Authors: Doug Vossen
Skyfire (8 page)
“Now,” said Callie, “do you have any more questions for right now about this stuff?”
“Actually, yes.”
Trent looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Callie, how does something up your butt feel good to a boy and what do you, you know, do?”
“Awww, baby, don’t worry about the science of it. You do something called prostate massage, also known as milking the prostate,” said Callie, making air quotes with her fingers.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Trent. “Shut the fuck up. Please, for the love of God.”
Callie and Jess both sensed that it was probably difficult for Trent to listen to a grown woman and a little girl discuss milking a prostate during the apocalypse. They began giggling like misbehaving children flinging spitballs at the back of the teacher’s head.
Callie chose to amp up the intensity. “So, Jessica, to continue before I was rudely interrupted by Mr. Hughes over here - I imagine milking a prostate with your fingers would be very painful for the man if that part of his body was sick with cancer. Especially my fingers, look at my nails. Anything this pointy would hurt like crazy! Either way, black nail polish is a bitch. I guarantee it’ll ruin my manicure if I go shit diving into the great infinity.”
“Callie, I’m not really sure if the bus ad people were looking at it from that angle,” offered Trent.
“What, you think if your prostate was riddled with malignant tumors it would feel good if I massaged it? Do you think you could come like that?”
“Well, it depends what you’re into, but that’s not the point. I mean, ass play is one thing, but going elbow deep in an a-” Trent cut himself off again. The group all shared a good laugh.
“So what’s your story, then?” Callie asked Trent, clearly looking for the next piece of entertaining conversation. She lit a joint.
“You wouldn’t believe my account of the last few days if there was a gun to your head,” said Trent.
“What the fuck? I woke up in a morgue yesterday, stole dead peoples’ shit, and saw a guy who blew his brains out. Now tell me again that I won’t believe you.” As the cannabis tightened its grip, Callie quickly vaulted into the emotional head space that allowed her to feel more empathy, to be a better listener.
“Well, it all started for me about three days ago. I had a couple days off from work and I had to burn them before they expired. My wife was still working.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s an administrative assistant downtown for an accounting firm that handles high net worth individuals.”
“And you?”
“I supervise construction jobs for a corporate general contractor, also in the city,” said Trent.
“And is that…” Callie nodded in a not-so-subtle manner to Jessica.
Um hello, I’m right here,
thought Jessica
. You can include me.
“No, Jessica is not my daughter. But I’m taking care of her. She’s a good girl, way too smart for her own good. Isn’t that right Jess?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I guess you’re doing your best. I’m sure Emma would be laughing her head off if she saw you feed me that bag of shit this morning!” said Jessica.
I hope no one gets mad I said a bad word. Mom always hated it if I did that.
“I’m growing into the role, it’s been a day,” said Trent.
The adults chuckled as they walked. They couldn’t really enjoy themselves though; all they needed to do was look up and to the east to see the single most unsettling visual image of their lives. The fractal patterns pulsed in the afternoon light. Now that it was brighter outside, light did not appear to illuminate the entity directly; instead, the entity appeared to illuminate itself. It looked as if there were a nearly indistinguishable membrane of light outlining its surface.
“Jesus Christ, it looks like light bends around this fucking thing,” said Trent.
“Yeah,” said Callie, “kind of like if you’ve ever driven down an empty highway in the desert when it’s really hot and those wavy lines are coming up.”
“You’ve driven down an empty highway in the desert?” asked Trent.
Callie giggled. “No, but I watch a shitload of TV when I’m high and trust me, it’s a thing. I definitely know what I’m talking about all the time and you can definitely trust me about everything.”
When she’s high on top of what?
Jessica wondered.
I don’t get it.
“Fair enough.” Trent laughed.
“What do you really think that is?” asked Callie. “I mean, what is anything? Like a week ago I got home from work and was all wired so I crawled into a YouTube hole and started watching one of those older Big Think videos. It basically explained to this particular high school dropout that we’re made up of more empty space than actual stuff. It also talked about this thing where 97% of all the shit that exists in the universe is invisible not only to the naked eye, but to the vast majority of scientific observation and measurement.”
“Callie, how fucking high are you right now? Hold on a second.” Trent slung his pack to one shoulder, pulled out two of his one-quart canteens. “OK, one of these is for you.” He handed a canteen to Jessica. “It’s important to drink a lot of water when walking long distances.” Trent tossed the other canteen to Callie. “And for the young lady with what is no doubt mad crazy and delicious xerostomia, I bequeath upon you the gift of stagnant liquid.”
No matter what, he doesn’t seem to forget me,
Jessica realized
. Even if I think he might have. Maybe he meant his promise from before.
Callie laughed in way that could only be described as a cackle. “What the hell is xerostomia?”
“OK, it happened,” said Trent.
“What?”
“I finally understand the sound of the words HYUK HYUK HYUK HYUK when written to describe laughter in cartoons,” said Trent.
“Fuck you man, my laugh is the shit! See? Jessica’s smiling,” Callie said, turning to Jessica. “You like it, right honey?”
This chick is crazy! I like her now.
“I do like it,” said Jessica.
It reminds me of how I wish I was feeling right now. Maybe it doesn’t matter what’s going on. Maybe I can just choose to be happy like she does. It doesn’t sound like she had a very good day either. Is she just pretending to be happy?
“So what’s xerostomia?” pleaded Callie in a childlike whine.
Trent laughed. “Cotton mouth.”
“Holy dogshit, you nerd.”
“So what about you?” said Trent.
“What about me?”
“Jesus, I gotta get on your level,” said Trent.
“I got a whole bag of herb. Feel like a J?”
“I haven’t smoked weed since I was a teenager. Not really sure how it’ll affect me. I think I’ll pass this time. Maybe when this all blows over,” said Trent.
“Oh no, dude! Trust me! I saw that flask in your bag. You think that gets you by, but it doesn’t at all. And don’t think I don’t realize you slowly changing the subject on me!”
“Seems to work OK for me. Got me through West Point, the back end of two tours, and a MBA while working full time.” Trent realized he now said this hesitantly, as if he didn’t believe it any longer.
“Nah man, booze doesn’t give you the answers you want. It just makes you forget all the questions for a little while.”
Wow, my mom used to say something like that to her last boyfriend all the time and he never listened,
thought Jessica
. Trent is much nicer than he was.
“Well, all I know is that I’ve seen a lot of potheads not do shit with their lives,” said Trent. “And I’ve seen people get super paranoid on that shit. We were all sitting around in Park Slope a week ago watching the Jets-Buffalo game. My buddy and his wife smoked a bowl in their backyard. All of a sudden the conversation ceased for an hour and a half. I watched his wife sit there, tapping her teeth, looking up at the ceiling until the last quarter. After the whistle blew for the two minute warning she broke the silence and simply informed everyone ‘I don’t like this kind of weed.’ It was fucking hysterical, but also something I don’t think I want to experience.”
“I guess that happens sometimes, but potheads not doing shit with their lives is the same as drunks not doing shit with their lives, or anyone else for that matter,” said Callie. “People attribute too much value to what people do in their personal lives when considering accomplishment or what society deems ‘successful.’ It’s bullshit. People who aren’t doing shit with their lives aren’t doing shit because they weren’t going to anyway. As far as the paranoia, 90% of the shit people call ‘paranoia’ is just things you hate about yourself that the cannabis pushes to the forefront. It’s forcing you to deal with the things your conscious mind usually buries deep in your brain. I’ve always thought this stuff has psychiatric value - if you find the right one for you, it can be a pretty awesome teacher.”
“What about the other 10% of stuff people call paranoia?”
“Well, that’s just stuff you need to have the discipline to tell yourself to shut the fuck up about. Nothing’s perfect,” said Callie.
“Yeah, I guess not. What kind do you use?”
“Well, there’s two major kinds of weed: indica and sativa.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Indica is the laugh-your-ass-off and melt-into-the-couch-watching-cartoons weed,” explained Callie. “It’s probably the type of weed most of the ‘potheads that don’t do shit’ smoke. It can be enjoyable and usually ends in a nap, but I can’t stand the stuff. I feel like I’m getting dumber, nothing gets done, and I wake up like four hours later. Sativa is completely different. It’s basically my favorite thing in the world behind barbeque chicken pizza and episodes of trashy reality TV on TLC. I read books on it. I think about real things when I smoke it, like how to improve my life. I tear down my own ego bit by bit and rebuild it daily. I feel like it’s slowly making me develop into a more generous, compassionate, and otherwise good person. It really puts into perspective what’s important and what’s absolute bullshit. That and it’s a major contributing factor in my not having gone to jail, not having been committed to a mental hospital, and not having gotten fired from my shitty job.”
I am so bored
, thought Jessica.
“Are we there yet?
The trio walked over the bridge from Weehawken to Hoboken, down Willow Avenue. A little more than three miles remained. It was still early afternoon. They had five hours of daylight left. They definitely wanted to be where they were going before it got dark again.
Trent thought about what Callie was saying. “That I can understand. My friend in Brooklyn tells me something similar. I know this booze ain’t doing me any favors. It’s not something I’m exactly proud of but there’s a constant circus in my brain that just won’t shut the fuck up…”
“Dude, I know only too well what that feels like. I promise this is a better alternative,” Callie offered.
“Look, I don’t think now is exactly the best time for me to do this but I’ll make you a deal. When all of this blows over I’ll give it a shot. My world is already turned upside down, may as well throw another variable into the mix,” replied Hughes.
“I’m holding you to it!” Callie loved helping people and her enthusiasm shone through.
RONAK
“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” -Friedrich Nietzche (1844 - 1900)
Ronak barreled through Earth’s atmosphere at approximately fifty-five meters per second. It had been well over one hundred years since a mission had made him feel this uneasy. The uncertainty of the situation was both frightening and invigorating to a Legate of his experience.
“Engaging reverse local propulsion thrusters.”
A loud crash resonated along the tree line on the southwestern periphery of Liberty State Park, one and a half kilometers from the main mass of soldiers. Frightened birds were shaken loose from trees. But those setting up the firebase were focused on their task, and didn’t notice the noise.
The local propulsion transport (LPT) was a reflective, light-weight, metallic alloy comprised primarily of tungsten carbide with palladium to regulate its electromagnetic instruments. It measured four by ten by three meters, with sleek, rounded curves tapering into an ovular fuselage.
Ronak emerged from his vessel. He inhaled deeply. It was refreshing to smell the atmosphere of a real planetary surface. The scent of freshly cut grass and fallen leaves wafted into his nostrils. The familiar aroma of burning structures and diesel fumes hung in the air as well, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to enjoy the moment.
Ronak exhaled. “Resolute Colony Vessel IV (RCV4) primary tracking nexus, this is Legate Ronak reporting. Local verbal communication protocol engaged.”
“Acknowledged, brother.”
Resolute Colony Vessel IV was in orbit between Jupiter and its moon, Europa. The vessel, a hulking behemoth, held entire cities’ worth of infrastructure, ten divisions of military forces, agricultural hydroponic facilities - everything a self-sustaining mass of advanced technology needed to survive indefinitely through a long journey in the hostile environment of space. It measured twenty-three kilometers in length by eight kilometers in height, with twelve equally spaced circular rings connected to the main ship by sturdy umbilical passageways. The rings used renewable clean fuel sources to rotate at speeds over one million kilometers per hour, depending on the force of natural external gravity, and this provided constant artificial gravity to the ship. It was a self-sustaining mobile world in the stars, a marvel of advanced engineering.
“RCV4 primary tracking nexus, this is Ronak reporting. Extra-local primary communication protocol engaged
.”
“
Ronak, this is the nexus. Your intentions are not presenting clearly due to environmental distortion. Did you utilize the atmospheric and veil impediment data provided?”
“Indeed. My cranial augmentation is operating at optimization levels set for predominant nitrogen and oxygen, as well as trace amounts of the other fourteen elements present. The fact The Veil has any interference at all is confounding at this moment. If this is not an error, then our apprehensions are a reality,” transmitted Ronak via thought.
“Exit your local propulsion pod and determine the cause of the disturbance.
”
“It will be done immediately
,
”
thought Ronak.
“Brother, we are having difficulty ascertaining your intentions through extra-local communication. Utilize verbal communication as your primary means of interaction until the difficulty is resolved. Ensure the chronicle of your journey is stored locally until you are able to upload and convey it clearly to us,” instructed the nexus.
“It will be done. I am exiting the transport now.”
“Legate Ronak, ensure you maintain the utmost discretion. It is unknown how the Terran species will react to your presence. A veil disturbance of this magnitude is unprecedented for any known species, let alone one so technologically primitive. They are not much more advanced than Æther’s highest primate. We have already lost contact with Legate Sameena; it is not logical to expend additional assets until you ascertain her fate. Utilize extreme caution. If you perish on your journey because of their boorish and un-evolved nature, the information you glean via reconnaissance will have been for naught.”
“I am approximately one-fifth of a terran horizon’s distance from the group of warriors we glimpsed organizing along the dihydrogen monoxide body separating them from the phenomenon detected in our original sensor data.”
“Begin preparations and continue your journey. Based on this world’s gravitational data, time is still very much of the essence,” warned the nexus.
“I understand. In addition, please verbally provide any additional information regarding Legate Sameena’s status as you receive it. It will… provide clarity and knowledge in order to assist me in learning the results of her actions.”
I cannot lose her. Not now.
“It will be done, Ronak. May the limitless potential and possibility of The Veil guide and inspire you on your journey.”
“You have my gratitude, RVC4. Let us begin.”
“Acknowledged, Legate. Please proceed with your reconnaissance.”
“Verbal log initiated. This is 2
nd
degree Legate Ronak of the Hariba region of Æther, hailing from Resolute Colony in the honorable halls of universal equilibrium, serving aboard Resolute Colony Vessel IV, reporting to the Supreme Nexus. Local terran time is one thousand four hundred and thirty one units of a two thousand four hundred unit time cycle. Ambient temperature is 285.928 units above universal zero. Carbon dioxide emissions above the collective of warriors show approximately 1,600 individuals congregating across from the phenomenon,” said Ronak. “Their numbers appear to be steadily increasing from the polar north.”
“What is the warriors’ disposition?”
“Stand by. Conducting a proper physical investigation now.” Ronak employed the thermoptic camouflage module on his local propulsion transport (LPT). It virtually disappeared. The only way passersby would notice the piece of machinery in the foliage would be if they walked directly into it, or closely and deliberately examined how light bent around the object. Ronak then activated the heads up display (HUD) through his cranial augmentation. He set it to continuously present as a small window in the bottom left corner of his ocular field of vision.
The people of Æther were technologically advanced, and did not differ greatly from humans. One major difference was several generations of gene therapy that had eliminated all unnecessary or undesirable traits within two hundred years. Everyone from Æther was able to remove genes coding for terminal illness, mental and physical disability, and substandard strength and intelligence. Æthereans rarely got sick, and had an indefinite lifespan limited only by circumstance. They all possessed the foundation to be both academically brilliant and in near-perfect physical condition. Their offspring further enhanced these advantageous characteristics. The only characteristic Æthereans could not artificially mold was a personal sense of motivation. They served as a model of what Earthbound humanity could achieve if it survived long enough to realize its potential.
Another important difference was the sense of interconnectedness shared by the vast majority of Æthereans upon reaching adulthood. All citizens of Æther received microscopic cranial augmentations when they reached puberty. This augmentation allowed them to store nearly limitless information in their own brains, as well as employ the information when necessary. Included in this augmentation was direct access to every piece of available information known to date. This did not eliminate the need for verbal communication, or acquiring new skills, but it made for a relatively seamless transition from ignorance to proficiency. The most important consequence of this technology was the collapse of deception among all Ætherean people. Their complete and universal access to a greater network of information, as well as limited permission-based access to each other’s thoughts, made it extremely difficult for Æthereans to lie to each other.
Universal knowledge and interconnectedness permeated every aspect of Ætherean society. If two people were brokering a trade, no matter how big or small, there was never a question of the true value of the good or service. Each side’s thoughts and intentions were fully exposed in every situation. This even applied to the courtship process. There was never a question regarding the emotional context in which one person viewed another. This degree of utter transparency allowed the Æthereans, after a difficult adjustment period, to strive for what they really wanted in life. This in turn brought all of society closer to goals previously thought impossible. Once the last generation of Æthereans lacking augmentation died off, there began a sharp trajectory toward eliminating the planet’s humanitarian problems, as well as an exponential rise in the capabilities of every technological sector. The crowning achievement was extra local propulsion (ELP), which allowed the Æthereans to gain spacefaring capabilities beyond their immediate solar system. On Earth’s time scale, this had occurred eight hundred years ago.
Ronak engaged his personal camouflage unit and began moving slowly along the tree line. Thermoptic camouflage was a highly effective form of concealment, but it was still only as good as its user. Ronak had been highly trained in the use of this particular technology, as well as movement and reconnaissance methods that were vital to the professional life and personal safety of all Legates.
An important aspect of conducting reconnaissance is maintaining distance and silence while simultaneously ensuring multiple points of view. This allowed Legates to map an area from the ground, instead of relying solely on imagery collected from space. Even in a society almost one thousand years more advanced than Earth’s humans, the land always looked different on the ground. Most important, although thermoptic camouflage existed, it was necessary to pretend it didn’t, so that it did not become a crutch.
Ronak slowly crept to the edge of the tree line in a crouch, then moved into a deliberate crawl, alternating between his elbows and his knees as he shimmied across the grass. He stopped behind a large tree. Supporting himself on his elbows, he peeked over the side of the trunk and began the methodical process of zooming in with his ocular augmentation. He was adding everything in sight, from every angle, to the visual archive he would provide the Nexus aboard RCV4.
Before creeping in a clover pattern around the remainder of the terran brigade, Ronak moved to the southern tip of the trees to get a good look at the disturbance they had detected with their orbital sensors back at Resolute Colony.
By The Veil . . . This is something the likes of which no Ætherean has ever seen. It is as if the esoteric writings of the past have come to life before my eyes.
A shudder went down Ronak’s spine as he switched his ocular augmentations to every known spectrum. He wanted to archive as much data as possible for the Nexus.
The most interesting data Ronak collected was via ocular gravitational lensing. As his augmented eyes carefully processed every detail of the entity hovering over the city, he noticed light bending around the entity in all directions. “Nexus, this is Ronak, acknowledge.”
“Ronak, this is Nexus.”
“Nexus, it is exactly as we suspected. This is unorthodox, but I must insist you mentally prepare yourself for what I am about to verbally convey to you.”
“Proceed, brother.”
“The mass biological expiration trend observed by the orbital scans, combined with the death process and the fractal visual representation over the terran metropolis, leads me to the conclusion that there is evidence of life within The Veil,” said Ronak.
“Legate Ronak, need I remind you that all of this communication, local or otherwise, is archived for the ages. Think before you speak.”
“Nexus, respectfully, I am not an initiate. I have been a Legate for nearly 300 Ætherean cycles. I am fully aware of what will be broadcast to the entirety of our civilization once this verbal communication log and my local augment are synchronized with the Nexus. We have a serious problem here.”
“Legate Ronak, we mean no disrespect to you or your record of service to our valued way of life. What we say is out of loving watchfulness for your record of selflessness.”
Æther was a society of people who loved one another, had superior technology, and a progressive way of thinking, unlike anything on Earth. The Earthborn phrase, “Walk softly and carry a big stick,” was how all Æthereans lived. It represented a mentality that was appreciated, and was rarely taken as an affront to one’s ego. Generations of universal access among Æthereans had forged this philosophy.
“Nexus, I comprehend. Continuing on – the death patterns from the original orbital monitoring show approximately 84% of terrans have unknowingly made contact with these beings, for lack of a better term. The source is currently less than a horizon from my current location. The vast majority of them will perish within days, if they have not already. Some of the more mentally resilient ones will last slightly longer.”
“Ronak, have there been physical representations aside from the presence over the terran city and the trends you spoke of? Is there corporeal manifestation from the realm of infinite possibility?”