Degeneracy Pressure (Chapter 3)
#3 of Degeneracy Pressure
A nervous human space geek makes an unlikely friend over HAM radio, and learns the Universe is just as wonderful and just as intimidating as it looks in the Hubble images.
1.
>Chapter 3, The Day Anon Stood Still
2.
3.
>R U OK
4.
>41°16'52.6" N 81°33'21.6" W. 12/15 @ 2400. C U.
5.
>Careful. Not late. Quantum Favor. -KR G7X
6.
7.
>There were no two ways about this, were there?
8.
>No pretending that it hadn't happened, or had at least been a coincidence,
9.
>Even if it was starting to feel like it had all been a dream.
10.
>The message was clear as day.
11.
>You just wish she would have answered your questions about whether that second line was an offer or an order.
12.
13.
>It's the 14th now. You haven't had any contact with G7X since the twelfth.
14.
>Kim has been fucking beside himself for the past few days, and you can tell it's everything he can do to keep quiet.
15.
>You've been pretty fucked up too, but telling people hasn't been at the top of your list.
16.
>There's only one question on your mind.
17.
>Should you go?
18.
>It was almost like that time last year when a senior girl asked you to the prom.
19.
>You'd been pretty sure it was a trick, like what that one girl pulled on Kim.
20.
>You'd agonized over it for weeks.
21.
>Your father had said to go.
22.
>Your mother had said to go.
23.
>They'd both given very good, compelling reasons.
24.
>But you hadn't.
25.
>And next week she'd come to school crying, wondering why the hell you'd stood her up like that.
26.
>You'd tried to explain, but that had been worth about as much as you would expect. In retrospect you should have lied and said you got really sick suddenly or something.
27.
>But you know how this story goes. You beat yourself up over it every couple of days.
28.
>This is kind of like that, you suppose. Only so, so, so much worse.
29.
>Drive an hour through awful weather to make what might be humanity's first formal contact with alien life, or maybe you'll just be
30.
>Stood up
31.
>Atomized
32.
>Violated with an anal probe
33.
>Pressed into some kind of servitude
34.
>Hell, maybe it's like Alien, and she just wants to lay eggs in your chest.
35.
>Just like the fucking prom, right?
36.
>Whoever or whatever G7X is, she seems to have made it her mission to test your "hesitation never got me anywhere" resolve to its absolute outer limits.
37.
38.
>Every day you mull it over, and the night is even worse.
39.
>You've slept about half what you should in the last two days.
40.
>You'd even broken down and told your parents all about it.
41.
>If someone would just tell you not to go, you could put together how you were going to avoid it.
42.
>The trouble was your parents probably thought your story about "going to meet some weird UFO chick" was code for "go smoke weed in the woods with friends, do teenager shit, and get into trouble.
43.
>They thought it would be good for you.
44.
>Go fucking figure.
45.
>It doesn't help that Kim has been practically living at your place.
46.
>He's made his position pretty clear.
47.
>He needs to know if what he saw that night was real.
48.
>If so, he needs to face whatever creatures these are.
49.
>And since he spent all his money on the Amiga,
50.
>He needs YOU to drive him.
51.
52.
>So all that had landed you here.
53.
>Behind the wheel of your 1979 Saab 900 hatchback,
54.
>10 miles out of Cuyahoga Valley National Park,
55.
>Lodged in the third snowdrift of the night.
56.
>The clock on the dash ticks over 11:15 P.M. as you throw it back into reverse, and try one last time to set yourself free without dragging your sorry ass back into the snow.
57.
>By sheer force of will you manage to snag a little traction and haul yourself back onto the road.
58.
>It's not snowing right now, but the sky is dark and brooding. The wind whisks thin ripples of blowing snow across the roadway, throttling the meager glow of your headlights until it seems they're shining through a few layers of wax paper.
59.
> "Man on the Moon" is playing quietly on the radio, cutting in and out here and there.
60.
>That should probably strike you a little uncanny, but you barely notice it given they play it so damn often.
61.
>The heater is chugging, but it manages to keep up. About half the directional louvers are broken; fortunately they're broken in largely useful directions.
62.
>The drive has been quiet, and surprisingly pensive for how much of a hassle it's been.
63.
>Kim was excited as hell in the beginning and frankly you'd been thankful for that, but once the first few miles rolled by, he started getting quiet.
64.
>Reality setting in, you guessed. He'd never been very good at comprehending the weight of situations until he was in them.
65.
>Which was why he did stupid things like buy Amiga 3000s.
66.
>But you'd come this far, and the bravado from the roof antenna escapade is coming back to you little-by-little.
67.
>...and MEET THE GIRL,
68.
>and do the other things,
69.
>Not because they are easy,
70.
>But because they are HARD.
71.
>Hard probably isn't the right word for exactly what this is, but you'll take your inspiration where you can get it. There is no going back now, you've come much too far for that.
72.
>If you didn't get yourself killed just driving out here, what were the odds that she would do it?
73.
>Besides, she'd asked if you were okay after the fall.
74.
>That was reassuring, wasn't it?
75.
>Not as much as you'd have liked.
76.
>But there was the sign for the park, glowing spectrally in the light of your high-beams.
77.
>You take a deep breath and make a left.
78.
>The gates are shut of course, so you park your car in the most secluded spot you can find, zip up your windbreaker, and turn the key as if pulling a pin from a grenade.
79.
>The engine shudders to a stop. You pop the door open and peel yourself from the crappy, torn leather of the driver's seat.
80.
>The cold greets you like your Aunt Jenny on Christmas.
81.
>Far more enthusiastically than you'd like.
82.
83.
>You've been to Cuyahoga Valley National Park before. It's been awhile, a few years maybe, but not all that long.
84.
>You used to go all the time as a kid, and while your interest had waned a little in high school, you still liked the place and had a lot of happy memories there.
85.
>You know it pretty well, you think, but it is something of a different place in the winter, especially at night.
86.
>The trees, full and green in the Summer and spectacularly colored in the Fall, tower over you stark, black, and leafless, gnarled roots digging into the snow like cats' claws.
87.
>The trails meander through hills and valleys painted ghostly white with snow, their views desolate and their borders blurred.
88.
>As you walk you half-expect to be accosted by the frozen zombies of French and German soldiers, rising from shallow graves in deep trenches to shuffle about, fending the cold away with scarves of razorwire.
89.
>Never before have you wished so heavily that you were into guns at least 10% as much as you were into rockets.
90.
>Your father owned a beautiful Smith and Wesson in .357. You'd only fired it a few times, but goddamn you'd have liked to have it now.
91.
>But all you have is a backpack full of floppy disks and CDs that Kim had suggested you bring. Encyclopedias and media and shit. A good idea, certainly, but they weren't going to do you any good if things went south.
92.
>So you trudge on, thumb hooked around your waist, pretending you've got a gun there.
93.
>Kim, who's walking beside you, is staying just as quiet as you are.
94.
>His hands are thrust in the pockets of his pale blue windbreaker, his head down against the wind, eyes staring at his black moon boots as he trudges.
95.
>The back of your mind toys with the idea of letting him get ahead awhile, then hurling a snowball at him.
96.
>Might ease the tension a little.
97.
>You try to slow down stealthily, but he slows down with you.
98.
>You slide your jacket sleeve back a little and check the cheap digital watch on your wrist.
99.
>11:45 P.M.
100.
>She'd said not to be late.
101.
>No time for that shit anyway.
102.
>You've got a quarter mile yet.
103.
104.
>You don't have a GPS.
105.
>Kim's family might be wealthy, but he was never outdoorsy enough to try to arrange that.
106.
>Close as you can tell though, the coordinates lead you to a basin in the rock.
107.
>You've been here before.
108.
>A rim of shale extends a foot or so from the wall of the depression, and in the Summer channels a narrow creek into a fine, misty waterfall.
109.
>That's all frozen now, the water locked halfway to the little pool below, as if time itself had stopped when the snow came.
110.
>It glows with the eerie still-life of a model train set, water cast in glue, glitter, and blue food coloring.
111.
>It's beautiful in the Summer. You used to spend long hours here reading and catching little frogs.
112.
>You didn't bring a book though, and there's no sound save the faint rush of wind in the trees.
113.
>Skinwalkers are a Navajo thing. The Navajo didn't live here, right?
114.
>You try to think back to your U.S. history class last year.
115.
>You don't think so
116.
>This is Shawnee territory, if you remember correctly.
117.
>You're pretty sure they don't have Skinwalkers.
118.
>That doesn't make you feel as much better as you hoped it would.
119.
120.
>11:52.
121.
>The waiting was already painful.
122.
>Kim is pacing. Before long so are you.
123.
>You pace to stop the shaking.
124.
>It's because of the cold, right?
125.
>Yeah, that's part of it, but you know that isn't the whole truth.
126.
127.
>11:55.
128.
>Kim sat down under the overhang. He's got a faraway look in his eye, and is drumming his fingers on his knee to the Super Mario Brother's tune.
129.
>You join him reluctantly, and the two of you watch the fog of your breath crystalize on the ice of the frozen waterfall.
130.
>This could really be it, you remind him, as much for your own sake as for his.
131.
132.
>11:58.
133.
>Your teeth are chattering, which is good, because focusing on being cold is better than focusing on your watch.
134.
>You're still counting seconds with taps of your boot though.
135.
>120 of those fuckers left. Probably less now.
136.
>You haven't heard a sonic boom, and that's making you nervous.
137.
>At first you'd thought the "stood up" option might be the best outcome here, but the more you thought about that the less you liked it.
138.
>If something went down, you knew what was happening.
139.
>If she was a no-show, then it was like that spider you see on the bathroom wall, and then look back and it's gone.
140.
>The last thing you wanted this situation to become was a Spider you Couldn't See.
141.
142.
>12:02
143.
>Sheer anxiety had led you to forget your watch awhile. Still no sonic boom, still no pale blue light. Still no G7X. She'd said not to be late; did that mean you could go? Where would you meet again? When? Would you ever? Was it over?
144.
145.
>12:06
146.
>You're actually a little disappointed. Maybe even hurt. You'd come all this way in good faith. You'd come for answers. And now what? What would happen next? Would anything come of it? You couldn't know!
147.
>Was it all a trick? Had it been CIA shit after all?
148.
>They'd tricked you into coming out here, and now they were going to throw you into the back of a van! You'd never see your family again!
149.
>Shit, what if that was really it?
150.
>You can't wait there any longer. It doesn't feel right. You grab Kim by the sleeve and stand hurriedly, turning back the way you came.
151.
>The snow is unsteady beneath your feet, but the going is easier for some reason.
152.
>It's easier to see, you realize.
153.
>Easier because of a pale blue light.
154.
>You stop in your tracks as if you'd never had any momentum to begin with. Or maybe that was It's doing.
155.
>You turn around very slowly, knowing all-too-well what's going to be there.
156.
>You don't want to see it nearly as much as it felt like you did a minute ago.
157.
>Kim wasn't ready for you to stop. You'd still had his sleeve. He'd tripped and fallen. He was facing the other way now, the blue lighting his face like one of those plasma bolt lamps from Spencer's.
158.
>The look on his face is shock, or maybe horror.
159.
> "Holy fuck, man."
160.
>It's a horse whisper. The sort of sound you make when you scream for help in a dream.
161.
>Two instincts compete in you, each pulling so hard they seem about to tear you in half.
162.
>Turn around.
163.
>Run.
164.
>Turn around.
165.
>Run.
166.
>Hesitation never got you anywhere.
167.
>You take a deep breath and shut your eyes.
168.
>Not because they are easy,
169.
>You pivot on your heels and exhale slowly.
170.
>But because they are hard!
171.
>You wrench open your eyes.
172.
173.
>It's floating there listlessly like one of those heavy mylar balloons, its black hulk almost invisible save for the blue veins, and the gently wavering silhouette of its dark chrome feathers as they knead at the air like cookie dough. A fine powder of snow churns in the air beneath it, in just the spot you'd run through not ten seconds ago.
174.
>It's humming softly, as if for it's own amusement.
175.
>Your breath stills, your heart in your throat.
176.
>If it was close before, it's really close now. On the roof it had felt as if you could almost touch it. Now, if you took a couple steps and jumped up to reach it, you could have.
177.
>Hell, you could have LICKED it. Could have become that dumbass who got his tongue stuck to the flag pole, only you'd be stuck to a goddamn UFO.
178.
>It seems even bigger here, tucked neatly between the trees.
179.
>But you feel something you do recognize from the roof.
180.
>You'd been right about what that Black Triangle should look like up close, but maybe sexy wasn't the right word.
181.
>It isn't just a flying dorito.
182.
>It's simple, elegant, powerful, and poised.
183.
>It's beautiful.
184.
>And not like the ones on TV or in the movies.
185.
>It isn't just smooth and futuristic, it's sculpted.
186.
>It had a build not like a war machine, or even something beautiful the way the Space Shuttle was beautiful.
187.
>It's built like a Howard Hughes airplane.
188.
>Like someone had poured their heart and soul into it.
189.
>Like they'd thrown every ounce of their being into that strange, exotic metal, and spent every thought and emotion they had on creating the most beautiful, functional thing they possibly could.
190.
>The sort of energy people imagine God put into creating the world.
191.
>Somehow, amid the surges of adrenaline-fueled panic, some part of your mind is in the eye of the hurricane. For that little part, everything is right with the Universe.
192.
>You take a step closer, and then another.
193.
>It's almost as intimidating as it is enthralling,
194.
>But not QUITE.
195.
>So you get closer, and closer still.
196.
>Closer, until something changes.
197.
>A bit of the metal recedes, and from beneath it shines a bright, white light.
198.
>You don't know why, but something clicks in your brain.
199.
>And you run.
200.
>You run harder and faster than you ever have.
201.
>Harder than you thought you ever could.
202.
>Harder than you thought was possible for anyone.
203.
>The cold, dead branches of trees lash at you like chain whips as they snap over your head and shoulders.
204.
>The snow crumbles beneath your feet as if the world itself is falling apart behind you.
205.
>You run and climb and clamber, even as your lungs burn with ice and your heart and mind beg for oxygen.
206.
>You can't tell for how long, but it seems like an eternity.
207.
>You go faster and faster, but you never seem to get anywhere.
208.
>Just trees and more trees.
209.
>Hills and more hills.
210.
>Ice and more ice.
211.
>Like running on a treadmill.
212.
>Like running in a dream.
213.
>Is it chasing you?
214.
>You don't know.
215.
>You don't want to look back.
216.
>But you have to look back!
217.
>You repeat the mantra again, you chant it to yourself with the exhales of your breath.
218.
>because they are hard.
219.
>Because They Are Hard.
220.
>BECAUSE THEY ARE HARD.
221.
>You turn to look, and as you do you feel yourself falling.
222.
223.
>It's a long fall. Long enough to think about what's happening.
224.
>Which means it's long enough to know you're probably pretty fucked.
225.
>You don't feel anything when you hit the ground, save the thud of your breath leaving your lungs.
226.
>You gasp for air and try to sit up as best you can, your vision swimming and tying knots with the trees towering over you.
227.
>A little comes back to you. Not much, but enough to haul yourself to sitting.
228.
>You're sitting in waist-deep water.
229.
>Your left leg is bent the wrong way around.
230.
>The cold would probably be setting in if you could feel anything, but you're well past that.
231.
>Not even your leg.
232.
>Your heart is still beating, and that means it's time to go.
233.
>So you run.
234.
>Only you don't run.
235.
>It's only a few steps,
236.
>Then you're face down in the water.
237.
>The world goes black before you can put another thought together.
238.
239.
>It's still black when you start thinking again.
240.
>Then it's white. Brilliant white.
241.
>White like staring at summer clouds.
242.
>You're dead, surely.
243.
>You would be sure if your leg hadn't set to hurting.
244.
>Hurting a lot.
245.
>You can't see much, but you try to get your bearings.
246.
>You're not in the water anymore, not as far as you can tell.
247.
>You're on your back, and on top of something.
248.
>A table. You can find its edges with your hands and good leg.
249.
>A little shifting tells you it's bent ergonomically, like a dentist's chair leaned most of the way back.
250.
>Could Kim have found you?
251.
>Could they have gotten you to a hospital?
252.
>You doubt it, but they must have, right?"
253.
> "Mom?"
254.
> "Dad?"
255.
> "Kim?"
256.
> You try to come up with some other names, but decide against calling for your over-enthusiastic Auntie Jenny.
257.
>There's only one left.
258.
>The one you're pretty sure you don't want it to be.
259.
>The one you're terrifyingly certain it is.
260.
> "G7X?"
261.
> "S - 5 - K."
262.
>It echoes around the room as if over an airport concourse intercom.
263.
>Sounding just like it did on the radio, though sharp and clear.
264.
>Your breath is fast and random, your voice is too.
265.
> "G7X, S5K. Where am I?"
266.
>You're not sure why you said it that way. That had been all you could think of. Maybe just because it was the only way you'd ever spoken with her.
267.
> "Earth."
268.
>The kid's voice again, just like on the radio.
269.
>Then the audio scratches, and his father's voice comes in it's place.
270.
> "...pale, blue, dot."
271.
> It scratches again.
272.
> "United States of America," in the voice of John F. Kennedy.
273.
>Once more.
274.
> "Sandusky," in your own.
275.
> That last one sends chills reverberating up and down your spine.
276.
277.
>You can see a little better now, and that isn't doing your building panic any favors.
278.
>The room is circular, and plated in a similar reflective metal to the triangle's skin, though the finish is a little more muted.
279.
>machines line the walls, chirping quietly to themselves.
280.
>That all confirms your fears of where you are, which would be bad enough in and of itself.
281.
>But the real problem is what you see when you lay back.
282.
>Overhead, a series of mechanical arms hangs from the ceiling, some holding lights and other s needles and probes.
283.
>Like H.R. Giger designed a chandelier.
284.
>It's difficult to see in the harsh light, but the arm with the biggest needle is coming closer.
285.
>It's big enough that you can see the steep, angular cut forming the tip of the pipette.
286.
>It's descending over your sternum.
287.
>Over your lungs
288.
>Over your heart.
289.
>It's getting awfully close, and doesn't look about to stop.
290.
>You fight to move, but your body ignores you.
291.
>Not that you could have gotten very far anyway.
292.
>But maybe the thought had occurred to her too, because you hear a door shunt open. And then you hear footsteps. Soft, delicate footsteps.
293.
>They're slow and calculated at first, but they quicken.
294.
>They're getting closer.
295.
>You can almost see her.
296.
>You can almost see IT.
297.
>You don't want to look, but it might be the last thing you ever see.
298.
>You're pretty sure you don't want the last thing to be the fuckhuge needle.
299.
>You don't want to look, but you know you have to.
300.
>You can still do it. It doesn't have to all be for nothing. Even if you die here, you can do what you set out to do.
301.
>De-ice the antenna, and
302.
>MEET THE GIRL, and
303.
>Do the other thing.
304.
>Not because they are easy.
305.
>But because they are HARD.
306.
>You crane your neck to see.
307.
308.
>There's not much to see but a flat silhouette, black as night against the harsh backlight. It seems to tower over you as you lay on the chair. It's not quite scrawny, but perhaps wiry.
309.
>Amorphous folds hang from it in strange places, some of the edges hard and some of them soft.
310.
>Shapes you'd never seen before,
311.
>Not on any living creature.
312.
>But it's the head that really gets you.
313.
>You can't make out much in the flat bloom of the light, but it's big.
314.
>And rises to peaks on either side with a distinct valley in between.
315.
>Your imagination runs the gamut of forms that could possibly make that shape, and doesn't like a one of them.
316.
>It gets closer, and closer yet until it's beside you. You feel a pressure on your chest, and then a sting. Your jacket hides the needle as it tears into your flesh.
317.
>As you close your eyes and wait for the end, something takes your hand.
318.
>Something soft and warm.
319.
>The pain surges under the needle and you can't help a scream.
320.
>The grip gets a little tighter, and the speakers echo again.
321.
>"S - 5 - K."
322.
> "We have nothing to fear..." in the voice of F.D.R.
323.
>And then the Portuguese Greeting from the record.
324.
>You know that one pretty well; you used it as an example when you wrote a report on the thing.
325.
>Maybe she knows that.
326.
> "Peace and Happiness to All."
327.
>Suddenly you can't feel the needle anymore, and in its place spreads a feeling of warmth.
328.
>It surges through your blood in tsunami.
329.
>It's a strange feeling. An exotic feeling. You're not sure you like it. After a second you're really ready for it to stop.
330.
>But it IS fascinating.
331.
>And then it's everywhere, and you can hardly feel it at all.
332.
>The pain in your leg fades, and a thousand other little scrapes and aches you didn't know you had.
333.
>With the strange, soft thing in your hand,
334.
>Even the fear seems to fade.
335.
>And a profound sense of peace washes over you.
336.
>And then the world is black again,
337.
>And then your thinking stops.