The Launch

         It was a fight, I suppose. That’s what started it.
         Ten minutes till we’re supposed to be suited up and there they are, fists barred towards heaven, asking for death. The bloody fools, trampling the grass, acting like apes.
         We launch late. Damien and Crossly are separated. Everyone takes advantage of the silence. It’s a gift, here. The box approaches speed, yet it is still quiet. It truly is.
         I notice my suit isn’t good. It’s having trouble keeping the pressure. I suppose it’s all part of the recession. Ten years ago a suit like this wouldn’t fly. Luckily I’ve taught myself how to open my Eustachian tubes. It helps.
         We arrive. There’s a sickening hiss as the door to our box slides open to reveal another, bigger, box. A wall to our left continues up to the ceiling. To the right lies the pit, filled with the Rocks.
         “Console’s fine. Ex.” We start to flood into the room. The gravity on the S-series is usually light but that doesn’t mean nonexistent. “Ambient’s fine. Ex.” Damien begins to dial in on the far wall. Crossly and Sarah move towards the arms. Warren moves directly to the floor and starts to remove the grime. All this, I’m watching this from the doors.
         And here is where things begin to get fuzzy. If the narrative starts to break up, that’s only because I’m not sure how I should be telling it. Warren’s the first to notice something. “Wallace, have you ever seen this much grime before? Ex.” I hear the question but it doesn’t register.  It’s pushed out of my mind by a shout from Crossly. Even over the shortwire it’s a bloody terrifying shout; one of those shouts that’s primal; one of those shouts that makes you realize just how chemical you are. Something’s floating above the Rocks. At first I think it’s just a mist. But it’s too dark. It’s too solid.
         It starts to move. Warren’s gone I realize. Vanished. Damien begins to turn to face the thing but he crumples like a falling building. Another scream. Not Damien but Sarah. Whatever the thing is, is now directly on top of her, engulfing her in that black mist.
         And then, in half a second, it bubbles – expands, filling the room. I manage to take a step back before it reaches me.
         But it stops. About three feet into the vessel, it’s stopped. And I don’t move. Or can’t move. I don’t know. We’re frozen, I think. I can see that below the misty layer, the thing has a dark reflective surface. I can see my helmet gleaming in the reflection. I’m watching it and I get the feeling it’s watching me. The mist boils, writhes. We have this time together, I realize, trapped in a moment of space.
         There’s nothing but silence.
         It’s waiting.
         I reach forward and touch it.

         For a moment, I wonder if I’m dead.

         Then I’m back home. It’s not like I awake, or appear, or open my eyes. I’m just there. We’re sitting around in a circle. Me, Sarah, Crossly, Warren and Damien. They’re looking at me. “Are you alright?”
         I don’t reply. I’m not even sure if someone has asked the question. My parents are here, too. Somewhere. They’re not in the circle but I can feel them. Where…
         Crossly smiles knowingly.
         “What happened,” I ask.
         Warren and Damien stop. They look at each other but say nothing. I start to think that I’ve interrupted a conversation.
         Sarah says something. She leaves. Damien and Warren start to talk – continue to talk.
         “Frederick.” A voice again but not anyone I can see. I shake my head and take a step towards Damien and Warren. They stop talking. Damien makes an excuse. Flight school. I didn’t think Damien had taken flight school.
         Then I notice Crossly for a second time. He’s calling my name. “Frederick.” He beckons me to follow as he starts to drift away. I follow him up a small hill. We come into a clearing overlooking a lake.
         “They don’t know you… not like you think they know you,” he says.
         “This isn’t real. This can’t be-“
         “I know,” says Crossly. “I remember what happened.”
         Wake up.
         I stop for a moment. “Does anyone else remember?”
         “Maybe.”
         “This is all a dream, isn’t it.”
         I wait for him to ask how we’ve both stumbled into each other’s dreams but he doesn’t ask. He goes quiet, for a moment. His face creases, then he mutters:
         “This is all a dream. A dream in death.”

         Back in the vessel.
         See that? That’s my eye, blinking.
         There’s something else in the room. It’s a mirror, bending outwards in the middle. It’s also blinking. Then the room begins to fill with autumn leaves. Then the room is filled with leaves.

         I’m sitting by the sea. Waves roll into the beach. Sarah’s here. She’s talking about our childhood, reminiscing about the antics we used to get involved in. She seems to have the notion that I’m her brother. I’ve never had a sister. But I decide to listen anyways.
         “Do you remember that?” she asks ever so often.
         “Of course,” I always reply.
I’ve got a game going. It involves skipping stones across the water and over a rocky outcrop. Three so far. But I can’t concentrate. My eyes fall shut and my thoughts drift back to the accident. Then, for a flickering moment I’m back in the vessel. It’s dark. It’s very dark. And there’s such a terrible noise. I’m sitting on the floor and the far door begins to slip open, allowing a cascade of light to flood in. I’m alone.
Only, I’m not alone. I’m sitting here on the beach with Sarah, right?
“It’s like we’re children again,” I can hear her say.
Wake up.
I can here my mother calling. I think it’s time I head inside.

Chimes blow in the wind. Softly.
         The mountain is cold. I came up here once before, so many years ago. I planted that wind chime, I remember. And this is where I met Crossly for the first time. I found him here, hidden away, looking out across the world. We began to talk. It turned out he had been assigned to my outfit. Small world, I remember thinking. Small world.
         A dog followed me up here; I can’t remember which way it went.

         Funeral.
         No, not mine. Yes, I’m sure.
         I think I know what’s happening. It’s in my head. I’m in its head. So is Crossly and maybe the others too. This is all an illusion, I mean, it’s got to be. It’s keeping us here, in some sort of bizarre hallucination.
         We’re all still back in that mining bay.
         But we’re not. We’re lined up here at a funeral, passing by the casket. Caskets, I realize. There’s two. I begin to shudder. Shiver. Quake. I can see the names on the caskets.
         One reads: Skyler H. Crossly
         One reads: Damien Burrows
         Oh lord, oh lord, oh lord, oh lord. We’re all still back in the mining bay. I’m sure.

         Days pass.
         I decide I need some time. I push a small rowboat out into the ocean. Sarah’s here. “Just like so many years ago,” she says. “Of course,” I say.
         It’s foggy today. I start to row from the shore. “Do you know what Warren asked me the other day? He asked me whether I remembered our last trip to the S-Series.”
         I smile. In the distance I can here a strange noise. Like an old record being played. “Warren asked me if I’d ever been in space,” continued Sarah. I smile. It’s getting harder to row. “Then he asked me when we had met.” Sarah laughs. “I couldn’t help but wonder.
         It’s no longer possible to row. I look over the side of the boat. We’re encased in solid ice. The world is cold and still and a strange noise rings in the air.
         We get out of the boat and begin to walk along the smooth ice. It’s covered in a thin veil of fog – just enough to hide the sun. I clap my hands but hear no echo. When I turn around Sarah’s gone.
         “Sarah?” I ask.
         “Shhh…” I hear.
         I spot her lying prone with her ear against the ice. “Can you hear them?” she asks. “The seals, they’re calling under the ice.”

         Time flows like soup. I find myself walking through the woods.
         I’m talking with Warren. He’s in a suit, a proper office suit. He’s never in a proper suit. He looks concerned. He keeps leaning on his walking stick - no, not a walking stick, it’s got that jagged metal bit. He’s trying to tell me something but I can’t make out what he’s saying. He’s wearing the watch I gave him last Christmas. He never wears that watch.
         At least the forest is familiar. This is where my parents built a cabin. But as I look towards the lake, I can only see an ominous mountain blotting out the sky. There was no cabin, I realized, only the mountain.
         Warren turns to me and hands me a metal square. I unclasp it. It folds out into two pictures, one of Damien and one of Crossly. It reads: Damien Crossly.
         “A memento,” I hear Warren say.
         I look down at the box again. The two pictures are identical.

         I’ve come back to the beach alone. I keep skipping rocks till there are no more rocks left to skip. Did you know the flowers are blooming now? I can feel their shadow looming over me. I wait. I wait. I wait.

         A warm day and a walk along the shore. My bones ache as I push them over the rocks. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen the ocean before – that is, I’ve never truly seen it. It’s beautiful. I find myself walking out onto a small pinnacle of rock. I stand perched over the sea. I had a friend as a child. His name was Howard. He died while I was in training. But he’s here now. I can feel him. He’s walking beneath my feet. Like a shadow.
         There was once that I thought about escaping from this place – how I would do it, when, where. Why. But I couldn’t build up the courage. I think I had found a way back, back out of all of this. I truly do. And now, now more then ever, I feel something swelling within me. The same desire, I realize but I can’t decide whether it’s the longing to escape, or simply to turn back time.
         Looking out to the ocean, I can see the mist start to clear. The farthest waves seem to freeze as the mist dissipates, crystallizing into a thousand broken monuments. Mountains, I realize; mountains blotting the distant horizon. I urge me feet to take me there. But it is useless. Truly.
         As I turn from my pinnacle or rock, I find Warren standing upon the shore.
         “Come on,” he says. “It’s time to head back.”

         It’s summer now.
         A maple tree sprawls out over my head. Crossly’s here, so is Damien. They want me to rise from the tree but the forest seems so far away. Sarah keeps stealing apples from Crossly and handing them to me. I have to laugh.
         Wake up.
         My parents are here, too. They came with Warren. They were worried, weren’t they? They didn’t want me lying in bed all day. They brought me here, didn’t they?
But all is not well. I can see the creeping black mist edging in from the forest. Something’s coming. Everyone looks worried. Why don’t they go? Finally, Warren steps forth and reaches to pull me up.
         Only he never grabs my hand.
         Silence reigns. Silence rains and everyone is gone. A bright light fills me and the darkness is washed away. The world is light and I can see everything. The world is light and I can see everything.
The world is light and I can see everything.

         Frederick A. Wallace was the sole survivor of the mining flight to SJ-83. The mission went awry when a small explosion erupted in the quarry bay. The evidence is inconclusive; however, it is suspected to be due to a fluid leak undetected by a malfunctioning L-Console.
         Wallace returned in a severe case of mental trauma. He was unable to supply any coherent explanation for the events. Never recovering mentally from the trauma, he died several years later upon an acreage near the outskirts of Allandale. His body was found beneath a maple tree. He had died of exposure.