Remembrance - Part 3
#3 of Remembrance
The third installment in a multi-part series.
Our protagonist finds more questions - rather than answers - while the lines between dream and reality, between the impossible and the possible continue to blur.
When lucidity returned to him, his vision did not - or, at least, not all at once. When the ringing pain echoed in his skull all over again, tearing him back from the relative bliss of unconsciousness, he could make out nothing except for an indistinct array of blurred points of light in front of his face. He didn't move, didn't even try to move, and instead remained in the position he found himself in upon waking, flat on his back. The only thing he could think to do in response to the throbbing pain that ached between his ears was to let out a small, thin groan.
Damian became vaguely aware of a sensation of warmth, an unfamiliar sensation that covered him fro head to toe. It wasn't the kind of thing that he had experienced since at least the beginning of the mission. That, combined with the fact that he could still feel the dull pain of a tail being twisted uncomfortably behind him reminded him that he was, at least for the moment, still stuck in the dream.
Finally he tried to move, tried to sit up and get his bearings, but the effort recalled the throbbing in his head. Wincing, he let out another groan, this one deeper, more loud than the first. The blurry cacophony of light in front of him was extinguished as he closed his eyes again, clenching his jaw and trying to ward the pain away. He had no idea what had happened to him, but the throbbing in his head convinced him that he had taken quite the blow.
Look. He stirs.
The voice, while unfamiliar, was spoken in the tones that he had quickly come to recognize as the raptors' speech, or at least whatever his mind had conjured up to take the place of their speech. Quiet clicking sounds greeted his ears from numerous angles around him, too many to count, but he was sure that he could make out at least half a dozen individuals standing in the immediate vicinity. Then hands were upon his shoulders and he was hauled up to a sitting position, his head briefly swimming with dizziness. Reflexively he tried to reach out and help stabilize himself, only to find that his hands would not budge. They were bound behind his back.
He was a prisoner, or at least a captive of some kind.
Opening his eyes, he tried to focus on the blurred lights that were cast in front of him. Perhaps he was still recovering from the blow to the head. No matter what he did, he could not focus on a thing, his vision reduced to blackness and indistinct points of light.
Then a hand was rested on his shoulder, and a voice spoke to him quietly just next to his head. Can you speak?
Damian went to nod, but even that little motion caused his head to begin throbbing. Gritting his teeth, he breathed out a quiet little hiss. I think so.
Why did you do it?
The question made no sense to him. He shook his head a little, once again trying to focus on something, trying to keep his head from throbbing any more than it absolutely had to. I don't know what you are talking about.
You shamed your spouse and ran her out of your bed. She has said you were raving madly. What say you to this?
He did not have to think too hard to remember what had happened before he had been clubbed. He remembered all too well the awkward scene, of being confronted with something monstrous and impossible and barely able to refrain from doing something disgusting. He wasn't supposed to be dreaming, and his dreams certainly weren't supposed to be challenging him like this. He didn't have to explain himself to his own imagination. I don't have to put up with this. This is a dream. I should be able to close my eyes and imagine you all away.
A quiet murmur rose up around him, more than a few voices filtering through the darkness to his ears. He realized in that moment that he was not seeing a thousand distant points of light, but rather bright light filtering in through the rough weave of the cloth that had been thrown over his head, perhaps some kind of burlap sack that blocked his vision. Hints of shadows moved in front of him, but he could still not see anything beyond with any kind of clarity.
He raves yet, a voice called out over the murmuring. It is just as she said. He is not well in his head.
Another voice, softer, assented. I agree. There can be no other explanation. He is possessed.
The thought of listening to his own dreams accuse him of being possessed, or crazy, or otherwise not right in the head made him livid - in spite of the fact that he could not help but to wonder if the dream itself wasn't some sign that something wasn't quite right. Damian shook his head in spite of the heavy throbbing that it elicited, cringing, trying to free himself from the bonds. Let me go.
Someone rested a hand on his shoulder again, perhaps in an attempt to calm him down. Listen to me, child. Answer me. Are you unwell? Have you heard voices in your head? Have you been visited by spirits in the night? The voice was kind, matronly, but with a hard edge to it, an edge of authority.
This is insane,_he protested, shaking his shoulders and pulling on his hands again, but the bonds would not give. _I don't have to put up with this.
I can hear no wrong to his voice._The stern voice continued. _I must see his eyes. Remove the shroud.
The order was carried out without any hesitation. An unseen hand reached and grasped the cloth that was covering his face and pulled up quickly, allowing a sudden onslaught of sunlight to assail his eyes. Reflexes kicked in again, his eyes snapping shut, his body jerking as he tried to pull his hands around and in front of him to ward off the brightness. So sudden was the transition that it was painful; he was thoroughly blinded for the moment.
No one approached him as he cringed, blinking away the dazzling light, leaving him alone for the moment. Several passed before he was able to open his eyes and get his bearings, before he was finally able to look around and see what was going on. The sight before his eyes caught him thoroughly off guard.
The hint of the village that he had seen in the darkness of the night before did little to reveal to him just how civilized these creatures really were. Where before he had seen only wooden dwellings, simple but handsome in their construction, he now beheld a wide plaza ringed by squat stone structures, Off to one side was what looked almost like some kind of temple, vaguely Roman in its style and structure, thick columns complete with ornate capitals that did not in the least look like something those crude, taloned hands were capable of creating. Colorful banners spilled over from atop the roof of the structure, fluttering in the airy summer breeze.
Even the smaller, squat buildings that ringed the plaza had colorful awnings erected in front of them, cloth of every color imaginable, reds and blues and yellows with colorful stripes or houndstooth patterns sewn in to them. Beneath the the awnings were all manner of wooden carts and stands, loaded with what looked like fruits and vegetables, cloth goods, small animals and numerous other items he could not quite make out.
The plaza was full of trade. It was high noon, and there were dozens - perhaps even hundreds - of dinosaurs, raptors that looked just like the ones gathered loosely around him. They were all clothed, in various colorful wrappings adorned with glass and pottery beads, dangling over their loins and their chests and their legs. The array of color was shocking, almost jarring to the eyes, but more than merely the colors Damian noticed that every single one of them had stopped what they were doing. No trade was taking place in front of his eyes. Every single one of them was looking intently in his direction.
At last his eyes were drawn to the source of the rugged, matronly voice that had addressed him as 'child'. Clothed as she was in colorful wrappings and gaudy beads strung all about her, there was little to distinguish her from the males. Just as before, however, he was instinctively able to tell she was a female. How, he had no idea.
In the same fashion, when he laid eyes upon her a thought, a construct came to his head. He could not find the word for it in his native tongue, he could not imagine an English word that fit the idea. The words _chief, shaman, mother, protector_all flashed through his head at the same time. She was distinguished with a headdress of sorts, bright red and yellow feathers tied together with black cord that framed her head like a crown, eliciting the notion of a sunburst. Her earthy green eyes held him tight in her gaze; there was a sort of implicit authority that he could not find a way to shake off.
Look to me child. Look in to my eyes. Gaze into the depths of my soul, that I may peer in to your own.
Damian found himself obeying. It was less out of any real desire to do so, and more out of a reflexive deference to her authority. Her eyes locked on to his own and left him speechless, wordless, powerless. He understood, in the back of his mind, that what was going on was some kind of ritual, a rare sort of thing that demanded the attention of the crowds around him, demanded their cooperation, required their silence.
Yet all of that faded away as he was forced into that gaze. The splashes of color that defined the world around him began to grow indistinct, bleed together and fade into the distance, her wide, green eyes seeming to grow larger, brighter in his vision. He felt his breath catching in his throat, his heart thumping louder and louder within him. All he could see were those eyes, those caring eyes, those big eyes, those commanding eyes, looking deep into his soul ... forcing him to gaze back into his soul, those eyes becoming little more than big green mirrors, threatening to show him what he knew he couldn't bear to see.
Suddenly she pulled back, and he gasped. It was over. The matronly raptor in front of him frowned before speaking. He is possessed.
The raptors arrayed about him began to nod and murmur, whispering among themselves. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed another female, the look in her eyes a conflicting mix of relief and distress. Damian recognized her as the female from the night before. He wasn't sure whether or not to feel for her.
_He is possessed._The words rang in his head again, and he longed to protest. He certainly wasn't possessed, no more than he was really in some kind of strange world inhabited by dinosaurs that wore clothes and built temples and conducted trade beneath brightly colored awnings. Perhaps he was gripped by some kind of strange disorder, some kind of mental condition that was making him conjure up such strange and vivid images. Perhaps it was an effect of coming in and out of stasis so often over such a long period of time, an effect that was unknown because no one had ever gone through what he was enduring, what his fellow shipmates were going through. But he was not possessed.
Again the shaman spoke. _Look upon me once more, child. Bare your soul to me, reveal that which imprisons your mind._She reached a hand forward to steady his chin, and locked her green eyes once more on his own, but the reaction was much different than the first time. Immediately she pulled her hand away, almost as if it had been burned upon contact with his snout, and her eyes widened. The raptor pulled back a few steps, looking at him incredulously.
Her reaction had not gone unnoticed. The murmuring of the crowd around him rose in pitch and volume, several individuals looking back and forth to one another, incredulous looks passed among the thronged onlookers. A large male standing near by stepped forward, concern in his eyes. What is it? What have you seen?
What manner of beast is this? Her voice was stressed and confused, her eyes searching his own in a way that made him feel uncomfortable, that made him want to shy away from the scrutiny. He could not, however, so much as turn away while her eyes held his fast, her pupils quivering while they searched him, scanned him, peered deeply into him ... and then leaned back with another startled gasp.
_What have you seen?_It was the larger male again, lined with concern, looking back and forth between them.
Damian felt dry-mouthed as he watched her shuddering, looking back at him with an incredulous stare. No beast of earth or water or fire or sky ... what is this creature, this beast, this spirit that wanders among the stars?
He was no beast, he was no creature, he was a human being. He would have said as much, except that he did not have the words for it, did not have the way to communicate the word to them, those many faces who turned to stare at him with as much incredulity and uncertainty and fear that he was sure was reflected on his own face. He didn't only lack the words to tell them who he was. He lacked any words at all.
It would fall to her to find the words for him. Wait ... no, no beast._She blinked as she leaned in closer, extending her hand in his direction again. He could not help but to notice that it was trembling. _No beast, no creature ... a traveler. From so far ... so far away, how ...
When she paused again, he found himself holding his breath. Her fingers brushed lightly against the edge of his jaw, the onlookers transfixed by what they saw. Damian watched helplessly as her wide, trembling eyes began to well up with tears, her breath a tiny whisper. How can you be so far from home ... so lost ... by the Earth itself, I have never ... so very far, so very far away ...
The first tears began to spill from her eyes, dancing along the scales of her snout as they bounced downward, just as he felt his own vision beginning to cloud, blur with moisture on the fringes. How was it that this creature, this strange impossible creature, could understand his predicament, understand how he felt? He did not need to be reminded that he was so far away from home, trillions of miles between himself and everything that he loved. How could she understand that feeling? How could she know?
Dear child ... wandering traveler._He could feel the gentle touch on his cheek, could see the tears welling from eyes that were somehow as gentle as they were stern. _What has brought you here, to me, to my people ... what has brought you so far from home?
He wanted to answer but could not. Damian felt his voice catch in his throat, a quiet little strangled sound gurgling from his mouth. The tears welled up too quickly in his eyes, the colors of her eyes mingling with the feathers behind her head, melting in a little swirl brought on by the tears that came up unbidden. Anger and confusion retreated to the back of his mind as his emotions became more raw, the heartbreaking ache of homesickness calling the tears forward.
He wanted to answer, he wanted to speak out, but before he could form a word, before he could bring a thought to his lips, the wild, blurred image in front of him resolved itself back into an image more familiar, an image more static, more sterile, more colorless. He couldn't mistake the sight of the pod door sitting just inches above his face.
"Shit," he breathed angrily as he realized what was happening. Balling his left hand into a fist, he slammed it hard against the side of the pod. The plastic, sterile and uncaring, had just enough give in it that there was no way he could do it any damage, but the upwelling of pain in his knuckles was really what he was after. Tears stained his cheeks, still streaked down and wet the back of his neck. He had been crying, he had been weeping like he had not wept before.
"Shit," he repeated, closing his eyes and shuddering. It was not supposed to happen. He was not supposed to dream. Dreams were not supposed to feel so real.
With frustration born of anger, he reached for the tube that protruded from his chest, yanking it out a little too hard, a little too fast, feeling it slip out of him tugging the flesh along the way and forcing him to gasp. As soon as he heard the hiss of the seal being broken, as soon as he could taste the flavorless, sterile, oxygenated air brushing against his lips, he kicked the door of his pod open with more violence than he meant to, the door flinging open and rattling as the hinges were forced wide open.
Hauling himself up out of the pod, he wiped at his face. It was more than tears that wet his cheeks, for his entire forehead was covered in sweat; his entire jumpsuit was slightly damp with perspiration. At least he didn't stink of urine.
Damian didn't so much as look back as he stormed his way along the great spinning ring, past the dozens and dozens of sleepers, faces he did not know and names he had never heard. He had to put some space between him and the pod, the dreams. He had allowed himself to get drawn into it too deeply again. He had never had a dream that brought him to tears before, and he had to put as much space between himself and that wrong as he could.
Yet a small part of his mind reminded him that for every step that he put between himself and his pod, the ship threw another thousand miles between himself and home. The dream may have been nothing other than a fabrication of his imagination, but the emotions it brought out were only too real. That, perhaps, was what angered him the most : that a dream would dare to dredge up those kinds of thoughts.
Soon he was climbing up the shaft that led to the ship's axis, to the command module, to the inner workings of the ship. Gravity lost a little of its hold as he went, his steps growing lighter. It did not help to lighten his mood, however. The first dream, at least, he could chalk up to some kind of visceral human emotion : fear. Nightmares about strange and fantastic beasts had plagued mankind from the dawn of civilization on up to the present day. Dinosaurs were certainly not unique to his imagination to fill the role of the monster, the beast, the creature that sought to swallow him whole. That much at least he could explain.
Still he remembered the taste of the humid air in his throat, the kiss of warm sunlight on his body, the emerald green eyes that had held his like a vice. Those were not the kinds of things he would have dreamed up. Those were not the kinds of things he could rationalize away so easily.
No amount of distance that he walked helped distance him from those feelings.
At last he had made his way back in to the command module, floating over toward his chair with a tired, morose expression.
David might have noticed the expression. At least an hour passed before anyone made any attempt at conversation, an hour that was filled with little other than scanning over one readout after another, acknowledging computerized messages, filing logs away. The dispassionate readout in front of him told him what he already knew : the ship continued on its course unerringly, the engines slowly firing in reverse to decelerate the ship on the last leg of its journey. It was the same kind of information that he saw on his last shift, was the same kind of information that he had seen on the one before, and, undoubtedly, was the same kind of information he would read two months from now when he repeated the routine.
So mundane and predictable a routine was powerless to banish the lingering images in his mind. At last he broke the silence, broaching the subject without so much as an introduction. "Have you ever had a dream? In stasis?"
His companion seemed almost startled by the sudden question, looking up from his own screen with a confused little look before shaking his head. "A dream? No, no I haven't ... why?"
The question sounded like an accusation in Damian's ears, even though he was sure it wasn't meant that way. His response came out defensive. "Just wondering. No real reason."
"Ah," came the meek reply. For a moment silence reined anew, before David cleared his throat and spoke up again. "You know, I'm pretty sure it's not possible. I don't think you can dream in stasis, at all."
"That's what I've heard," he replied with a dispassionate little frown. It was supposed to have been impossible, or at least he had been told. "Why do you think that is, though?"
A shrug preceded the response. "Well, I think it has something to do with having your brain frozen, you know? It's not like you're asleep in there ... you know, the way it was described to me, is when you're in stasis you're as good as dead. The only difference between a sleeper and a cadaver is that one you can undo, the other you can't."
"Kind of a morbid way of looking at it."
David chuckled, mirthless but honest. "I suppose so, but it works. It makes sense. No vital signs, no pulse, no brain activity. Good as dead. Dead folks don't dream, after all, so there's no way for a sleeper to dream either. No brain activity at all." He paused, glancing over with a hint of a grin. "Though, I will be honest with you, sometimes I start to hallucinate, right as you're going under. Kind of a rush in a way ... one time, I could have sworn that I was getting the most awesome handjob of my entire life ..."
Damian shrugged a little. He had heard that before, too, even if he had forgotten. Sometimes the sudden blood loss resulted in auditory hallucinations, visual hallucinations, or other kinds of strange and aberrant sensations. There was no way that could explain what had happened to him, however. Sensory aberrations and hallucinations were not the same thing as vivid dreams that engaged all of his five senses and more. Hallucinations did not explain female raptors that both excited and repulsed him. Hallucinations did not explain soulful eyes that brought him to tears.
Nothing could explain that.
"Well that makes sense to me," Damian conceded, a bit of a lie. His fingers danced over the keyboard as he accessed the ship's central computer library, an exhaustive compendium of all human knowledge that had been amassed up to the point of its launch, a necessity on a mission that may well have been humanity's last hope. As fast as the computers were, it would take a few minutes for the database to be scanned, for his query to be run. Glancing over at his companion again, he managed a weak sort of smile. "So. Anything interesting happen since last time?"
"Nope!" The answer was sincere, the other man shrugging his shoulders and waving dismissively at his own display. "Just more of the same. Boring updates on the ship's trajectory, routine course corrections, one blank scan after another. Not really much in the way of excitement out here between the stars, I'm afraid."
That, too, was expected. Damian cast a quick glance back down at his panel; the query had not quite finished running. "Of course. Any updates from Earth?"
"The usual. The Destiny Project is on schedule, no real changes there. Though, you know, since these reports are what ... three years old? That means they're probably finished up by now. They've probably launched and they're on their way. Kind of weird when you think about it that way, isn't it? That things are happening right now we won't hear of till after we're on the planet. Kind of like reading a history book, or something."
Damian had gone through just those kinds of thoughts before, and had come to the same conclusion. It was a little discomfiting to know that the fate of their sister ship was already under way, that the second - and far more ambitious - half of the great project to ensure the survival of the human race was complete. The die had been cast, and there was no way for him to know how the die had fallen.
The flickering cursor on his screen caught his attention, alerting him to the fact that his query was complete. Unsurprisingly, the result was an empty set; he had run a comprehensive search for any kind of information, any hint, anything suggesting that dreams during stasis were possible, anything to explain what was happening to him. Of course, there was no information for him to read. He tried to remind himself that it was a new science, a new technology, and they were still making discoveries. Perhaps by the time Destiny arrived, armed with a dozen or so years worth of new information, might have the answer he was looking for. It was one of the downsides of relying on a database that was static, a database that was outdated the day after the ship had been launched. It was possible that the existence of dreams during stasis was common knowledge, now.
Not here, however. There were relatively few crew members who were in his position, who had to transition in and out of stasis over and over again for these twelve long years. There was the handful of pilots like himself. There was a small army of about a hundred engineers who traded several shifts, perhaps a dozen of them awake at any given time, but they were all sequestered away toward the rear of the ship, and aside from the occasional communication to the command module, he never interacted with them. There were a few other scientists, doctors and astronomers, physicists and the like, men and women who were so wrapped up with observing the emptiness of space slipping past them that they had little time to even talk with one another.
David, and then Samuels after him, were the only people he had any kind of regular contact with. Perhaps he would bring the question up in a few days when Samuels joined him, but he knew that was probably not going to go anywhere. The older man was not much of a talker. He was one of the old guard, the men and women who had been selected from the military to join the project. Theirs was a sense of duty rather than interest. He probably wouldn't get much more than a grunt from Samuels.
"Hey, David."
His companion looked up at him. "Yeah?"
Damian paused before he spoke up again, knowing that the question would probably do more to preserve the emotions rather than help him forget them. "You ever miss it? Earth?"
"All the time," came the all too honest answer. "I mean, how could you not? At least there was room to stretch your legs, sunlight, and more to do than sit here and stare at a screen day in and day out. Don't tell me you don't miss it."
He missed it enough to weep, but that was not a fact he was going to share. "Yeah, I do." Again there was a pregnant pause, and then he finished up his question. "Do you ever regret coming here, then? Ever regret signing up, ever regret being selected?"
The second answer was a few more minutes in coming than the first. "Maybe a little. But you know, I volunteered for this because it's what I wanted. Think about it, Damian. Sure, we're doing this for the good of humanity, the sake of mankind, and all that kind of good stuff, but there's more to it than that. You went to school. You read about when they finally sent a man to the Moon. You read about the time when the first words were spoken from the surface of Mars. Here we are, the first to travel to a whole other star. The first explorers from the human race to set foot in an alien solar system. They'll be reading about us in history class, Damian. Isn't that worth something?"
"Yeah. It is." He knew it was worth something. He knew his presence here was perhaps a small one, just one little cog in a wheel, but a wheel that was to benefit everyone. Everything hinged on this. It was worth everything to the anxious people waiting back on Earth.
He just wasn't sure if it was worth it to him. He wasn't sure if it was worth the homesickness. He wasn't sure if it was worth the strange and upsetting dreams. He just didn't know.
David spared him from having to talk about it any longer. "Hey, I got to go make a pit stop. You got it under control, here?"
"Yes." His companion nodded, unstrapped himself from his seat and floated toward the exit without so much as another word. It was just as well with Damian. His eyes glanced back down at the computer screen, at the query that had come up with nothing. No answers were to be had in the computer, and he was not likely to find any answers in speaking with his companion. Heavily, he let his gaze travel to the camera output, the little screen showing an exterior image of the space that the ship hurtled through. Of course, even at their speeds the image was nearly static; it was only the long intervals between his shifts that meant there was any change at all. By now they were close enough that the brighter star in the system had slipped off the edge of the screen, leaving it to be dominated by the glimmering point of light that was his destination.
There would be no answers there, he thought to himself morosely. He could not help but to wonder if there would be any answers to be found at all.