Chapter 1
Proxima Centauri 2124
Private Patrick Karin never dreamed of fighting a war.
The capitalist foothold in the Proxima Centauri system ensured many opportunities for offworld migrants such as himself, but a full-blown infantry war against the Northimera alliance? Only a few years had passed since the last of good old Earth’s natural resources had been expended.
Democracy began to loose its grip on the free world and corporations of gigantic proportions rose up to rule the Sol system. Zaibatsu Heavy-Industries Corp quickly exploited all available in system resources, taking advantage of Earth’s heightened consumer demand. Soon even the regolith of Earth’s majestic moon was razed for profit. Idealistic leaders fought for power and control over the few remaining raw materials in-system. Propulsion technologies became as scarce as the raw materials themselves. Yet as the human population dwindled to a flicker, fate dealt a new card.
Lane Roberts, a lunar core miner, came across something ancient buried in the regolith. Quickly snapped up by Zaibatsu Heavy-Industries, the artifact that became known as the discontinuity drive founded a new wave of human expansion to the stars. Humanity reached out to neighboring systems, propelled by recovered technology that operated on the principles as mysterious and grand as the universe itself.
Yet, every world explored proved barren, unsupportive of life.
That same drive brought Patrick Karin to the Proxima system. Drafted as a soldier and now under the employ of Yakuza Corp, Private Patrick unwittingly joined the opening wave of infantry, fighting for the first, fertile world.
Patrick breathed deep the thick, warm air of a new world and hesitantly set one heavy foot on ground unstained by human hands.
"Get your ass off my goddamn ship!" Patrick was struck hard and found himself half shoved into a run across alien ground, heading away from the dropship and towards the cover of unfamiliar foliage.
What am I doing here, Patrick through to himself, panting to keep up with the squad of first wave scouts he had been hastily assigned to. Patrick was a miner, accustomed to the cold mechanical world of hard vacuum. A world of lush greenery was no place for a man born to microgravity. The air was heavy with humidity of all things!
Patrick remembered the ad vid clearly. "Yakuza Corp deep regolith mining positions available with immediate embarkation to the Proxima system. New opportunities await at Proxima IV!"
Only a few weeks ago, that opportunity had sounded like just what Patrick was in need of. He was just an everyday deep regolith asteroid miner, pale and dark haired, unused to the warmth of a world. With the Sol system stripped clean of resources, Proxima was his next best bet. What’s a guy to do? In any event, steerage aboard a discontinuity ship seemed far better than sifting through already barren asteroids for trace elements in order pay his oxygen bills. He was already in transit when the first probes returned with surprising data that Proxima IV was not a desolate ball of rock.
A sharp crackling from above scattered Patrick’s thoughts.
"On the ground now! Incoming!" screamed Lieutenant Bryce, Patrick’s squad commander.
Patrick dove into the thick foliage, hitting the ground hard. Green ferns choked his vision as he scrambled to his knees to see what was going on, cradling his bruised shoulder.
"Get down! Are you insane?" Bryce barked in Patrick’s direction.
The other four members of the 54th hired scouting squad were belly down, flat on the deck, hands bracing heads for the inevitable. The crackling sound swept through the trees, lateral to Patrick’s position. He searched the sky for the source of the disruption, forgetting every minute of his six-hour corporate infantry training. Already loosing consciousness from the deafening roar in his head, Patrick was thrown back down into deck as the first neutron grenade hit.
Corporal Laura Stanton coughed up blood and squinted painfully until the world came into focus. Head aching, she reached up and ran a hand through her blond hair, discovering a fair sized bruise in the process.
Stanton stood up shakily amongst the scorched greenery and peeled the spent radiation armor from her body. The slabs of used up technology hit the scorched ground with a dull clank and dissolved to dust, one by one. Unprotected, she surveyed the area, praying to god that the neutron strike was over. Pity the unfortunate soul caught in a neutron storm without protection, she thought to herself. The idea was unfathomable. Slowly her associates rose to their feet.
She counted, 1, 2, 3,.. oh shit. Had one of the poor bastards forgotten his training? Stanton gagged at the idea as a horrific image of blistering flesh entered her mind. And where the hell was Lieutenant Bryce? Her strident superior had a disconcerting habit of disappearing when he was most needed and resurfacing to bark orders and revoke stock options when least expected.
A feeble moan drew her attention to a mass of charred ferns a few yards away. Stanton grew nauseous once more, hesitating. As she approached the foliage, she saw the telltale yellow of the Yakuza logo that emblazoned every employee’s uniform. She reached into her utility pockets, searching for an item she hoped that she would never have to use.
Stanton was as used to war as any other Corporal in the Yakuza hired infantry and like most other experienced soldiers, she enjoyed being on the safer end of a neutron grenade strike a lot more than being hit by one. Morphine derms in hand, she bent down to aid the wounded, stomach reeling.
Patrick’s head hurt like all hell. He strained to sit up, peeling the radiation armor off of his body. The girl who was bent over him only a second ago was cursing at him harshly a few feet off, pale as a ghost. Her shrill tone only tripled his pounding headache.
"Corporal Stanton?" he recalled her name from memory.
"You bastard! I thought you were, ugh!" she vomited into the bushes.
Patrick stood up, disoriented. "Anyone got a medistat?" he called out to his recovering squad. Stanton was going to be of no help currently.
"Communications officer Joshua Stevens at your service" Patrick turned to view a small Asian man with cropped hair, still smoldering from the blast approaching to greet him.
They shook hands, neither favoring a salute.
At least one of them is forthcoming, Patrick thought to himself, reflecting on being yelled at, knocked unconscious, and then waking up only to be cursed at once again. Patrick Karin’s day was not starting out all that great.
Stevens informed him of their squad’s status, "Well, as you can see, Corporal Stanton is alive and well, Lieutenant. Bryce appears to be missing, and I just hooked Private Mike Patterson over there up to the medistat." Stevens pointed at another yellow logoed soldier sitting a few away against a rock.
Patrick didn’t recall even having met Patterson.
"Oh, and it appears you have a concussion" Added Stevens. "Though I’m just a Comms officer, not a medical officer. My interests are more in theoretical physics, not internal medicine. These medistats are great. They take care of all your ills, though I don’t claim to understand how they work. I’ve been getting quite good at diagnosing people with out them though. Spotted Patterson’s broken arm right away," Stevens said proudly.
He handed Patrick the medistat, which proceeded to affix itself to the skin of his arm.
Patrick stared down at it in disbelief.
"Oh, don’t worry about that, you’ll feel better right away," said Stevens.
He let the thing do its work, yet his headache did not relent and he was beginning to feel nauseous. Oh, the wonders of modern medicine, he thought to himself.
Corporal Stanton, now composed, approached them with an air of authority,
"Stevens, I want you to contact the orbital dry dock, inform them of what happened, our current status, and Lieutenant Bryce’s…. ah, absence. I am taking charge of this squad until his return," she said confidently.
Patrick thought he could see the hint of a smile on her stern face.
"We need to find shelter and contact the other squads in the region. Who knows what kind of dangerous shit is around here, let alone those Northimera bastards trying to rip this prime dirtball right out from under us," she touched her side arm, a positron projector, its cold metallic presence gave her a sense of power. Stanton continued, "Private Karin, go see if the medistat is done knitting Patterson’s arm."
Patrick turned and headed off Patterson’s direction, feeling worse off even after the application of the medistat. His head was pounding and the nausea was stronger than before. He began to question the effectiveness of the radiation armor. Patrick felt dizzy, before reaching Patterson, he collapsed in a heap, vision draining into blackness.
Chapter 2
Thoughts took shape in Patrick’s mind. Electrical impulses passed through his nervous system, receiving sensory input and regulating his pulse. His subconscious traveled amongst a sea of neurons and dendrites, sustained by the brain’s neural network of interconnections.
Patrick dreamed. His blood pumped, and he dreamed of life back in orbit around Sol. He felt connected to his birthplace, even though it was barely more an orbiting tin can, now lightyears away, he felt drawn to it. His unconscious mind dreamed of his rented flat. The relentless humming of the air circulators, the vibrating of the metal walls… It was impossible to sleep in that mechanical calm, too much cold hard reality pulling him back to the day’s drudgery, unable to escape into dreams. The vibration of the walls would finally harmonize with his brain and permit his weary mind to rest until he was yanked conscious once again.
He awoke. Night.
"Oh, you’ve finally snapped out of it. I was afraid you would miss the sunrise."
Patrick looked up bewildered at a double full moon, completely at a loss for direction yet awed by the natural beauty. He tried to move but found himself strapped down, belly up towards the stars. Turning to his right he glimpsed a broad-shouldered man with a stolid face. Patterson.
"You’ve been out for three days Karin. Goddamn medistat didn’t work, had to nurse you back to health the old fashioned way." Patterson chuckled and released the straps on the makeshift gurney currently occupied by Patrick.
"Where are we anyways?" Patrick, although utterly disoriented, felt at peace for the first time in weeks. He felt rested, healthy, and his headache was gone.
"Stanton’s been running us through this forest for the last two days," said Patterson. "Still no response from dry dock. I find it odd that we haven’t encountered any other squads, nor any enemy fire for that matter"
"Oh, where’s Stevens?"
"Sleeping."
"And Stanton?"
"She’s out looking for Lieutenant Bryce. Its hopeless though, there’s an entire jungle here. Glad to have you back Karin"
"Thanks," replied Patrick.
He stretched and stood up to inspect his surroundings. Trees. Ferns and trees everywhere, there really was an entire jungle here, lightyears away from the desecrated Earth. He touched the ground; it felt odd, moving under his palm, almost vibrating. It was as if the planet was alive and breathing. Resonating with life, yet Patrick had seen neither insect nor animal here. A faint red glow began to emerge from the horizon, towards north. Sunrise. Goddamn, a red sunrise on a world full of forest. Patrick was finally at harmony with the universe; he no longer needed the echoing walls of his flat to remain at peace.
The sun rose higher in the sky, transforming from a dull red to a deep orange. Patrick smelled coffee.
"Here, have a cup, it’s the last we’ve got," Stevens joined them to watch.
Stanton returned later that morning with disturbing news. Bryce had been found, but she wouldn’t reveal any details. With out a word, she beckoned the squad to follow. Drinking the last of their coffee, the 54th donned their packs and followed Stanton’s lead through the thick foliage.
Joshua Stevens had always hated biology. He turned away from Stanton who was sobbing uncontrollably into Patterson’s shoulder. Karin stood next to him, speechless and unable to avert his gaze from the ground before them. There was little Stevens could do to keep his breakfast down. He gagged convulsively.
The clearing was covered in blood.
Lieutenant Bryce, or rather, the few remains that could be identified as Bryce lay in a neat heap in the center of the clearing. There was neither charred flesh nor tattered uniform. Matter of fact, there was no trace of the yellow Yakuza logo at all on the bloody mess that was Bryce. This was no neutron grenade hit, nor any other particle weapon could have accomplished the pure surgical precision of what rested here.
Stevens, holding back vomit, stooped to inspect the remains.
It was as if Bryce’s body had been vivisected with a vibro-blade, but that nasty trinket was not standard kit for neither Yakuza infantry nor Northimera troops. The corpse was completely disassembled, an anatomy book gone horribly wrong; the abdominal cavity was cleanly sliced open, carved out, and the organs rested neatly beside the body. His appendages were removed and the muscle splayed out radial from the remains. Bryce’s heart was cleanly sliced open, blood still oozing out. This atrocity had happened recently, the ground was swill wet. Stanton pressed her fingers into the red dirt; it resonated silently like everything else here.
The most disturbing image, the one that would be burnt into Stanton’s mind forever, was Bryce’s head. His eyes were left intact, looking up towards the cloudless sky, but his head…. Bryce’s skull was cleanly cut open and his brain had been liberated from his brainpan. A circle had been carved into his frontal lobe. The whole damn mess had order and precision. It was… organized for god’s sake, thought Stanton.
There was no investigation needed here. Lieutenant Bryce had been defiled in the most horrific of methods imaginable. No merciful person would even have been capable of doing this, not even Northimera troops. Whoever did this was animalistic, savage. Yet there was order to it all. Only one rite was left to carry out. Stanton pulled two shovels from his pack and handed one to Karin.
The instant Patrick’s shovel touched the dirt a high-pitched shriek emanated from the surrounding forest. It seems to come from beyond the edge of the clearing. Patrick and Stevens froze and stared at each other. Not once on this planet had any of the 54th seen or heard any sign of animals. Patrick scanned the clearing’s edge for any sign of movement, but he saw none.
"Stevens? I’m not going crazy am I?
"I heard it too."
"What the hell was it?"
"I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out. We haven’t seen a trace of friend or foe on this world but whatever did this to Bryce couldn’t have been human. This planet must be inhabited."
In all of the corporate expansion through our spiral arm of the galaxy, mankind had encountered no life of any kind, save for a few and far between single celled organisms. So far, human kind had been utterly alone in the universe. Proxima IV had been the first planet with a breathable atmosphere and a photosynthetic ecosystem. Scans had shown dense plant life, but no other animal forms oddly enough. How could a planet, lush with atmosphere and forest be so barren of all other forms of life? Apparently, the Yakuza had been wrong.
Patrick dropped his shovel.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I’m going to find out what made that sound."
"Are you insane? This man has been… disassembled! Whatever did that to him, can’t be far away."
Patrick stepped around Bryce’s remains and walked in the direction the sound had emanated from, to the edge of the clearing. The flora was thick here. He looked beyond the ferns. Nothing, just more greens. No movement in any direction. No sound. Nothing. Am I going insane? thought Patrick. He had been hearing voices lately. Either the source of the sound had fled or had never existed. This sound was no apparition though. He looked down; amongst the undergrowth he glimpsed something in the dirt. A footprint lay exposed in the stained ground.
Patrick stooped down to investigate.
The print was oddly misshapen by human standards. It was quite small, oblong in shape with the toe like protrusions on the front and one larger flange in the back. Not human. The combination of words struck a chord in Patrick’s mind. He turned to face the remaining members of the 54th.
"Im going to follow it," said Patrick.
"Have you lost your mind!" snapped Stanton.
"I don’t think we have any other alternatives," Patrick reaffirmed. "We have no food, there is nobody here. What ever happened to the war? Have any of you heard any crossfire?" Patrick turned to Stanton. "Stevens hasn’t even been able to raise dry dock on the comlink. We’re as good as dead my friends."
Patterson crossed to Patrick. "He’s right, c’mon, lets get going."
Chapter 3
Stanton had lost the will to lead. There was no pride to be gained here. She walked alongside Stevens, following a path chosen by Karin’s insane perusal of the unknown, forged through the undergrowth by Patterson’s machete. She rested her hand on her sidearm, the positron projector. Its solid metal assembly felt reassuring to her. For the greater part of a day they had been tracking the bloody footprints of a creature none of them had even seen. Stanton longed for a solid meal and a warm bed. She knew she would get neither.
"Stupid piece of crap!" Stevens stopped mid-step and ripped the comlink’s earpiece from his head. "Either this bit of junk isn’t working or there is no one out there to receive. But a million ton orbital station doesn’t just disappear. There must be another answer."
"Give it up, we’ll be lucky if we live through the night the way things are going," Stanton replied pessimistically.
She watched as Stevens quickened his pace to catch up with the rest of the squad.
"You know, I’ve been thinking. Notice how just about everything here vibrates to the touch?" Stevens picked up a small rock. It resonated against his skin, demonstrating his point. "Don’t you think it’s a bit odd?"
"Sure" said Stanton, not really caring.
"The rock itself isn’t vibrating. It seems that rather, everything else around it is."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"This entire planet, and its atmosphere are resonating at a low frequency. We’re literally surrounded by a resonance field, like standing between the prongs of a tuning fork."
Stevens removed a small, general-purpose sensor package from his pack and configured it for the current situation. He held it up above his head to take a reading.
"8hz to be exact," he said contentedly.
"And what does this have to do with anything?" Stanton was tiring of Stevens’s little experiment.
"I think I know now why we haven’t been able to raise dry dock on the comlink," he said.
"Go on."
"The resonance field is confusing our box. Interfering with the signal in the upper atmosphere and preventing it from reaching dry dock with clarity. It may be preventing all transmissions whatsoever; the signals just bounce off the edge of the resonance field. That piece of trash never worked here in the first place."
"How else can we contact dry dock?" said Stanton, needing something concrete to grasp on to, a task to accomplish.
Wandering aimlessly for days through this world of confusion had chipped away at her down her sense of order. The sleepless nights had been getting to her, she was hearing voices in her head. Seeing Bryce like that had been too much… No, I must find a way out, I am going to survive, and she reminded her self once again.
"Well, I could try to set up a line of sight laser comm. link. That would work, provided dry dock is listening. We have all the parts right here. I could use the sight from your positron projector. In fact, that’s all I would need other than the comlink’s hardware. I can start right away. Can I take a look at that projector?"
Stanton didn’t know what to do. She wanted to get out of here more than anything, but to give up her defense, her one reassurance. She knew she had to. Could Stanton trust her squad, her friends? She was relying on people she hadn’t known a week ago, but it was all she had, and it might even work. She was fortunate to have ended up in the company of people who wouldn’t give up, even after she had. She handed Stevens the projector.
"Thanks, It’s going to take awhile to calibrate, I’ll have to work through the night, but I promise you it will be ready and working by tomorrow morning. We’re going to have to spend another night here, unfortunately. Hopefully it will be the last."
Stanton dreaded the thought of another night in these woods and immediately regretted giving up her sidearm.
"Oh my god," she heard Patterson whisper from up ahead.
She looked up and almost bumped into Patrick.
Patrick stood alongside Patterson, peering into another clearing through the thick branches of a tree bearing oblong fruit.
He grabbed Stanton and whispered to her, "Stay absolutely quiet. Tell Stevens to stop tinkering and, you wont believe this, look…."
Patrick held aside a branch and gazed into the clearing with Stanton.
There were creatures in the clearing, five of them. They were unlike like anything Patrick had ever seen before. Not human, the two words echoed through his mind.
The things were small, about the size of a child. They walked erect, each having two arms and legs. Astonishingly human like, but true to the footprint found earlier, each had an odd arrangement of claws and finger like protrusions adorning both their hands and feet. There was no apparent sign of gender. Their heads were large, a sign of intelligence, yet how could something this animal be capable of sentience. Each had a small circular orifice, perhaps a mouth? Very inhuman. No teeth were visible. Two small oval slits above the mouth appeared to serve as a nose. Two similar slits on the sides of their heads, ears. Their eyes were small beady black things, darting to and fro, searching.
Patrick began to feel worried, scared even. His instincts told him to take flight, but he stood firm and looked on in wonderment at the strangeness of these things.
All of the creatures were covered in a thin coat of coarse brown hair, except for one. This individual was sitting in the center of the clearing, looking at the others. Its coat was tattered, gray. Very few patches of brown remained. It looked old, aged and tired. It used its hands, if that’s what they could be considered, to sign to the others. The complex motions of claw and finger held structure. Communication, another sign of intelligence.
But what had that screech he heard earlier been? thought Patrick. It had sounded animal, chaotic. Were these creatures incapable of verbal language? Perhaps they did not have the biology necessary for speech. Apparently they did not need it. The complex system of claw and finger seemed strikingly beautiful. It was organized, multifaceted.
Something changed. The aura about the creatures became suddenly serious as the old one finished its signing. The other four browns signed to it solemnly and turned to leave the clearing. One was heading straight towards the 54th’s position.
Patrick was frozen in space, unable to breathe, so much for instincts. The same held true for Patterson, Stevens, and Stanton. The entire group stared as the creature walked past them and off into the forest. It had obviously seen them and it changed its course to go around them, undaunted by their presence. It was eerie. The thing was obviously intelligent, for any animal would have reacted to the presence of another creature twice its size. It walked a distance off into the forest and stooped to pick something up. Returning to the clearing it passed the 54th once again, indifferent of their presence, though it had defiantly seen them.
The other three creatures also returned, each bringing something back with them: a small stone, a wooden bowl, an oddly shaped piece of carved wood, and a large leaf. They signed again and sat in a square like formation, surrounding the old one. More signing. A ceremony of some kind was taking place. The leaf was ground up into a thick paste utilizing the bowl and the rock.
Patrick noted that the tree he was peering through bore the same leaf. He snapped one off for himself, a souvenir of sorts.
The odd piece of wood was given to the elder who held it up to the air and then to its ear. The old one signed to the bringer of the wood, approvingly.
Patrick realized what the piece of wood was. It was a tuning fork, reacting to the surrounding resonance field. But why would these creatures have tuning forks? There was no question that they were intelligent.
The thick paste, drawn from the leaf, was fed to the old one. It disappeared into the old one’s hole like mouth, apparently consumed. The old one lay back on the ground slowly, the others watching. They signed again to the old one and each took up one of the old one’s limbs. With a sense of urgency, the four browns simultaneously used their claw protrusions to slice open the length of each limb.
Stanton screamed.
Patterson grabbed her in one swift lunge, physically holding her mouth shut to keep her quiet, yet the ceremony seemed undisturbed.
This is what happened to Bryce, Patrick realized grimly.
Blood flowed, dark and red, it looked human. The old one did not cry out, it did not even move, yet its eyes were open, watching the other four, clear and conscious. The ceremony continued with a horrific majesty, as if the old one was being given a great honor. At every step of the procedure, the four browns signed respectfully to the still conscious old one, though a sense of urgency was still maintained. Blood began to fill the clearing, draining from the old one’s decrepit body. The skull was opened and with utmost care the old one’s brain was lifted clean out of its bony recess, separated from the body. The brown given the honor of performing this task held the brain high above his head, the other three supporting his arms. Patrick watched in shock and wonder as a perfect circle created itself on the brain’s frontal lobe. The brain was then set softly next to the body, the four browns signed amongst themselves then parted, leaving the clearing alone, taking separate paths.
"What the hell just happened here?" said Stanton.
"Talk about freeing your mind," Patterson commented prosaically.
Patrick still stared at the disassembled creature. Whatever happened here, it was not murder, thought Patrick. It was something else, something different. Something not ever witnessed within the human experience. Patterson was right, it was as if the creature’s mind had been liberated from its failing body. Allowed to escape into the ether, free of the physical and biological world. Was that possible? Patrick was confused. Throughout all of human history, people had spoken of an afterlife, a place for the soul to reside once the physical body ceases to function. But that was religious dogma, not a physical reality.
Patrick scoured his mind for answers but found none. What happened here was far too alien to explain, when he himself was used to people living and dying, not being disassembled.
Stevens spoke, "I don’t claim to understand what we just witnessed, but I do know that if we don’t get this laser comm. working and contact dry dock, we’re not going to get out of here. We need to find a place to camp and I need to get to work"
The 54th walked away from the growing stench in search of a place to stay the night.
Chapter 4
Stevens sat next to the fire, basking in its heat and trying to concentrate. The ground under him resonated softly. He held the laser sight from the positron projector in one hand, and the comlink in the other. If only he could remember his first year courses on point-to-point laser communications. He knew that it was possible to integrate the sight into the comlink as the means of transmission and dry dock did have receivers, but getting it to focus on dry dock was a whole other ballgame. That would take some time, and some trial and error. But Stevens could not think clearly, his mind was wandering and he had been hearing voices, whisperings in his head, all evening. He could not wipe the image of the creature’s severed brain out of his mind. How the hell did that circle appear? It was as if it spawned out of nothingness, the browns had not etched it in, it had just appeared there.
"Stevens, I’m going to bed, everyone else is already asleep," it was Patrick.
"I’m going to get this thing working by morning. I promised Stanton I would and I don’t know how much more of this place she can take. We’ve got to get out of here by morning, my pack is completely drained of water reserves," said Stevens.
"Thanks for holding on, everyone is losing it in this place, it’s too much to take. I’ve even been hearing voices," confessed Patrick. "I’m as confused as you are but there has to be some explanation behind it all."
"I know, and I can’t stop thinking about it," said Stevens.
"Well, just get the comlink fixed. Goodnight Stevens," said Patrick as he walked off into the darkness.
Stevens attached the sight to the comlink unit and started the long process of focusing the laser on a point in the sky that he didn’t even know the location of. The first attempt generated a beam that terminated against a tree about five feet away. It was going to be a long night. He tinkered absent-mindedly at the comlink’s modulation as he thought about the creatures and their mystery.
Then it occurred to him, the connection between the creatures and their world. He remembered the wooden tuning fork. Suddenly everything became painstakingly obvious. Stevens recalled a particularly interesting lecture from his last year in corporate Comms School. It had been on a theoretical principal. Schumann Resonance. The theory stated that the brain operated on the frequency of 8hz. All human brains, the theory said, created a very low frequency resonance field. The brain created this field along a biological neural network in order to sustain the mind and achieve consciousness. The idea of a resonance field common to all humans of created the possibility for communication between minds, but Schumann Resonance is dampened by the skull, Stevens remembered. The idea had been thrown out as a crock, but on this world, it was actualized. Now everything made perfect sense; the tuning fork, the disassembly of the body, the circle, and even the voices that he still heard echoing in his head.
Proxima IV was surrounded in a resonance field, bathed constantly in 8hz frequency. The creatures here had developed a life cycle involving the resonance. The old were ritualistically taken apart, literally separating the mind from the body. The 8hz field was a perfect container for a soul escaping from a dying body. The ritual was based upon one thing only, coercing the biological brain to release the soul from its protective neural net. The circle that encrusted the frontal lobe once the brain was exposed to the field directly was just a physical manifestation of the soul leaving the bionet that sustained it and moving on to another place of existence, one with out the limitations of the physical world. The voices he had been hearing were not only the conscious thoughts of his companions, amplified by Proxima IV’s resonance field, but the souls of the creatures that dwelt here.
Stevens wondered how many millions of the beings resided in the field, soaring through an atmosphere of sustaining resonance. He realized that the ritual was just a part of the creatures’ life cycle and that those who partake in it have the great honor of witnessing the transcendence of another being to a world that knows no physical bounds. A place where speech or signing is no longer needed to communicate, where thought flows freely. The creatures that go there finally get their voices, thought Stevens.
The idea created a sense of awe at the center of Steven’s being. He imagined what could be accomplished in a world of pure thought, without the restraining limitations of the body. There would be no fear for no mind could hide a thought from another. The soul would be immortal.
Realizing the greatness that surrounded him, Stevens began to fiddle once again with the comlink. He modulated the laser’s frequency once more and it shot up to the heavens. He had finished. Contented, Stevens lay back against the resonating ground and watched the stars, warmed by the heat of the fire.
An hour passed. Stevens couldn’t sleep, the voices still echoed in his mind relentlessly and now knowing their true origins made him incapable of ignoring them. I’m hearing thoughts from another plane of existence, he thought, dumfounded. He communed with the souls around him. If they could only hear me, he thought. What things he could learn, whole histories.
The sound of padding feet came from behind him. Slowly, Stevens turned to see four of the small creatures coming towards him, their beady eyes luminous in the firelight. Stevens found himself unable to move, unable to run. He was frozen to the ground. He stared at the creatures, the browns. One held a bowl, the other a rock, the third a large leaf, and the fourth a wooden tuning fork. They came closer. Stevens’s heart was in his throat, yet he still stared at them, unmoving. They sat down around him and he was handed the tuning fork. It resonated softly as he examined it in his hand. The old thing was adorned with all sorts of carvings, stories of times long past. Stevens wanted to scream but he found that he could not. The browns worked softly around him, preparing the ritual. He was fed the green paste and began to feel numb, relaxed. The browns stood around him, taking his arms into their claws.
It began. Stevens watched in absolute horror as his own arms spilt out their contents of muscle, blood, and sinew, yet he felt no pain. He felt nothing at all, yet he was consumed by fear. He tried to settle his fear, reassuring himself that this world worked in the way that he had foreseen. It was of no use; the fear that engulfed him was primordial, a fear for one’s self-preservation. His body was being shut down, failing. Yet his mind was thriving.
The reason for these creatures’ actions was clear now. He was being honored, allowed to transcend to another world. Bryce had been the first of human kind seen by these creatures. Of course he would be given their greatest of honors, they were not creatures of violence. What better way to introduce a foreigner to their world than to free his mind! Stevens was being honored for his ability to see beyond the mystery. His mind had been heard and recognized by the others around him, maybe even Bryce.
He let go of his fear and the biological mess that remained below him receded. He the last thing he saw through human eyes was his own brain being lifted towards the starlight. Stevens felt a rush of acceleration as his consciousness was ejected from his brain and into the ether.
The soul that was Stevens perceived all yet saw nothing. He soared through the resonance field, engulfing Proxima IV yet taking up no physical space. There were others here. He sought out one of his own. Bryce. They shared thoughts. He perceived the presence of generations of browns, a teeming mass of souls, covering the world. There was much to do here, a great deal to learn. And he had forever to learn and grow, unaffected by physical world. The soul that was Stevens was content.
Chapter 5
Patrick awoke to a sickening odor. He got up to find Patterson and Stanton piling dirt over something. Stevens was nowhere to be seen. Oh no, thought Patrick. Not him. Patrick ran over to Stevens’s grave.
"Why!" he yelled. "What is the meaning of this violence? What have we done?"
Patrick looked down. The comlink, laser attached, rested next to the freshly dug grave, covered in Stevens’s blood. Something small and wooden also rested in the dirt. Patrick stooped to pick it up. It was a tuning fork, skillfully crafted out of wood and carved full of drawings. The creatures must have left it. He remembered the old one’s ceremony. He put it in his pocket to remember Stevens by.
"We need to get out of here," said Patterson.
"I’m not leaving," said Patrick. "I want to know why. I want to understand."
"What is there to understand!" shouted Stanton. "These creatures are animals! We need to get out of here now. I don’t want to die under these beasts’ claws!"
Patterson picked up the comlink and solemnly handed it to Stanton.
"Lets hope the poor guy got it working," said Patrick.
Stanton held the comlink to the sky and activated the transmitter. It sent the distress message and shut down, its job finished.
"That better have worked," said Patterson. "Let’s get moving, I can’t stand this stench."
The three remaining members of the 54th left Stevens body and trekked to higher ground. The empty husk that had contained Stevens’s mind began to decompose, its life-sustaining job finished.
Patrick waited with Stanton and Patterson. All they could do was wait. Wait and hope that Stevens had pulled through and aligned the laser before he had been… taken.
Hours passed.
It began to get dark.
Patrick thought about the three horrors, still searching for an answer. There must be something, other than this violent end, thought Patrick. Not wanting to accept the face value of what he had seen. It was all too strange to just accept—the world vibrated for god’s sake!
A familiar sound came from the horizon. Patrick looked up immediately, hoping for the best. Stanton began waving frantically, jumping up and shouting at the top of her lungs. It was a drop ship, their rescue had come.
Chapter 6
Patrick sat in his quarters aboard the Yakuza’s dry dock. A full meal in his belly, he sat thinking of the last five day’s experiences. He still could not accept murder as the cause of Stevens’s death so neatly printed in dry dock’s obituaries. Only hours ago, Patrick had been stranded. Now having learned what had been happening up here at dry dock while he was wondering across an unexplored world, Patrick felt very lucky to have been rescued at all.
Only moments after the Yakuza had landed their first wave of infantry had reports from air units returned with the disturbing news that Proxima IV was inhabited. Hundreds of settlements short and hairy creatures had been spotted. A temporary peace was made with the Northimera alliance as a council meeting was set up to discuss what to do with Proxima. The corporate execs must have thought to themselves, "An inhabited world, imagine that. A whole new species of consumers to cater too." Somehow, Patrick thought, the creatures he had encountered did not quite fit that picture. What happened next was just bad luck. Yakuza ordered a complete recall of all ground troops, not wanting to introduce the inhabitants of Proxima IV to humans at their best, at war. The 54th was presumed dead, falling victim to a direct neutron grenade strike, ironically, the first and last shot fired in the war for Proxima. Well, not actually the last, thought Patrick, recalling the decision. Proxima IV was going to be nuked and strip-mined for resources.
After recovering from malnutrition and a healthy case of radiation poisoning, Colonel Laura Stanton had testified to the Yakuza high against the preservation of Proxima IV. Her heartfelt case condemning the animalistic savages and their horrific practices had won the hearts of the profit-concerned council. To them, an m-class planet full of resources was much more profitable than a world full of savage animals. Apparently, Yakuza was not hosting an interstellar zoo.
The nuke was scheduled to deploy within the hour.
The war would then resume most likely, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Patrick lay on his bunk, turning the leaf from Proxima IV over in his hands. He still heard whispering voices, faintly in his head. What was the meaning to the ritual, he asked himself again.
Then he remembered Patterson’s words. "Talk about freeing your mind," he had said. Free your mind, Patrick thought to himself. He remembered the disassembly of the old one’s body, the honor and great care that were given to the procedure. The creature’s brain had been removed from its skull. Freed. Patrick turned the leaf over in his hands once more. It was beginning to make sense. These creatures were not violent savages. The old one’s soul must have somehow left its old decrepit body during the ritual.
But to where?
Then it all came together. The browns were literally helping the old one transcend to another plane of existence. Patrick remembered the tuning fork. The last piece of the puzzle slid into place. The resonance field that Stevens had mentioned surrounded the planet. It must be similar to what humans consider heaven. Somehow sustaining their souls after they have left the physical plane. So there was a heaven, and these creatures had figured out a way to transcend. And Yakuza is going to blow them all up.
Patrick hated the corporate bastards who had thrown him into this war unknowingly. All he had ever done in life was work to stay alive, to pay for his air. All people ever do is fight, there is so much greed here, Patrick thought.
The dry dock’s klaxon went off. The nuke was being launched. All infantry were to be placed on standby for appropriation of Proxima IV.
Patrick had had enough of this. He wanted peace and he realized where he could find it. He turned the leaf over in his hand once more, pondering the key to transcendence. How far did that resonance field extend, he wondered. He took the tuning fork out of his pocket. It resonated softly.
Patrick crumpled up the leaf in his hand.
He put the ground up thing in his mouth; it tasted bitter. He began to feel numb, relaxed. The feeling spread through out his entire body. He felt disconnected from his physical form, his body feeling meaningless. He removed a utility knife from his belt and began to slice an incision down the length of his chest. Blood drained from him yet he felt nothing. Patrick continued. As nuclear fire spread through out Proxima IV, the forests ignited like kindling. The voices in Patrick’s head stopped suddenly.
Bio:Matt Rubinstein is a senior at Detroit Country Day high school in Beverly Hills, Michigan and will be attending University of Toronto in the fall of 2002 to study Film and Cognitive Psychology. He has been a hard sf and cyberpunk fan all his life and occasionally delves into the realm of writing.
E-mail: Mrubins134@aol.com
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