Cosmosis

Arrival

The question that had been on my mind was, 'do alien otters have satellites?'.

<I mean, how could they not?> I asked.

<It is pretty cold here. We might be at a latitude that makes consistent coverage problematic.>

We'd been on the road for hours, and the snowy mountains were disappearing over the horizon. Our vehicle was rolling through flatlands now. The snow was only six or eight inches deep, as opposed to several feet. And we hadn't seen another vehicle yet.

<We're sitting under open sky, on a straight road through the middle of nothing . Why wouldn't they be tracking us on satellite?>

<Cloud cover is pretty thick. Maybe they can't see us?>

<Infrared,> I retorted.

<…w ould work back on Earth. >he said, just as easily, < But for all we know, this planet's clouds might be opaque through that portion of the spectrum.>

<You're going to have something no matter what I say, aren't you?>

<Yup. Funny thing is, I'm pretty sure this is your mental habit, not mine. Are you always critical with your own ideas?>

<Not as long as I've got you in my head to be Ha Satan . It's like I have peer review, on demand.>

<I didn't know you were Jewish.>

<I'm not,> I frowned.

<'Ha Satan' is Hebrew for 'the accuser'. Like, the devil's advocate? Wait, what am I saying? I only know that because you already know that. Why is that piece of trivia floating around your head?>

<I had to read Paradise Lost last year. It came up. Sue me.>

<You had to read Paradise Lost for school? Jeez.>

<It was better than reading Romeo & Juliet for the third time.>

The conversation died off for a few moments while I tried not to think about home more. The truck rolled along over the snowy road, and I stared up at the cloudy sky, trying to make sense of what I was caught in the middle of.

<They just have to have satellites,> I insisted. <How utterly disappointing is it going to be if we were abducted by otters that can somehow jump between stars, but not keep something in orbit?>

<Maybe the Vorak don't actually know what they're doing? Maybe they got all their technology from the ruins of some ancient alien civilization…>

<You're going to need to step it up if your best idea is 'precursors'.>

<Honestly, you're probably right. There are definitely some satellites up there. But we shouldn't forget that machines aren't infallible. If this really is a Casti planet, and the Vorak are invading, it would probably be a Casti satellite that the Vorak would be trying to use.>

<And if it's a Casti satellite, then maybe some Casti are ready to interfere?>

<The one Casti did help us in the blackout-house. Seems unlikely that they'd be the only one.>

<That actually does make me feel better.> I said, <The Vorak might be an interstellar imperialist monster, but it's not like they're the only team in the league.>

<'Imperialist?' Taking a few liberties, are we?>

<They abducted us. I'll rake whatever muck I please,> I started humming the Imperial March to press the point.

<I thought you were a Trek guy.>

<I am, but I've still seen Star Wars, come on.>

<I think my friends would have called that heresy. Liking two things?>

Hearing even a bit about Daniel's life before being abducted caught my interest.

<I know you've got a trickle feed from my brain, so you know a bit about me, but what about you? We didn't exactly talk very much about each other on the ship. Plus I'm a little burnt out on thinking about the alien stuff.>

I'd just thought to try to avoid thinking about Earth.

<It might help if you told me what you already know about me—I don't remember what I did or didn't tell you.>

<Daniel something. Eighteen. You were abducted from somewhere outside Bakersfield. You liked computer games, specifically; consoles weren't your speed. You played something in band. And you were, tragically, not a fan of America's pastime.>

<Dude, I'm not alone. No one likes baseball; it's too boring.>

<Philistine!> I decried.

<I think that's a passable summary. What else did you want to know?>

<I don't know,> I confessed, <I'm…I don't know. I was trying not to think about home, but then it's all I can really think about right now. I'm just really missing our own planet right now. Especially since if we make it back, we'll be dragging all this crap with us.>

<I'm pretty homesick about having a body, which, okay that's pretty cheap. But even though I feel most of what you feel, it's filtered in a way I can't really describe, like listening to a song slightly off pitch. But it's not just hearing. Sight and smell. Touch is the worst. You pick up something and I feel like I'm going to start feeling the inside of the solid object.>

<I miss breathing non-filtered air.>

<Music,> Daniel said.

<Oh yeah! How'd I forget music? Any favorites?>

<Yes, but I don't remember them, precisely.> He started humming a few short measures from a handful of songs. I didn't recognize them.

<That should be the next thing we try to make in my head. We've got a journal, why not make a speaker or something?>

<I'm down to try, but not right now. I'm still feeling pretty shaky from the last run-in.>

I gave a conservative nod. Daniel's state was… fragile. I didn't want to do anything to risk it that wasn't absolutely necessary. He could probably pick up on my sensitivity to the topic, but that was unavoidable when we were sharing headspace.

We understood each other.

It was why I felt comfortable admitting this, <I even miss all the awful stuff from home. All the awkward conversations, the drama, angst.>

<Got plenty of that last one out here still.>

<Yeah, but it's undercut by the constant threat to my life.>

<You really are still in high school, if that's the worst stuff you miss about home.>

<You were in high school too,> I protested.

<Yeah, but I was a senior. I had all my credits to graduate; I was one foot out the door.>

<College?>

<I…think I was considering it, but I hadn't made up my mind. Kind of a moot point now, isn't it?>

<I wonder if it's winter break yet back home,> We had no way of knowing exactly how long we'd spent on the spaceship before being delivered into Vorak clutches. I was ball parking about three weeks, but there were some complicating factors that made it impossible to know.

<I've actually been kinda worried about that. If that spaceship was travelling at relativistic speeds…>

That was a disturbing implication. I had been reading pretty far ahead in my AP Physics class, and I'd been exposed to enough sci-fi to have a vague idea about time dilation. Even assuming this planet and its star were the closest ones possible to Earth, we'd still shattered the speed of light.

If Daniel was right…

I gave a shiver and clamped down on that line of thinking. There was nothing worth thinking about there. I had enough worries.

Focusing on the rest of the conversation would help me get my mind off the possibility.

<We've seen reasons firsthand to revise the first law of thermodynamics,> I said. <As far as I'm concerned special relativity is suspended as well until there's reason to think otherwise.>

<Hear, hear! An accord! > Daniel agreed. <But then again, you don't really know much about relativity beyond the name.>

He was right about that. I'd read a few diagrams in the textbook about lightspeed being constant irrespective of… something. I wasn't Einstein.

<But ergo, neither do you,> I said.

<Touche.>

<Anyway,> I said, pressing on, <assuming it was four-ish weeks on the spaceship, plus a few days and change with the Vorak and on the planet…>

<Should be early to mid-November back home .>

<Late November,> I concluded. <We got nabbed the third week of October. Friday night for me. Four weeks after that puts us after Thanksgiving.>

<Hmm,> Daniel hummed. <Maybe I'm missing some time. I don't remember exactly when I was grabbed.>

<I don't remember the date, but I remember the day of the week. I know Halloween was coming next week, but I can't remember what day it was going to be.>

<You were looking forward to Halloween.> he noticed.

<I always do. Best holiday we ever invented.>

<Halloween was always when my extended family visited; everyone always butted heads, talking politics and religion, bringing up old feuds.>

<I'm sorry to hear about it.>

<Nah, don't worry about it. I had fun with the costumes when I was a lot younger. I just didn't pay attention to any of it, but as I grew up…>

<It gets harder to ignore, and you actually start to know enough about what they're arguing about to have an opinion.>

<Yeah.>

<Is it bad that I even miss that stuff? Family feuds and problems like that. I loved arguing with my grandparents about religion.>

<About religion? Oh, you're definitely an idiot: arguing with grandparents about anything is asking for punishment. Something like that just means you're a masochist.> Daniel said.

I thought he might have been dodging the question, but he continued, <But, I don't think it's bad. Home isn't perfect, but we're still going miss it. Even the bad parts. We can't help it.>

<Only natural, isn't it?>

·····

Talking with Daniel about home was harsh in a healthy way. Painful, in the same way it hurt to peel bandages off to change the dressing on a wound.

But there was only so much emotional energy I felt willing to consume on the topic.

We were still on the road, and I had questions.

It was a small wonder to me, still, that Nemuleki could drive at these speeds while the road was still snowed over. Eight inches back on Earth would have stopped school for at least a day, maybe three.

We'd come far enough from the mountains that no new snow was falling, but it was cold enough that I didn't think anything would melt any time soon. It was probably past midday now, and that meant the temperature would slowly start dropping.

Last night, several feet of snow had accumulated in just a few hours. Would that happen again tonight? Assuming Nai stayed conscious, then we'd have three drivers. We wouldn't have to stop, even if it got dark.

There was already some snow piled up in the corners of the truck bed, and on a whim, I stuck my bare hand into the snow. My hand, the same one that should have been blasted to hamburger, didn't feel cold, even when I started packing it into a ball.

It was so very odd holding the snowball in my hands. I let it melt to nothing in my hand over almost ten minutes. My hand still didn't feel numb in the slightest.

I rolled up my sleeve and held snow against my forearm. The icy cold became intolerable after less than a minute.

I experimented, holding some snow in one hand, tossing it, and then with my other hand, feeling the palm that had just carried snow. It felt completely ordinary. Not any colder than my other hand. My hands didn't seem to be bothered by the freezing cold.

Why just my hands?

<Maybe the climb should have been a bigger heads up,> I thought. My hands should have been frostbitten meat after climbing up the building. I'd even noticed that they hadn't felt numb, but I'd been preoccupied with trying to help Tasser.

<Not just the climb. The fall too. You said you caught yourself on the metal railing, right?>

<Yeah.>

<I don't remember the math for momentum and force exactly, but even ignoring if your hand is strong enough to catch your whole body weight, I don't think your skin should be. Your palm should be totally scraped off from the force.>

<And yet…> I stared at my impossibly tough hand. It didn't feel any different. But I could tell it was. If I rolled up my sleeves, there were cuts and bruises galore all up and down my forearms, but my palms and fingers were unblemished. Reinforced from damage somehow.

The backs of hands were still vulnerable though. The hand I'd shoved down panther-hound no.3's throat had a pattern in the seemingly sunburnt skin. That really was what it resembled. The back of my hand was burned and swollen, but there was a clean even line running toward my wrist, like I was wearing a glove that had shielded the rest of my hand from the blast.

<When do you think this started?> Daniel asked.

<I have no clue.>

<Then… weird question: when was the last time you remembered injuring your hands?>

<What, like back home?>

<Yeah, anywhere.>

I thought hard about it, inspecting my fingers. There were a few tiny old scars from years ago, but there had to be some more recent injuries.

<…Here,> I said, finding a faded bruise, almost completely invisible now, on the outside of my left pinky knuckle. <I got it when we were on the ship, trying to break open the coffins.> I didn't like recalling the moment. Seeing the aftermath, knowing that every person inside them had died.

Images of the other abductees suffocating inside pitch black metal boxes would haunt me forever.

<Easy,> Daniel said, giving me a mental poke. <You're sure that's the most recent?>

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

<Yeah. Why does the timeframe matter?>

<…I thought it might have been possible for us to have become Enumius back on Earth, before we were abducted.>

<I don't think so,> I said frankly. <This thing can't possibly be unique to us, right? The aliens can do it too. If anyone was Enumius back on Earth, surely someone would have noticed already?>

<I was just thinking if being Enumius might be valuable enough to abduct people for,> Daniel said. <We can't really look at anyone else, but of us two survivors? Two for two on Enumius powers.>

His question poked and prodded at my brain and a possibility I hadn't considered yet; he thought whatever had strengthened my hands was related to being Enumius .

<You think my hands and spinning matter out of nothing are related?>

<You think it's not?> he said, surprised.

<I don't know what I think.> I said, exhausted. <There are so many possibilities, any time I think about one of them, all the rest start seeming more likely.>

<I'm going back to when the Casti drew your blood. Immediately after, they had you make something. What if they were checking to see if you could?>

Actually… Daniel was right. Technically it had been Daniel doing the making—I hadn't known I could do it too yet—but the tiny slip of metal had been the first thing the aliens had seen 'me' create.

They probably hadn't known I could any more than I had.

But… <Looking at my blood is what made them ask.> I recalled. <The Casti and Nai both looked at the microscope box…>

<Two plus two? There was something in your blood that made them think you were Enumius. Bonus: they were even right. So maybe being Enumius changes your body too.>

<Okay, you might be onto something,> I conceded. It felt like far less of a leap to connect the two phenomenon if there was a common link somewhere in my body.

<The question is, what did they see?>

<Maybe if we get somewhere safe, you can take a look for yourself,> he said. <Because I think this might be another case of 'predicting otters'.>

No one, in a million years would have predicted otter aliens. Daniel meant that imagining we could have any idea of what we'd find would only set us up to be blindsided by something else we had no chance of guessing.

<I'm pretty creeped out, honestly,> I said, <Creating things is one thing. It's… I don't know. Detached from me. It feels cerebral, like it doesn't really add any problems. But this?>

<'Now children, as you get older your bodies will undergo some confusing changes',> Daniel joked, his voice like he was narrating an old-fashioned public health video.

I had to bite back my uncomfortable laughter. Tasser and Nai didn't seem to like when I just started reacting to nothing.

<I know you're kidding—and it's hilarious—but it really is creepy. How much can you tell what I'm imagining?>

<A few snippets?> Daniel said. <I think we're getting better at not bleeding as much between us.>

<Well…> I said, trying to focus on the phantom sensations I was torturing myself with. <I'm trying not to, but all the TV-animated representations of any illness or mutation I've ever seen keep popping up in my mind. You ever see those time lapses of mold growing over something, or blood cells eating a bacteria?>

<I tried to imagine what it's like to have cancer once or twice. I was always creeped out when I imagined you'd be able to feel the tumor growing inside you.>

<Thank you for that additional horrifying image, but yes. That's about the gist of it.>

<I hate to play this card, but… I can say from firsthand experience that being forced to question the validity of your reality, senses, stability, and sanity is worse. At least it is for me. So… silver lining, it could be worse?>

<What a brilliantly appropriate way for you to help. Instead of telling me not to worry about the new thing, you remind me that I've already gone through something so much worse.>

<I mean, sure it's not much comfort, but you tell me if it wasn't at least a little bit of a good reminder.>

<…No, it was. A tiny bit,> I said, unwilling to give any more satisfaction. Much as it irked me, he was right. The abject terror of waking up in the Vorak cell, hallucinating the only human I'd spoken to in weeks, knowing I killed them?

Nothing would ever be worse than that. Even finding Daniel's body, and receiving confirmation that everything I feared was real. Those long hours of terrible impossibility had been worse.

<I wish I'd gotten to know you better on the ship,> I said. <It might have made waking up with you in my head less… alarming.>

<Nah,> Daniel said. <The more you knew about me, the more convinced you'd be that I was just a product of your own knowledge.>

<Still. We were probably on that ship almost a month, and I never learned your last name.>

<Honestly, I might not have shared it. Most of my memories from the ship are spending every waking hour combing over every panel and crevice, then when it all went to shit at the end.>

<There was a bit more, but that's what we did every time we were both awake.>

<We slept in shifts?>

<Tried to. No clocks once our phones died. Why weren't either of us wearing watches?>

<The age of technology,> Daniel said simply. <Why carry a computer in your pocket and a clock on your wrist?>

<Just in case you ever get abducted by aliens, obviously,> I thought.

<Truly, they're correct when they say our generation is never prepared for hardship,> He broke his act after a spell and chuckled inside my head. Laughter from someone else was an odd thing to have in your head.

<I hated whenever people said that,> he said. <But I get what you mean a little bit. My grandparents liked to say it about my cousins, put me on tilt every time. But now I miss it.>

<Coming from family, it might be easy to focus on the positive interpretation: that they just want their grandchildren to be prepared.>

<Yeah.>

Silence lingered for a while. I could almost sense the gears turning in Daniel's corner of my mind. He'd latched onto a thought.

He took his time, but I knew he had something he needed to say. So, I waited.

<Caleb. What are you going to do when I crumble away?>

<You mean 'if'?>

<No. I mean 'when'.>

<I haven't given up on figuring out what's killing you, and if you have then I'm going to be pretty pissed.>

<I haven't given up. But I'm also not willing to let you half-ass this. You need to be prepared for more than one outcome.>

<We've figured out more in the last two days than the last four weeks. With this pace, we could figure out a way to stabilize you tomorrow.>

<You're not hearing me. I can feel it. There's not much time left. We'll explore every possibility we can, but you need to accept that you might be alone soon.>

<So you do mean 'if'.>

<Fine, yes. I meant 'if', technically. But if I don't say 'when' then you're just going to dodge the question like you still are. What are you going to do?>

<How am I supposed to answer that?> I said. <The truth? I'm probably going to slowly go insane in isolation.>

<And so, because obviously you don't want to go insane, I'm suggesting you start thinking of ways to avoid that.>

<I have no idea where to even start.>

<Me neither. I guess all I can really ask is that you… fuck, this is so stiff, > he complained. <I just want you to 'focus on the positive interpretation': that I want to make sure you're prepared.>

This was the trouble with pushing back against someone in my own head. There was no winning. There didn't need to be winners or losers. Cooperation wasn't just necessary; there was no option otherwise. We were in this together in a way that no two human beings in history had experienced before.

I did understand why he wanted to make sure I had every advantage.

I'd killed him, and the guilt of it still ate me up if I let myself think about the sight of his body for even a moment.

Daniel hadn't really been my friend, even though I'd known him on the spaceship for a whole month. We'd been unwilling acquaintances with a problem in common.

But even if he hadn't been my friend, he had been the most important person in my life—because he'd been the only person still in my life at all.

And I'd let the only person in my life down, in the most permanent way possible.

I knew exactly why Daniel still wanted to help me. He knew exactly how I felt about letting him down. He didn't want to let me down, for both of our sakes.

The best way for him to do that right now was to look the truth in the eye.

<I… I'm really not trying to dodge the question,> I said. <I really don't have any idea how to deal with something like this. I've never really lost someone. Not yet. I killed you and you're still around.>

<…I have an idea, but you're not going to like it.>

I took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself, <Hit me with it.>

<You've never lost someone. But you know that your family has.>

The subject matter of the conversation was heavy, so I'd tried to steel myself in anticipation. My gut wrenched at his implication.

Me.

My family had lost me.

<It's not too hard to imagine how your parents are taking this. But you know them. How would you want them to act with you gone? According to you, what's a healthy response for them? You don't need to say anything, but it might give you a starting point on how to cope on your own.>

<…You're… a cold bastard,> I accused.

<True. Your emotions are doing somersaults. Leaves me with all the 'cold' rational problem solving.>

<…I'd want them to keep doing things they enjoyed. Get out of the house. I'd want my dad to keep going to baseball games.>

<You don't have to tell me.>

<I feel like I should though. It hurts to imagine, but it's a helpful idea,> I said.

<Then what about your mom?>

<She… should keep working. She was good at what she did in the Air Force, and—>

<That's stuff she was already doing before you were gone. What's changed? How do you want her to react? >

<I… I don't.> I said. <I don't want them to change just because I'm gone.>

As I projected the words into my own mind, I felt something about myself come into focus.

<You don't want them to react at all?> Daniel said, confused.

<…No,> I admitted. I knew they would, and I was fine with that. Sadness when you lost a family member, especially a child, was unavoidable.

<But I don't think loss should be what changes us. Isn't that what life is for? Getting to know other people, learning about them, letting them change us while they're still around? If losing someone is what finally makes you change and grow… then you're just late. Regret shouldn't be what motivates you to grow.>

<You're speaking from experience,> Daniel noticed. <You… really hate that I died don't you? You hate that there are any positive impacts from my death.>

<I hate that your death was the price for me to learn,> I said bitterly.

<Careful. I think it's good to be proactive about personal growth, but it's still not negative to make breakthroughs after a loss. Better late than never, I mean.>

<I wasn't being proactive though,> I said. <If I had been smarter about this from the start, then I feel like I might have taken this better. If I felt like I had tried my best and still failed, I wouldn't be so furious with myself.>

<You're talking about agency,> Daniel said. <You didn't know how anything on the ship would turn out… but you don't think you acted like you were aware that you didn't know. You gave up agency.>

<I never want to be that short-sighted again,> I said. <That's my answer. That's what I'm going to do, whether you crumble or not. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure I understand the consequences of my actions.>

<And if you fail? If things go to shit again anyway?>

<…Then, I'll know I did as much as I could. At least, more than last time.>

<Good enough for me,> Daniel said.

·····

An hour later, Daniel and I were trying to make a mental mp3 player, but every time we tried to have it make sound, nothing rang out in my head. Considering how easily Daniel and I seemed to 'talk' in my head, I'd expected sounds to be simple to replicate.

It wasn't the case.

We didn't get to focus on our mental music project any more because Tasser prodded me to make sure I was awake. We were apparently approaching something, because he was splitting his attention back and forth between me and the road ahead of us.

While he scanned the snowy landscape, Tasser threw the last tarp over me and gestured his humongous palm at me, gesturing for me to get out of sight.

"Mamor samam."

Mamor; 'stay'. Samam… I wasn't sure. Maybe it meant 'hidden'? This tarp wasn't as large as the one I'd lost against Courser's hounds, so it wasn't possible for me to become completely invisible under it. I ended up leaning against the back of the cabin and pulling the tarp around me like a big cloak.

I was doing my best to appear as an innocuous alien stranger, just lounging in the back of an alien truck. Nothing to see here.

<'Fly casual, Chewie',> Daniel quoted.

<Return of the Jedi?> I asked.

<Empire Strikes Back was better,> He replied simply.

I did appreciate Daniel's love for older sci-fi. Not many of my classmates had watched anything older than the Matrix. But Daniel was ready to talk anything from the Next Generation to the Original Trilogy.

Part of me wondered if he was cribbing from my own mind to keep pace on the topic.

Daniel's commentary aside though, since I couldn't stay out of sight as well in this vehicle, I ended up seeing more of our surroundings this time too. As we progressed, the implication that I shouldn't be seen made me a little nervous.

If we ran across the wrong Vorak, who'd heard the right radio broadcast…

My heart pounded as the snow thinned on the road, and over the course of just a few dozen feet we went from several inches of snow to clear pavement.

<They must be able to do something to the roads.> Daniel observed. There was still a thick covering of snow to either side of the road, but not even one frozen drop on the ground. A heating system under the pavement?

There were other sights to go with the first signs of civilization. We rolled over the crest of a hill and sitting atop it was a small shack on the side of the road.

As our truck rolled closer, a Casti wearing a black poncho like Tasser's emerged from the shack. It shouted something, giving a wave of some kind. It must have been a hand signal, because Nemuleki stopped the vehicle well short of the shack and poked their head out.

I was mostly staying out of sight, but this Casti wore the same uniform. They must have been part of the same organization.

It was further proof this was a Casti planet and the Vorak were invaders.

Tasser ended up being the only one to stay with me in the back of the truck. Nemuleki and Nai both ended up following the Casti inside the shack. From the distance our truck was stopped at, it was impossible to hear what was going on.

I was surprised the uniformed Casti was alone though. The small shack on a hill gave me a 'lookout' or 'watchtower' vibe. And what good was something like that if there was only one sentry?

My suspicion proved correct, when a second Casti stood up from where it had been hidden on the rooftop. It had a long rifle in its hands, and it had probably been trained on me the whole time. It wasn't the same weapon as Tasser's bolt-rifle, but it was almost as large.

The first Casti emerged from the shack and waved the truck closer.

Tasser hopped out of the back and slipped behind the sticks of the truck. He beckoned me to get in the cabin too, indicating for me to stay on the far side of the truck.

For the first time, I got to ride in the cabin of the truck. It was not much of an improvement: the missing window ruined any chance that it might be any warmer than the back of the truck.

Tasser fussed a bit more, making sure I was as obscured as possible under the tarp. Nothing above my knees was directly visible, save for the thinnest gap that I peeked through.

With my body that obscured, and in the cabin to boot, these Casti might not have even been able to see I was human.

<…which is probably the point,> <…which is probably the point.> Daniel and I realized simultaneously.

Tasser drove the vehicle closer to the shack, where I got a fleeting glimpse of Nai speaking into a mouthpiece, probably a radio of some kind.

They were talking to somebody, presumably somebody wearing the same black poncho uniform.

<Dude,> Daniel said. <I think we're getting kicked up the ladder.>

Tasser pointed at the far side of the hill where a sprawling city sat under a dusting of snow. Nai spent five more minutes in the shack before finally coming back out and hopping in the back of the truck with Nemuleki.

One of the outpost Casti talked to Tasser one last time, and he nodded.

The truck started rolling again, and I looked behind us where I was sure Vorak still had to be coming.

But we'd finally gotten somewhere worth going, and in a few minutes, Tasser drove the truck into the Casti city.