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The People From The Sky I: Man On The MoonThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Jon Stalk | |
| Sunday, 13 July 2008 | |
THE PEOPLE FROM THE SKY
PART I: MAN ON THE MOON THE NARRATIVE OF DR. ANTON J. PERCIVAL II
Inasmuch as I'd like to believe that we as humans are members of a master race, specifically chosen by God to be the bearers of souls and purveyors of His likeness, it would be hypocritical of me, as a scientist, to relay these beliefs as being of my own personally. Instead, I will simply say this, on the record as I speak into this cassette recorder: In my profession I have a duty to convey only those things I know to be of absolute truth - that is to say scientifically proven - and to keep all heresy to myself. Life, extraterrestrial life, the kind of life that is most recently believed to have been a mere possibility beneath the icy depths of Jupiter's Titan or on the more distant, newly discovered terrestrial planet Gliese 581c, does not necessarily imply life that is, say, intelligent. The simplest form of bacteria or the most primitive of germ life would be considered a scientific breakthrough should either be found existing in the outer depths of our solar system. This newfound life, perhaps a single nucleus of a microorganism, or a fungus inhabiting the surface of Venus or Mercury, or a teardrop's worth of water frozen onto Mars's terrain, would instantly evolve modern science into an age so far advanced it would make the works of Isaac Asimov seem like Dickens. But something has happened on this mission, something far greater than the discovery a germ or bacteria, something to rival human existence as we know it; an historic response to the ancient adage, ‘We are not alone.' Hence it was discovered by I, Doctor Anton Percival II of Arkham, Massachusetts, (along side three of my colleagues; Mr. Warren Appleton, Astronaut, of Denver, Colorado; Mr. Anthony Wilcox, Astronaut, of Long Branch, New Jersey; and Ms. Sheryl Culver, Science Teacher, of Youngstown, Ohio) not in the far reaches of the Universe, and not on the icy depths of Mars or in the scolding lava of Venus, but in the most unlikely of places, the place to which we'd come on a simple mission to gather simple information for an upcoming life-searching mission; our own Moon. Upon crossing the mesosphere into the exosphere, where the blue of Earth's sky calmly dissipates into the blackness of the Universe, the lunar orb becomes different to the human eye. In the black void of space it is no more The Moon of Earth, but a moon, a spec of orbiting rock in an otherwise infinite galaxy. Moreover, the yellow sun at the center of our system - viewable only from behind a protective face shield - is most notably a star, not the star of Earth anymore, but the star of the entire solar system. Views - both optical and spiritual - have a tendency of changing once the sky is beneath you. The trip to the lunar surface itself was an uneventful journey, three Earth-days in length, with not much do inside the cramped shuttle except to watch the Earth gradually descend away in a three-quarter phase. There is no day, no night, and the only consequence to even the slightest mishap or oversight is death. It is a lonely trip, made comfortable only by one's colleagues; in my case, Ms. Sheryl Culver, whose stark beauty could rival that of Raquel Welch or Sofia Lauren any day, and whose smile could light the Earth should we someday find ourselves in absence of the sun. The others, though knowledgeable and whole-hearted in the cause of science, seem disinterested in personal pliability and socializing. Thus, for the better part of the trip, I hovered beside a window, watching the moon as it drew nearer, watching the Earth as it fell away, and tickling at my beard, pondering on whether or not I even belong on such a simple mission. "Oh my God...it's beautiful." Came Sheryl's voice as we finally rounded the curvature of the lunar surface. Wilcox eased the craft toward downward until the only horizon I could see was a blackness blacker than nothing, converging upon a yellowish white, chalky terrain. And she was right, Sheryl. It was beautiful. Exquisite in ways not even I with my vast education and experience could begin to convey. The journey from eye to mind, from mind to mouth is a bleak one and often much is lost in translation. The terms beautiful, exquisite and even magnificent cannot begin to describe that to which my eyes were transfixed, that heavenly landscape of vastness and peace. Peace...until it came over the horizon, panting, waving its appendages maniacally, stumbling, struggling against gravity...or lack thereof. We suited ourselves and hurried from the monotony of the shuttle, descending weightlessly to the surface of the orb, where the thing was near collapse. "What is it?" Sheryl asked, her voice abrupt in my headset. "It can't be human." Wilcox, ever the observer of the obvious. As the thing approached, wavering like a drunkard, I was able to ascertain - to myself, so as not to descend to Wilcox's flair for the obvious - that it was in fact un-human. At first glance, its eyes seemed either transparent or nonexistent. However, upon closer examination, I could see they were round, jellylike, not unlike those of a human, except they were larger, almond shaped, and black, with no discernable pupils. They looked in no direction in particular, except, by some terrible fashion, I could tell they were staring directly at me. In the exercise of utmost caution, I studied its facial features from a safe enough distance and was not able to tell at first whether or not the being had a nose, nor was I able to locate nostrils of any sort. If it was, in fact, breathing, I was nonplussed as to how. Appleton leaped from the craft, now buoyant on the absent surface of the sphere beside Wilcox, Sheryl and myself, accompanying us in the simple childlike awe of the otherworldly creature standing before us, our shadows cast across the dusty surface like formed welcome mats for the creature, who still seemed to be struggling. Had it been the absence of gravity? Of oxygen? The thing wore no protective suit of any kind, and it seemed to me that its skin was of a grayish affect, not dissimilar to that of an elephant. The hide, abnormally loose in the areas of its joints, hung off its bones as if it were stretched to its capacity, and crinkled in certain places such as its neck and legs, like an uncut slab of roast beef. "Can you hear us?" I asked, my arms abroad so as to alert my colleagues to remain vigilant. It stepped forward, out of our shadows, and for the first time I could see it in the wash of sunlight. Its skin seemed to be scaly, its chest glistening in the golden rays, heaving in and out, helplessly unable to retrieve any oxygen (if in fact it even breathes oxygen) from this voided atmosphere. Its knees buckled, yet instead of falling the thing persevered in the distance, bobbing back and forth like a fatigued, dehydrated marathoner. "It doesn't look good." Wilcox palpably observed. "We have to..." I began, suffering a state of heartbreak for the ailing creature. "No. Doctor, please, listen to..." "We must, Sheryl. If we can deliver this creature to Earth, save its life, we we'll be revered. We will be heroes. Our mission..." "Our mission was..." "Our mission was insignificant!" I snapped. The recoil of Sheryl's breath echoed in my headset. I couldn't bear to leave this helpless creature on this empty, voided sphere, to die without cause, to go back to Earth without learning who or what or why. "We'll have to answer, you know." Appleton said. I didn't look at either of them, couldn't. My eyes, though shielded by the protective helmet of my space suit, were transfixed on the creature before me - no, not a creature - a specimen, a life. "Can you hear me? Do you understand me?" I spoke slowly, a foolish assessment that careful pronunciation would be more understandable to its alien ears than if spoken at usual speed. Then, something happened. Not so much in my ears, but, in my head, a whining - dull at first - a convulsed, verging static, the sub-sonic sound of a thumping boom box; the sound of the dial on a radio searching for a signal, searching, searching, searching... "Do you hear that?" Wilcox asked. "What is it?" Appleton. "I don't know." Sheryl replied, her words seeming twisted, the voice of a deaf mute. "Shhh. It's trying to communicate." The creature moved forward, knees still barely supporting its probable flimsy weight. Its eyes seemed to be scanning us, though I don't know why I knew that. I think I just...felt it. The creature raised one hand, the three long, gangly fingers attached, and pointed. I turned, in awe of how little control I had over my own motion, and saw the three-quarter Earth in the far distance, blue and white and majestically visible in the blackness of space. "Earth." I said, again employing that same appeasing tone. "Earth. Our Planet." The sound in my head continued, dial scanning unfamiliar sounds breezing through the innards of my mind, unrecognizable voices, hums, static, signals, until... ...I could hear my own voice. The feeling of it, akin to being in a dream, hearing not with your ears, seeing not with your eyes, moving not with your joints, stole my breath from me, and for the first time on the mission I was trembling with the excitement of having served a purpose. Beyond my mind, I could hear heavy breathing in my headset, the breaths of Sheryl, Wilcox and Appleton. "I seek...shelter..." My voice said to me, the last syllable echoing through my skull as if it were a vast cavern. "Who are you? Where are you from?" I asked, outstretching my suited arm, extending warmth, trust, invitation. "Did you hear that?" Wilcox said, his voice threaded with excitement. "I think I heard a voice just like mine..." "Shhh, Wilcox. It's trying to communicate with us." "In our own voices?" "I think it's a form of telepathy, ESP or something similar." "Ytam." My voice told me. I couldn't really understand the pronunciation, sounded to my inner ear as E-TAM. I tried, but found trouble mimicking the sound. "Ytam. Planet. Osar." "Osar?" I repeated. "Yes." "And your name is Ytam?" "Yes." "Why are you here, on Earth's moon?" The creature staggered toward me, fell to one knee, white dust displaced beneath the appendage. "This is so extraordinary." Sheryl said. But it didn't take a doctorate in science research to hear the apprehension curtained behind her words. "It is." I agreed. "It's using our own vocabularies to communicate. It's a far more advanced species. I think it's sick." The urgency of the creature's condition was not prevalent in the rebound of my own voice in my head, but I sensed it might have been sick or dying. "Where are the others of your kind? How can we help you?" Nothing. "Doctor, we can't..." "We have to, Sheryl! Don't you see?" The creature collapsed into a recessed grave of moon dust, its eyes still staring widely into the universe beyond, chest heaving in sick convulsions, yearning and fighting for whatever force it needed to survive, and torturously unable to retrieve it. I knelt beside it, was able to locate what assumed to have been nostrils in its neck. I pushed on its chest, searched for some kind of vital sign, but in the absence of gravity and atmosphere, it was not only difficult; It was impossible. Against the wishes of my colleagues, the newly discovered life form was placed on a gurney in our shuttle so that I could administer proper life-saving methods. Wilcox radioed to mission control, requested permission to return to Earth. With permission granted, he and Appleton guided us through the tunnel of space that connected the Moon and the Earth, while Sheryl and I attended to the creature. Its chest continued to heave erratically, and now with the luxury of artificial light I was able to observe its neck-positioned-nostrils as they contracted and retracted, desperate for whatever element it needed in order to sustain its life. Sheryl noticed, "Look. Its hand, it's moving." Its fingers twiddled, long, lanky, loose-skinned appendages all equal in length, one of which was positioned on the side of its palm, an opposable thumb. The heaving began to quiet, now recessed to longer, still shallow breaths. "It must breathe oxygen." "Perhaps. It seems to be stabilizing..." I touched its skin, a dry, coarse coat, void of moisture, and searched for anything that might resemble a pulse or a heartbeat. The closest I was able to find resided beneath the naval area, a heavy pulse that seemed to be steady at a rate three times as fast as that of the average human. "E.T.A., Wilcox?" "A long time." Was his snide reply. Sheryl sat in a chair beside the ailing creature, looked away, gazing out of the thick multiple-paned portal that separated us from space. She rested her head in her hand, her soft hair waving in her arm's wake, sniffling. "Miss Culver? Sheryl? Are you okay?" At first she dismissed me with the shake of her head, a flick of her hand. As I persisted, however, her already diminished emotional wall began to crumble. "I just feel a little nauseous, light-headed. Cabin fever, that's all, Doctor..." "Please, call me Anton." I could never imagine that my wild gray locks of unkempt hair or my neglected beard could have ever allowed a woman like Sheryl to have been attracted physically to me, but I tried (ineffectively, I am sure) to make her at least attracted to my concern, or to some kind of human compassion I wasn't sure I still was able to conjure. "Do you want to lie down?" She turned to me, away from the magnificence of space, beseeched me with her golden eyes, in seeming hope that I could give an answer to a question she had not yet asked. Her teeth rattled between her finely curved lips, and her nostrils contracted with the insurmountable feat of concealed emotion. She opened her mouth to say something, flinched, eyelids snapping closed. A sneak attack by a fleeting migraine, perhaps. "Miss Culver. Miss Culver? Are you alright?" Her lids burst open, eyes rattling in their sockets like rogue spheres in a galaxy which knows not the necessity of gravity. Her face grew instantly white, pale, the underbelly of a trout's corpse, and her lips tightened, struggling to keep something within them; the blood that was trickling out. "Sheryl!" My head ached now, as if sharing whatever torture she was undergoing. And so returned the sound of static, an analogue dial searching for a signal somewhere in the depths of my mind, screeching, nails on a chalkboard, frying the front circuits of my brain, distorting the outer functions for a moment that seemed far too long to have been only a moment; and far to painful for me to have survived unscathed. When the static ceased, I found myself on the ground, immobilized, the once sickly creature now standing before me, eyeing me, scanning me with those black ovular eyes, blank on the surface, the depth of the universe behind them. Sheryl was beside me, a revolting concoction of blood and puss foaming from her mouth. Her eyes, propped open, were now just gray-clouded bubbles. She twitched on her back the way an electrical mechanism would, had it been sabotaged with liquid. "What...do...you...want?" I asked the creature, my mind a fuzz box, a computer being drained of its memory. Again, that static; the thing's Extra Sensory Perception scanning me for the channel in my brain through which it could communicate, to use my own knowledge and vocabulary against me. Finally, and mercifully, it did. "Erath...Erath...Erath...Ear...Earth...Earth..." "We're...on...our...way...to..." "Eeeeaaaarrrrthhh..." It was sounding out the name of my home planet, like a child trying to master the pronunciation, in the sound of my own voice, protruding my mental ear, stinging my head...silent to everyone else but me. "What...happened...to...Sheryl...?" My own voice, not mine at all: "Life. Exists. On. Eeeaaarth?" A question. "Yes." Again, that screeching sound, followed by a series of monotonous explosions in my head; fuzzy, static explosions, like a high wattage stereo having been cranked to the highest possible decibel, powered inadequately by damaged speakers. One after the other, after the other, until my spectacles cracked before my eyes, and the interior of my vision darkened. The last thing I saw was Sheryl, her electric spasms ending abruptly.
*** *** *** I don't know exactly how long ago that was. A day? Two, perhaps. Three? If so, then we are almost home, but that doesn't count for Sheryl, or for Appleton, whose insipid corpse I now watch lying beside me. His mouth reduced to a bloody outlet, puss oozing from it, teeth now gone, tongue dangling along the side of his lips. His eyes hold the same gray cloudy look as Sheryl's. I had to struggle to my feet, and now I'm stumbling across the floor of the shuttle, banging this, thrashing that, back and forth as if I'm on capsizing ocean-liner. The sky beyond the window is still black, the blackness of void, of nothing. No Earth in the distance, no moon. I wretch at the sight of the corpses, both of whom I'd known very little about in life, one of whom I actually wanted to know more intimately. She's now reduced to a literal figurine, positioned with her arms beneath her chest, her back arched, face forward to the ground, neck turned toward me, spooking me with those cloudy, dead eyes. Appleton's fate was much simpler. He lies in the same position in which he fell to his death; on his back, mouth agape, eyelids pressed back in trepidation. I can't help but believe that I am next, that this super-intelligent form has no further use for me. Furthermore, Wilcox's whereabouts still elude me. Is he still navigating the shuttle? Is he dead? And if he is, who is navigating? More - arrrrrghhh - static...tearing...my...brain...apart.... I'm struggling to the door to the cockpit, perhaps to certain doom. "Wilcox. Wilcox, are you in... AAAARRRRGHHH...there?" More static, a pounding drum, the pain so intense I will die of insanity before a hemorrhage claims me. Is that what killed Sheryl? Appleton? Insanity? I've been betrayed! Betrayed by my own vile stupidity - aaaarggghhh, that PAIN!!! - Yes, by stupidity, by my own pedestrian vanity, the male desire to impress, to know adulation, respect. To be adored, wanted - aaaarrrrggh - to...be...recog - nized... The door to the cockpit is open, and I don't see anything but...don't see anything but feet. Boots. Wilcox. Wilcox on the other side of the room, too. His head, arms, torso. His eyes the same as the others, hazy, gray, cloudy, his body in two pieces. I am seeing double. Death on all four sides, all around me. Oh, God, that pain is going to kill me! Now I can see the Earth ahead of me. It's close. I don't know how close, but close. I can't breathe much anymore. There's something else beside the shuttle. I can barely see it through my cloudy eyesight, but it's a disk of some sort. A floating, metallic disk... ...that...sound...words...my...own...voice...telling...me...to...die...an...explosion... I'm coughing now, as I'm sure you can hear. I can see the end in my cloudy vision. The thing, it's back, it's behind me trying to speak to me but I am tuning it out I am fighting it now I can see blood trickling down my eyes coming from my skull that sound is splitting my skull open from the inside I can't take it anymore - AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!! - But the blood...it's not coming from the outside, but the inside, dripping into my eyes from the inside, clouding my vision... "What do you want from me?? My soul???" It replied yes. It replied yes. Now it's standing before me, and I know I'm insane because I could hear myself laughing. I'm going to drop this thing to the floor right now, to try and defend myself. I hope it doesn't break because I want you all to hear this. I need you all to hear this. I was betrayed...by my own vanity. I suppose, in a way, I deserve this... I am laughing and that's good because I don't feel any any more pain . Our quest for life has been satisfied. Not in the simple form of an organism or bacteria, but in the form of high intelligence. So intelligent it can conquer the human mind from the inside out. I leave this recording to you as a warning. The question of whether or not intelligent life exists in the universe has been answered. But if you are listening to this, I'm afraid you already know that.
*** *** ***
Story Continues in - The People From The Sky II: Fire On The Lake (NOW POSTED) Copyright 2008 Jon Stalk |
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| Last Updated ( Thursday, 28 August 2008 ) |
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