Remembrance - Part 4
#4 of Remembrance
Number four in a multi-part series.
Our interstellar traveller begins looking at his statis in a far darker manner, while coming to terms with the strange visions that continue to plague him where the should be none.
Damian had, of course, skipped out on mentioning anything about dreams to Samuels. Though he was technically a shift companion, there was hardly anything companion-like about the man. If the conversation did not involve something mission-critical, he would usually respond with little more than a disinterested grunt.
That did not mean that he had not tried to find some more information. He had used as much of his free time as he could, the brief hours during his meals, during the short hours that he had before and after he was scheduled to sleep to study up on the subject. For days he had scoured the ship's computers not only for anything directly referencing dreams during stasis, but read as much as he could on the entire theory of hibernating human beings for long periods of time. He had learned more than he cared to know about the biological processes, the various fluids that had been tested for supplanting the blood supply, even the design of the mechanical shunt that was surgically placed in his chest.
Yet he had been able to find nothing along the lines of what he was looking for, It was pretty much as David has summarized : the brain was inactive during stasis, so there had never been any kind of study, no curiosity as far as what went on in the mind while it was shut down. The assumption had been pretty universal that there was simply nothing to study there.
At the end of his shift he retired back to the sleeping quarters for what the pilots had affectionately come to know as their "pre-hibernation nap". It was a six-hour sleep period that they were allowed after their shift but before they went back to their hibernation pods, to give them a chance to get a little extra sleep. Stasis, for as long as it lasted, did nothing to refresh the mind or rest the body.
This time he had been unable to sleep. In the best of times, Damian found it difficult to sleep comfortably in the sleeping quarters, located near the command module, for it too was in zero-gravity. Rather than a bed it contained small padded sleeping tubes, cylindrical enclosures that served to hold them in relative comfort rather than spend the night strapped in to a bed, or, worse, floating around aimlessly. He had often wondered why the hibernation pods were located on the ring with artificial gravity while those who were awake were forced to sleep in the low gravity environment, a situation that seemed to actually be the reverse of what he would have expected. Having read up on stasis he now understood that the gravity - or at least the illusion thereof - was a crucial element to the process of being put in to stasis and brought back to wakefulness. He still did not really understand why, but at least now knew that it was to reduce the chances of complications upon waking.
Now he had the additional stress of what had been happening to him, compounded by the fact that he was simply not finding any information that was useful to him, not finding any answers at all to suggest what might be happening to him. Damian had spent a few fitful hours trying to rest, but when he had finally given up, he had decided to give the database one last try before he went back down to the ring, back down to where he would have to confront the stasis pod once again.
In a fit of something like morbid curiosity, he had decided to indulge the dream by reading up on dinosaurs. Perhaps, he had reasoned to himself, if he could find some kind of proof that the creatures he was imagining were simply not possible, it would help to dispel them, keep the visions from returning and troubling him once again.
The tyrannosaur had been easy enough. That much he knew he would be able to find, that much he did not doubt, even from the impossible dream. The images that he pulled up, based on countless years of research and speculation , were surprisingly very close to the monster that he remembered from his dream. He had probably seen these images, or something like them during his childhood and had recalled them in those moments. It was not hard to make sense of that.
The raptors were a whole other story. He had spent the better part of an hour pulling up all kinds of creatures that might have been described as raptor. Velociraptor, deinonychus, troodon, achillobator, utahraptor. The list went on, covering species and genera that became progressively less familiar - and harder to pronounce - but none of them looked even vaguely like the creatures he had dreamed up. All of the dinosaurs in the images that he had pulled up where covered in feathers, had longer necks and longer tails, and looked somehow more _feral_than what his mind was dreaming up. They simply had to be a fabrication of his mind.
He had even stumbled upon some kind of dinosauroid creature that someone had envisioned in the late 20th century, near the time when his great-grandfather had been born, from before the time when it had been established that such dinosaurs were feathered. What he found staring back at him was also nothing like what he had seen in his dream; it looked more alien, with enormous eyes and a strange bald head. It had been the only suggestion he found in the records that dinosaurs might have evolved to a state of intelligence, something capable of civilization, but even that had been little more than a thought experiment. No one had ever seriously suggested that dinosaurs had been anything except for unintelligent, simple, feral creatures.
What he had been imagining was fiction, pure and simple.
A soft tone began sounding, what was supposed to have been his alarm if he had properly fallen to sleep. Mildly annoyed, Damian clicked the alarm off from the same panel where he had been reading about dinosaurs and shut it off. It wasn't so much that he was annoyed that his free time was over. It was the fact that he now had to face the stasis pod.
His trip back down to the ring where the rows and rows of pods were was quick and uneventful. It always seemed to go by a little quicker than the trip up. Perhaps it was the growing strength of the gravity as he went along, tugging on him a little harder with each step down, almost eager to have him back. Rather unpleasantly, he imagined it as the yawning pod itself exerting some kind of hidden force to draw him ever closer, ever quicker.
Damian knew full well that the strange images would return when he slipped in to the pod. He did not know why it was happening, still did not have the faintest clue, but somehow he felt incredibly confident that it would happen. Perhaps he would be confronted by a gaping tyrannosaur maw waiting to bite him in half and swallow him down in a pair of hungry gulps. Perhaps he would again encounter a strange, naked female waiting for him, making his body feel those strange but unmistakeable urges once again. He wasn't sure which would be worse.
When he finally arrived at the level of the ring where the illusion of gravity was at it's strongest, he began to once more make his way past the rows of pods, each one loaded with its own senseless sleeper. Once again, he remembered the words he had heard comparing them to corpses, cadavers, and could not help but to shiver. The atmosphere of the ring was dark and sterile, just enough light for him to make his way where he was going, just enough oxygen for him as he walked along, just enough to sustain life. Before, he had imagined it as some kind of enormous, oversized hospital.
Now it felt more like a morgue.
Shuddering, he square his shoulders and looked ahead. From here he could make out his own pod, but only because the door was already hanging open, patiently awaiting his arrival. The pods were all fully automated, the schedule set by the central computer but controlled by the unit itself. Each pod had its own power source, with enough battery power to operate the unit for a hundred years, all precautions to ensure the health and safety of the sleepers, yet all ineffectual at preventing the strange dreams from harassing him when all the world should be black and silent for him.
Then he was there. As always, the awaiting pod was empty, white and sterile and lifeless. The automatic cleaning cycles that the machine underwent in his absence had eliminated any hint of what had happened there before. There was no hint of the scent of urine from when he had pissed himself; no remnant of the tears that he had shed so liberally that they had spilled out onto the sleeping pad beneath him. It appeared every bit the same as it had the first time he had stepped in to it, the same as it would the next time, and probably the same as it always would until it was beyond use.
Damian did not see it for what it was. Somehow, he could still smell the piss and sweat and fear, could still somehow hear the unnatural rustle of foliage, could still somehow see the wicked rows of tyrannosaur teeth protruding from the pod. "I'm not helping myself here, any."
With a sigh, he lowered himself in to the pod and let the door shut with a hiss. The only part of the process that was not automated was the insertion of the equipment into the little port on his chest - his least favorite part. He tried not to think about it too much as he reached for it, slid it into the little pocket hidden on the front of his jumpsuit, pushed it into the port on his body. He tried not to think about what would happen after he heard the little click and felt the first wave of tingling rush over his body as the process began to take effect.
He closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering, nervous breath. His ears began to register the change, sounding like a strange, hollow throbbing in his ears, a rush of a sound that came and went with his heartbeat. He imagined it was the sound of his blood - or rather, the substitute being pumped through his body - circulating through his ears. The sound picked up in intensity, rising and swelling in his ears, a rhythmic rush of sound that came again, and again, and again, growing richer with each and every heartbeat.
The sound did not stop. Instead, it leveled out, filled both of his ears. He knew the sound was not coming from his ears but was coming from beyond. Once again he could feel the kiss of sunlight on his skin, and his nostrils were filled with an unfamiliar but rich scent. Damian opened his eyes.
Blue. Blue was the first word that came to his mind, the first thought that swept over him as his eyes opened. He was gazing out at a horizon of blue against blue, an expanse of open sky nestled right up against the equally blue horizon, slightly different shades that somehow complemented one another. It took him a moment to realize that it was water he was looking at; it was the ocean.
Damian was vaguely aware of the fact that he was once again looking out over a long, pointed snout, but for the moment that particular fact did not bother him. He was too busy gazing out over the vast expanse of blue that spread out in front of him, a light blue marred only by the white color of the waves cresting and spilling over themselves on their slow march toward the land, their slow march toward the sand where they spilled up and over his feet. He was aware of that feeling too, a foreign but delightful sensation as the warm water flooded over his feet, washing between his toes. He wriggled them down into the wet sand, almost forgetting the fact that it was talons rather than toetips that were sinking between the sand particles. The sensation was simple yet delightful, like a thousand tiny fingertips rubbing his sore and mistreated feet, the warmth caressing over his toes.
Finally allowing his eyes to wander, he looked off to the side to gaze along the beach where he stood. It was a narrow strip that was an off white color lined on one side by the crystalline blue waters, by a verge of heavy, hardy grasses and trees that looked remarkably like the palm trees he had seen in so many treasured images of tropical getaways. Not far into the distance the beach curved in a long, gentle half-moon shape that formed a natural bay littered with what at first looked like dozens of logs floating in the waves, but then he realized they were not logs at all but were several different kinds of boats, canoes, rather rudimentary fishing outriggers and the like. From this distance he could only just make out the shape of their inhabitants, raptor-like creatures that were busy either paddling out into the sea or back toward land, casting broad nets into the water or pulling them back in.
While there was no dock for the boats to return to, their occupants forced to simply drag them up onto the beach and far enough away from the water to be safe from high tide, there were a number of small wooden structures that hugged the sandy strand. Some were little more than a kind of ramada, a thatched roof held up on four wooden supports shading tables where they fishers were busy sorting their catches, gutting and cleaning the fish out on the spot. Some were more permanent looking structures, not unlike the huts he had seen during the previous dream. Further inland, straddling the bay upon the little hills that rose up beyond the treeline were a number of stone structures, nearly white in the sunlight, glittering in their fashion as they looked over the sea. They were remarkably similar to the quaint Mediterranean villages he had seen in so many books, but more than that he realized that the sight was remarkably beautiful.
It was enough to make him forget about the absurdity of it all, enough that he did not find himself worrying about why he would be imagining creatures such as these building quaint, beautiful villages on the seaside or constructing their own boats with which to go out fishing. The absurdity of the sight of those creatures cleaning fishes on tables and hauling them off toward the village, presumably to trade at a market, was forgotten in the inherent beauty of what he beheld.
Damian had only seen these kinds of things in pictures, after all.
A sudden, primal urge took hold of him as another wave washed gently up over his feet. Without thinking much about it, he set his legs into motion and began to ran out toward the sea, feeling the water splashing upward between his legs. He pushed himself out into the surf, past the point where the water gathered up around his knees, past the point that it began to soak the colorful cloth that he had wrapped around himself, up till he was nearly chest deep before an incoming wave hit him in the face, knocking him off his feet. He felt the surging of the water, swirling around him on all sides, carrying him up toward the sandy beach once again.
Part of him wanted to panic. He felt so helpless against the rush of the surf, felt so small and tiny and insignificant against the power of the ocean that swept him along, felt incredibly mortal in that instant, but at the same time felt incredibly alive. The warm water seemed to caress him where it touched him, held him up and carried him along with surprising gentleness till he was left behind, deposited on his back on the sand as the water rushed along him, back toward the open ocean, leaving the sun to kiss his dampened cheek.
Sitting up, he left himself sitting in the sand, propping himself up with his hands and looking out over his feet at the surging waters, and he laughed. Throwing his head back, Damian simply let the rush of wild emotion spill out in peals of almost childish laughter, a sound that was almost angry and grating to his ears yet still fill of mirth and honest joy and liberating. He found he did not care how bestial and strange the sound was; it felt far too good to stop.
What are you doing?
The voice caught him off guard. Turning to look around behind him, he realized there was another creature, another one of the raptors standing nearby. His eyes picked up on the subtle little hints that revealed the creature as another male, wearing similar clothing to himself. The colors were a little muted compared to what he had seen in the last vision, incorporating more whites and yellows with the borders stitched in blues, still sporting the numerous glass beads tied to cords and hanging from various corners. In a way the clothing almost looked like a Roman toga, the way it was loosely wrapped around the creature's form.
When he did not answer, the raptor approached with an expression that was somewhat amused, stopping just short of where the water lapped up on the shore. Well? You're acting like a child down there, playing in the water. What are you doing?
Damian considered how he ought to answer the question. His eyes looked the creature over, the memories of the books he had read still fresh in his mind. He sported the sickle-claws on his feet, the general body plan that brought the word 'raptor' to his mind. The tail was too short, as was the creature's neck, and it stood too upright, its body having taken on something vaguely human in shape, and the feathers were wrong. Would it be wrong to answer his dream? I am enjoying myself.
I see that,_the creature responded, chuckling a little bit. _You are acting like a child, my brother. You act as if you have never seen the sea before.
The surge of emotion that he had felt when the sea swept him along was just as fresh in his mind, and not so easy to dispel. He answered honestly. It is because I have not. Not a sea like this, before.
The other raptor shook his head, frowning slightly in confusion. Now I begin to wonder about your sanity. You grew up here, of course you have seen this sea before. Many times.
_I have not._He could not help but to smile. Apparently, it was even possible to confuse one's dreams.
Confusion was a good word for it. The other male frowned again, stepping forward just enough that his feet stepped on to the wet sand, leaving footprints behind that were shaped vaguely like bird's feet. Now you make no sense. I don't know what you are getting at, but it's getting old, and we are busy. Get up out of that water, or we'll be late.
No. You do not understand._Damian leaned back again to let himself lie in the sand, feeling the water running up along his sides. It felt strange against his feathers, already soaking wet, but the sensation was still warm and welcome. In childlike fashion, he giggled again and splashed some of the water about. _This is nothing like the sea I have known.
For a moment the creature's expression registered nothing more than confusion and mounting frustration, but then suddenly softened. His eyes widened a little as comprehension came to his face. Do not jest now, my brother. If you are ... if you are trying to make a fool of me, I will strangle you right here and now ...
Damian figured he might as well take it all the way. Maybe if he stopped fighting the dream it would stop fighting back and leave him alone. I am not. You see, I am not your brother.
At that, the raptor who called himself his brother dropped to his knees in the sand, just feet away and looking down at him with a rather incredulous expression. His voice dropped to a near whisper, and he looked around briefly as if to make sure no one else was there. If you are not my brother ... are you the traveler? Have you returned to visit us?
_I am._It was the word that the shaman had used to refer to him previously. It was good enough.
Then there was nothing but the sound of the surf crashing against the shore once again. For several long moments the raptor, the other male, did not so much as say a word. It gave Damian the opportunity to sit up again and look out over the ocean, indulging in the sight, drinking in the various shades of blue that played both in the sea and in the sky. At least he could make the most of the situation; if his dream was going to present such a feast for his senses, he would at least indulge.
You were always the dreamer,_the raptor finally said when he spoke up, his voice a little distant. _I suppose grandfather was right, after all. He always said that you would be the one, he always said this was when it was going to happen.
When Damain turned to look behind his shoulder again, it was his turn to be confused. He felt his jaw drop a little as he tried to form a question but found it difficult to do.
Ah, I apologize,_the raptor said with a little smile. _By you, I mean my brother, whose form you are now using. He was always the dreamer, he was always the one who it should have happened to, grandfather always said so._The creature stopped, his expression growing suddenly a little more somber. _Please promise me you will leave him unharmed ...
Your grandfather?
The other raptor nodded again. Yes, grandfather. Even when everyone else said the stories were just that, silly old tales ... or maybe even that his father had been insane, or worse, some kind of liar ... he always believed, and he always said you would return to visit us again. Knew it would either be my brother or myself ... but mostly my brother, the dreamer. He was right.
Damian let his jaw work a little as the information ran through his head, twisting the story in strange and unexpected ways. I ... your grandfather? How long has it been since I last visited?
I don't know. My father's grandfather passed away many years ago, as did my grandfather a few years back. Sixty years, perhaps?
There was something incredibly confusing and unsettling by this information. It was one thing for him to dream up a little world, a strange raptor-body that he would assume while his real body was busy sleeping, but to have dreamed up that entire generations had passed since he last visited this dream realm? It was not beyond the possibility of his imagination, he supposed, but it seemed somehow unlikely to him; it seemed to only confuse things even worse. How ... how did your grandfather know I would return?
Oh, he had it all figured out. The other raptor - who he realized was a little taller, perhaps a little older looking than himself - settled back on his haunches and nodded, relaxing while he recounted the story. Only a few days had his own father been visited by the visitor - by yourself - and the entire city had come to see him. He didn't remember a thing about it, however, like he'd been asleep the entire time. It was the seeress who said the most about it. She told of a visitor who had come from beyond the stars, a wanderer, a traveler far from his own home. She said he had come from even farther than the stars, had come from so far away that distance had lost all its meaning. So far away that she couldn't describe it.
That was all she could say, however. He paused for a breath, leaning his head back a little. For days it was all anyone could talk about, the traveler from beyond the stars. Everyone had their own explanation of what happened, their own ideas, their own theories. You had come to deliver a message, perhaps. You had come to haunt us for some grave sin. You had simply gotten lost. No one knew.
Damian found himself growing strangely engrossed by the story, enough so that he was unable to interrupt while the raptor continued with his tale. After a few weeks it began to die down, and life slowly went back to normal. He tried to forget about what happened, but his wife never let him forget it. Eventually he had a son, our grandfather. When he heard the tale, it became a part of him. He tried to uncover the secret of his father's experience. He even went so far as to link it to his own grandfather's grandfather ... he had been mortally wounded protecting the village from a tyrannosaur attack, and babbled on incoherently before he died ...
He did not have to hear beyond the mention of the tyrannosaur attack before he recalled the first vision he had, the sight of those massive jaws bearing down on him. Mentally he did the math, and determined that the generation gap was about the same, and so the time would have been about the same. It was as if each of his visits spanned not only the months of his sleep, but in fact spanned years upon years. It made no sense.
Then he shook his head. None of this made sense at all, and he suddenly felt ashamed for allowing himself to be drawn into the tale, for allowing himself to lend any credence at all to what was going on. It was a dream, after all, a dream of his own creation.
He did not have to put up with this. Enough.
But I haven't even told you about ...
Damian raised his voice a little, as if to emphasize the point. Enough.
The other raptor fell silent, a crestfallen look on his face. Once again silence was allowed to reign, silence except for the gentle wash of the sea upon the sand. Damian let his eyes wander out over the ocean once again, down the sandy strand toward the makeshift flotilla of fishing vessels. Even that was dangerous, he realized; allowing himself to gaze too long at the boats, at the beautiful blue of the ocean and the sky above, was allowing himself to be drawn in to the dream, to imagine it was real for a moment, to get carried away. Even though the vision indulged his senses it was too much.
Might I ask you a question?
The question had come from the other raptor, and Damian allowed himself to look over his shoulder. What?
I have often wondered ... well ... if you are a traveler, you would know. What lies beyond the sea?
_More land._It was sufficient an answer, and he supposed he could offer it without getting too caught up in what was going on.
The raptor, the one who called himself his brother, smiled meekly at that. I thought so. My brother will be interested to hear that ... he always thought the sea was the edge of the world.
Damian merely nodded at that, closing his eyes. Perhaps if he closed his eyes, if he rested, the dream would end and he would be drawn back into the real world. The sea was insistent, however, the warm water lapping at his feet, along his legs, keeping his feathers wet.
Is the sea not like this, for you?
What? He opened his eyes again, confused.
The larger raptor shrugged his shoulders. You ... I've never seen anyone so thrilled by the sea, save for a child. Is the sea where you come from so different?
That question, at least, brought him back to the real world. Even if the answer was less than pleasant. Closing his eyes, he cringed a little at the thought. It is. I have seen it only once, though I live not far from the shores. My world is ... different. Our air is foul and dirty. The seas are poisoned. Most of the fish are dead, washed ashore to rot and decay. For so long have the seas been fouled that the beaches are no longer lined with sand, but with a foul-smelling slime gathered from years of death and poison. I have seen the sea, from the distance. No one can stand being close to it, any longer.
A few heartbeats of the ocean passed. I can see why you wander the stars far from home, then. To see the ocean so fouled would ruin me.
Just as it had ruined so many people before him, Damian thought. Suddenly, the sight of the ocean in front of him, the glittering blue sea with its flotilla of fishing boats, bedecked by the cloudless sky, looked more taunting than it did beautiful. Suddenly he felt tired, he felt on the verge of tears. Please. Enough of this ... I need to rest.
Come, then._The other raptor stood, offering him a hand and a gentle smile. _Let us no longer speak of such things. When last you visited you were clubbed over the head and bound, as the story goes. Let me show you more hospitality.
Damian wanted to reject the offer, wanted to go back to his little pod, but it wasn't happening. With a slightly reluctant sigh, he reached for the offered hand and pulled himself up to his feet.