Dreamer
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Dreamer
by Dave Gordon
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Science Fiction/Fantasy
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Mystic Moon Press
www.mysticmoonpress.com
Copyright ©
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
About the Author
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Dreamer
By: Dave Gordon
ISBN—978-0-9801777-3-2
All rights reserved
Copyright © May. 2008, Dave Gordon
Cover Art copyright © May. 2008, Stella Price
Mystic Moon Press, LLC
Santa Fe, NM 87507
www.mysticmoonpress.com
No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Mystic Moon Press, LLC
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DREAMER
Dave Gordon
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Chapter 1
Lost
Log Entry: It's empty. No, not empty. If you had a box and there isn't anything in it, it is empty. Space is not empty, it is nothing. There is no box. And, there is a lot of it. The idea there is a lot of nothing is funny, but there it is, nothing in every direction forever and ever.
They say you have to be a special type to do this. I still don't know what that means. We're all the same type. Maybe it takes a special type to learn Japanese and Latin, or it takes a special type to read and memorize the dictionary. I did those things a few months ago. It takes a really bored type to do that. There is not a lot else to do.
* * * *
Log Entry: If you were going incredibly fast, but there was no way to tell, it would seem like you were standing still. That is how I feel. I feel like I am floating in the middle of nowhere going no place. All the instruments say I am going thousands of miles per hour, but I do not believe them. I am at a dead stop in nothing space.
All the instruments are broken, they never change. They have not changed for months. If you believed the instruments, you would think I am moving very fast and I am definitely not. I do not look at them much anyway. I have a checklist somewhere. I'm supposed to do a bunch of stuff every day. Screw it.
* * * *
Log Entry: I think I'm supposed to be asleep. I was asleep for a long time ... I think, but I got woke up to fix something. There was an alarm and it woke me up. My head hurt because I had been asleep a long time. I was running back and forth in a panic trying to figure out what happened. It was just a stupid little puncture in the hull. It took all of two hours to fix. But the sleep unit was off-line after that. That is really bad because this could be a twenty-year mission and maybe I was supposed to sleep for nineteen of them.
I spent a long time trying to figure out how the sleep unit, the computer, and the instruments all got broken. I sent messages to Earth, but never got an answer. Who knows how far from Earth I am? It might take years for the message to get there and back. Frankly, I can't really remember very well what the whole thing was about. The mission, that is. I finally just ran out of concern for it all. I don't care anymore.
* * * *
Log Entry: I'm not sure how long I've been awake. There is a calendar on the wall with seven months crossed off one day at a time. I don't know when I quit doing that. A year, maybe. Two at the most. I don't know. I'm pretty sure I should have gotten to where ever I was going by now. I also don't know how long the meal generator is designed to last. I don't think they planned on serving three meals a day for years.
* * * *
Log Entry: There are many, many people that wanted to be a Pioneer. At least, there was when I left. I'm not sure how long ago that was. I was asleep. People took all kinds of tests and went through a bunch of interviews. I did well on them. All I ever wanted to be was a Pioneer. I studied day and night from the time I started school until the day they pinned the star on my chest.
I can't remember why at this point. That's probably due to my diet. I started messing around with the different systems on board just out of boredom. I've got the meal generator doing things it was never meant to do. The meal generator is able to formulate medications and with a little tinkering I have been able to cook up some pretty respectable intoxicants. These meal generator modifications are going to be greatly appreciated if I ever see anybody again.
* * * *
Log Entry: There was only one paper manual on this ship. It was the manual on how to repair the computer if it fails. I took out the least-important section and cut it up to make playing cards. I then took out the next section of least importance and cut it up into little pieces suitable for constructing a paper city. Well, the city has grown. I sure hope the computer doesn't go down.
There are miles and miles of wire and cable on this ship. This thing is really huge considering it carries only one person and a few exploration vehicles. I was able to scavenge enough cable to construct a hammock. I got tired of the sleep unit, it's more like a very comfortable coffin than a bed. I don't sleep much anyway. There was enough spare cable to make a swing in the main bay. I had to jettison the rover to make room. I stripped it down to the bare bones before I blew it out. I'm pretty sure the rover's power source isn't leaking radiation.
There is a big view port in the control room. It is placed right in front of the operator seat. It is the most depressing thing I have ever seen. It looks out upon a view of perfect black. A few pinpricks of light dot the scene. It never changes. I try not to go in there any more. I go look at the broken instruments every now and then to see if they have changed. They never do.
I think that means I am insane because I keep doing the same thing over and over expecting to get a different result. I don't think I would know if I were insane. I mean, if I knew I was acting irrationally, that would be a rational realization. How can you rationally determine you are being irrational? So, I keep looking for clues that I may be going crazy and never finding them. I think that means I am insane.
* * * *
Log Entry: A stack of gas canisters fell over. It scared the living hell out of me. I have absolutely no clue as to why they fell. I had taken the restraint clamps off a long time ago to make zero-g ball. Sometimes I turn off the gravity and float around in a metal ball. It's kind of fun to just bounce off things like a human balloon. I piled the canisters in the back. I'm still trying to think of something useful to do with all the gas. It is supposed to be used for mineral testing, but as there is a lack of minerals on board, I believe I will use it in some other way.
* * * *
Log Entry: The meal generator stopped producing alkaloids today. That severely limits the intoxicants I can make. I need to get more creative in producing them. The generator isn't made to produce huge quantities of chemicals but it will produce grain, yeast, sugar, and water. It's time to build a still. Maybe I can use the power pack fr
om the rover to produce heat for the distillation process.
* * * *
Log Entry: Some time ago I figured out that the sleep unit induces sleep by stimulating the brain in certain ways. Even though the hibernation function is off-line, the basic unit still works. You would not believe how versatile that thing is. I don't know why they built it the way they did, but it will selectively stimulate any number of areas in the brain. I have been spending extended periods in the sleep unit and I am definitely not sleeping. If I ever see anyone again, they are going to love these sleep unit modifications.
* * * *
Log Entry: It has probably been ten months since I started this journal, if that is what you want to call it. It has been several weeks since I last made an entry. I started marking time again because I thought it was somehow meaningful. I've been spending a lot of time in the sleep unit so I'm not sure how long it has actually been. This place is a mess. I had to stop jettisoning trash because the oxygen generator couldn't keep up. That is a pretty important piece of equipment, I love it. The latrine, which is an oxygen-based decomposition system, is still thankfully keeping up.
* * * *
Log Entry: The instruments still haven't changed, the view hasn't changed, nothing has changed. I'm still floating in a sea of perfect nothingness.
One good thing, though. My body functions are somehow suspended when I am in the sleep unit. I guess that is part of the sleep function. I am no hungrier when I come out then when I went in. Sometimes I am in there for days and my beard doesn't grow. The ship is equipped with a rudimentary entertainment system. Nothing too fancy, a simple holovision unit with a hundred titles or so. I watched them all the first couple of years after I woke up. They are all pretty trite and cliché. But, and here is the crazy thing, I fed the output of the holovision unit into the neural interface of the sleep unit and after about six months of work, I got the images and sound through. It's like living through the movie. Now I'm wondering if I can affect the movies by sending my neural output back to the system. That would be crazy.
* * * *
Log Entry: It's been a very long time since I've recorded anything in this journal. Keeping the calendar turned out to be unmanageable. I have no way of measuring how much time I spend in the sleep unit. I have no idea how much time I spend in there. The calendar says forty-seven months, but I think it's been a lot longer than that.
My modifications to the sleep unit are complete. I can now construct, experience, and record fantasies of my own creation. I began by dissecting the movies on hand and mixing parts together. I started changing those parts so they fit together better. I dispensed with the movies altogether after that and began constructing my own elaborate worlds. I can be anything, do anything. Why come out?
Sometimes, like now for instance, I will come out and look around just to make sure things are still working right. The instruments might not actually be broken, they have changed a little since the last time I looked. There are more dots of light in the view port. Weird.
* * * *
Log Entry: There is nothing in the universe more appealing to male humans than the sight of an Aolian woman. Their form is exquisite, every one is the perfect ideal woman incarnate. Their beautiful blue skin glistens and changes hue in subtle ways. Slanted eyes flirt and beckon. They are open and inviting in every way. There is something about human men that entices them. Thankfully, their reproductive methods are similar enough to be compatible with humans, but in a uniquely sensuous way.
I turn from my labors over my deficient thrusters to be graced by a vision of desire. I am stunned and speechless. She leads me to her den. The walls are made of native soil that has been somehow polished. The smell is earthy and rich. Warm yellow light emanates from fluorescent crystals in the ceiling. We go to her bed in the rear of the cave. Her bed is made of thick soft moss and is covered with blankets woven of lavender Aolian hair.
She wraps her long, spidery fingers around my head and pulls my face to hers. Her skin feels like satin. The fine scales covering her body are smooth and cool. The erotic look of her light blue face with its finely-featured details and pouty lips are intoxicating. I give myself up to her.
But I am not in the sleep unit. I think the sleep unit modifications have altered my brain functions. I am beginning to experience fantasies while outside the sleep unit. It is becoming increasingly difficult to function in the real world. I have made my observations, checked the life support systems, caressed the Aolian woman, and now I'm going back to the sleep unit. I may just stay, why come out?
* * * *
Log Entry: The instruments have changed again and the view is definitely different. I wonder how long I was in the sleep unit? I am going to stay out of that thing for a while. The still blew up a long time ago while I was in the sleep unit. It must have made a hell of a noise. I didn't even hear it. I think I can use the food unit to produce alcohol. I need to transfer the alcohol definitions from the medical library to the food library, shouldn't be that hard.
I checked the holographic storage system a while ago. There were billions of petabytes of recordings. That had to have taken years to accumulate. All that storage was supposed to be for exploration data but now it's a collection of material not suitable for viewing by children.
* * * *
Log Entry: Every time I exit the sleep unit I am horrified by the chaotic, filthy mess the ship has become. Years of living in a confined space have taken a serious toll on the once well-ordered ship. I find the desolation to be intolerable. The beautiful alternate reality I have constructed in the sleep unit is much better than the bleak reality out here. I can no longer tolerate life outside the sleep unit. This will be my final entry.
* * * *
If you have never been to the falls of Athalen, you are missing one of the most beautiful sights in West Remair. Azure water cascades over pristine white marble and falls three-hundred feet to the Crystal Lake below. Fantastic formations of white crystal cover the rocks under the surface. There is nothing else like it.
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” I ask the elf standing next to me. She is taller than I am, appears to be young, and is as beautiful as the falls. It is worth noting that elves appearing to be young are usually several thousand years old.
“I have seen it before,” she says.
“But it is still beautiful,” I point out.
The elf appears passionless. She says, “I have seen it a hundred times.”
“You may have seen it before, but it is still beautiful none the less,” I say. Trying to talk to her is frustrating. It doesn't help that in the last several thousand years she has heard every thing I could possibly say.
“It was more beautiful seven-hundred years ago,” she says.
I turn from the landscape of consummate beauty shaking my head at the elf's comment. I don't know why she travels with me, she never seems happy with anything. Still, she is a wonderful traveling companion. She never misses whatever she is aiming at. We are never hungry. She will find berries and unearth truffles if we stop to rest. She knows of at least three uses for every single plant in Remair. She can magically appear and disappear at will, although she says there is no such thing as magic.
I met her last winter as I crossed the Sawd plain. I was engaged in a diplomatic mission that took me from one end of the country to the other in a tedious march. I was walking through low scrub carrying my bow at ready in case any game appeared. A rabbit bolted from just in front of my foot. I raised my bow and let it fly knowing I would not hit it. A fleeing rabbit is very safe considering my archery skills. No sooner had my arrow missed than another arrow whizzed by my ear and hit the rabbit in the eye. I spun to see who had loosed the arrow and there was no one there. I turned to the rabbit and there stood a vision of complete and indescribable beauty.
She said, “You missed. I thought perhaps I would aid you.”
I was shocked into silence. She was obviously an elf. The slightly pointed ear
s and slanted eyes gave her away. Though elves are not often seen, stories and legends abound. I did not think I would ever actually meet one. “Thank you. That's very kind of you,” I said.
She plucked her arrow out of the rabbit and wiped off the point in the grass. “Perhaps we might share a meal?” she said.
“That would be very nice, thank you,” I said, though truthfully I was a little perplexed. Elves were not known to be gregarious by nature. “I will skin the rabbit and be right back.”
She said, “I will build a fire.”
When I returned there was a perfect cooking fire complete with spit in an artfully constructed fire ring. “Wow,” I said in amazement.
“I have had a lot of practice,” she replied.
We chatted as we ate. I later came to realize that casual speech was not typical for her. She sat on the ground with her legs crossed. She was dressed in the elf uniform. I say this because every elf we have encountered is dressed in the same manner. She wore brown leather shoes with pointed toes, green leggings, a tan tunic, a green felt vest, and a pointed hat. I once asked her why all elves dressed the same. She said not all elves dressed the same. After a long and circuitous discussion, a hallmark of our conversations, I learned that elves dress the same because it is more efficient. There is a single group of elves who produce clothing to clothe the entire race. Elf royalty wear different clothes and elves in professions such as shipwright or construction dress according to their work.
We ate and I bade her good night when the sun went down. I expected her to be gone when I awoke. I awoke when the sun rose. I turned over to see her sitting in the same place as she had been the night before.
“Good morning,” she said flatly.
“Good morning,” I said, thrilled at my good fortune. Curiosity got the better of me. I said, “Have you been there all night?”
“Yes,” she said in the emotionless way I have come to expect from her.
I let it drop. I realize now that a night sitting on the ground was a meaninglessly small amount of time to her. She might sit there a year, and that would still be a miniscule amount of time compared to her lifespan.