
"Thank you." Confident that they wouldn't lose touch,
she closed her eyes and relaxed against him.
For a while they hung there suspended in
the darkness, sharing human contact that went deeper than the mere
physical. Both unsure and afraid
now, but determined to get through it together. And together they tried mentally and
verbally to express their opposition to their hosts' plans.
But there was no response.
¶
Around them the bubble had been shifting,
unnoticed, changing its shape and color as a ridge appeared above them,
questing to insinuate itself between them.
As they noticed it, they clung to each other even more tightly,
determined not to get separated, but it was no good. The seemingly fragile material of the
surrounding beings was irresistible and they were torn apart, each a lone
captive again in their own private bubble.
The last thing he saw was her frightened face, lips moving as she
repeated his phone number.
But the fog had thickened around them as
their bubbles drifted apart and all he had left of her was the trace of her
perfume that lingered, along with the tingling of his flesh where he had held
her warm and vibrant body.
Then the fog rose inside the bubble also and
he felt consciousness slip away.
¶
He woke to find himself sitting in the
wheelchair again -- naked, and with the tightly cinched seat belt cutting into
his bare flesh. His watch and keys
were lying in his lap, and his small purse with his wallet and medicine was
tucked in next to him as usual.
Underneath his wheels was the damp roughness of familiar parking lot
pavement, still partly cloaked by a dense fog. A normal one this time, but thick! It was still night, or was it night
again? He glanced at his watch and
saw that nearly twenty-eight hours had passed. He had missed two nights of work without
an excuse!
A sick feeling in his stomach, he looked
about twenty yards up the driveway where he could just make out the bulky form
of his van. Just where he'd parked
it almost two days ago. He could
not even imagine how he was going to explain his absence.
Through an open window nearby, he heard a
radio playing an old Harry Chapin song entertaining some night-owl with tales
of a wandering cabby, and he debated yelling for help. But as he toggled the power switch on
the wheelchair, he saw the glowing 'full charge' battery gauge of the
wheelchair and grabbed the joystick control in relief to angle his way over the
sloped 'curb' of the driveway and then he bounced his way across the lawn
towards the patio door he remembered leaving unlocked -- he wanted get out of
plain sight as quickly as possible and the patio was within twenty yards!
Fortunately the strong motor and treaded
tires of the power wheelchair handled the gentle slope of the lawn and the
bumpy terrain just fine. He had
even had a ramp installed on the patio, so he knew his apartment -- and privacy
-- was moments away. But
embarrassment over his nakedness was forgotten as a wave of euphoria swept over
him. He had to get to a phone and
call Pam. He could see her in his
mind, hear her voice and the smell her perfume; and the memory of what she had
felt like in his arms made him ache all over. He had almost forgotten what was behind
what they had shared!
As he approached his patio, the Chapin
song on the unseen radio was replaced by an announcer grumbling about the dense
fog that had socked the area in, and how it was getting thicker.
The phone in his apartment started
ringing! It had to be Pam, she'd
found a phone first. But as he
reached for the door handle, he froze as he heard the D.J. humming the theme
from the old Twilight Zone T.V. series.
"And here's another one for you
buffs of the bizarre. I guess we
can call the NRC back and tell them 'never mind'. The fog banks that were socking us in by
the Limerick, Three Mile Island, and
The phone in his apartment had stopped
ringing as the machine picked up, but after a moment, it resumed and he
wrenched the door open and rolled in to grab the cordless phone from a low
table just inside.
"Pam!" He knew it had to be her and he pressed
the phone tightly to his ear as he heard a nervous chuckle that made him
shiver.
"Boy am I glad to hear your voice,
Jack!"
"Me too!" He cut her response off. "They're backing off! We're safe!". He felt certain of that as he closed his
eyes and explained, picturing his foggy prison earlier and suspecting a trace
of the link he had felt before still existed.
"Thank you!" he mouthed
silently as Pam echoed his relief, briefly hoping the link was still
there. Then he dismissed it to lean
into the phone, wishing for something other than the feel of cold plastic.
But there would be time for more. He was sure of it now.
-
end -