The paradoxical man, p.1
The Paradoxical Man, page 1
The Paradoxical Man
By Bard Constantine
Space.
It was all Albert Rosen had seen for the last century and a half, but it still astounded him every time. One glance outside the viewport of the ship, one glimmer of an alien sunbeam, and his breath was taken away anew. He’d witnessed the grandest of sights in his time on the watch, inexplicable moments that defied description. Wonders of celestial light and darkness had moved him, reduced him to shuddering tears and reflections on mortality and afterlife. At times, when staring into the cornea of a weeping nebula or transfixed by the collective luminosity of passing galaxy, he almost believed he was in Heaven. But he knew Heaven could never be so isolated. So alone.
The remoteness was stifling. He would teeter on the razor’s edge between sanity and madness, imagining he was all there was in that void, one infinitesimal speck of life in an infinite stretch of death. The universe had no use for him, no endearing ache for humanity’s mechanisms. It went on, cold and unfeeling in its awe-inspiring orchestra of cosmic phenomena.
The vastness was matched only by its emptiness. The immeasurable stretch of pitch black dotted by mysterious glimmers. Billions of stars in billions of galaxies, all moving like clockwork in perfect precision. It was impossible to understand, to even attempt to grasp the concept of such immeasurable massiveness. It seemed something of that magnitude had to inhabited, had to be populated by beings that outnumbered the stars, hundreds of billions of intelligent species seeking to connect, to communicate beyond the confines of their own planets and galaxies.
He wasn’t sure he believed that anymore.
Moments like those made Albert grateful for the Morpheus chamber. It was like an old friend, waiting to embrace him as he submerged into the depths of the aeriated gel and succumbed to the allure of fathomless sleep. His life was a concerted motion of long sleep and short awakenings, time enough to keep a single day’s watch before returning to hibernation and sleeping for a decade. Often he was unsure if he was asleep or awake, as he often dreamed of awakening, just to take another watch.
Another day to stare into the depths of space. Another day to observe marvels no man had seen before. Things no man had a right to see. It was all he had. It was all he was. He was the lost, marooned and drifting alone in an ocean of ink and gemstones. It was better that way.
Perhaps it was the purgatory he deserved, a befitting punishment for his incomprehensible crimes.
…
Light.
It assaulted his consciousness, relentless razors that sliced his dreams to shivery ribbons. Muffled, liquid sounds surrounded him, smooth and mechanical yet overly loud and invasive. Pinpricks of icy air stabbed his naked flesh as the gel emptied into the draining system. He sat up with a gasp, dripping with viscid fluid as he emerged from the Morpheus chamber, weak-limbed and shuddering.
Liquid bullets and cyclonic whirring helped his mind focus as the floor conveyor shuttled him through the jetted shower and dryer. He was still bare-chested when he jogged to the bridge to see why he had been roused so far ahead of schedule.
His mouth dropped open. For a long moment his thoughts collided with one another, debating whether he was truly awake or suffering from a lucid dream inside the stasis chamber. It was the most beautiful sight he’d seen in his life, a perfectly spherical azure-colored vision, gift-wrapped in threads of misty white. It hung in empty space, beckoning; the sum of all his longing, the answer to every fear and desire he possessed.
It was Earth.
He was home.
Goosebumps prickled his arms, and his heart surged with so much adrenaline that he nearly passed out. He slumped into the padded navigator’s chair as unchecked tears slid down his face. His journey was over. He had been fully prepared to become a ghost in the cosmos, a corpse drifting in a derelict vessel before ever believing he had a shot at making it. Faith was for the devout, but he was of the analytical order. He had known the impossible odds, the miniscule chance he had of performing a successful trek through spacetime to arrive safely at this destination. But somehow the gambit had paid off. The impossible had happened.
He was home.
“Unidentified craft.”
He flinched at the sound of the voice. There was no human warmth, no assuring familiarity. It spoke over the ship’s intercom in a synthetic monotone.
“Unidentified craft, we are assuming control of your vessel. Please do not attempt to operate your ship while this process is ongoing. Any resistance will result in countermeasures that may bring you harm. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Albert shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Somehow, he had never imagined a lukewarm or hostile reception. In his daydreams he had always been received as a returning hero, a dead man basking in the warmth of his resurrection. He hadn’t considered the uncertainty he might create, the fear he might induce by suddenly appearing on the planet’s radar. He’d been gone so long that his name was more than likely forgotten, merely a blip in an archive somewhere. His return was inexplicable, an uncanny sequence of events that would raise eyebrows from even the most fervent, over-imaginative science fiction writers.
The ship lurched, impelling him to grip the armrests. He craned his neck to see something, anything that would indicate an intelligent presence. A tiny object glinted in the distance, increasing in size as Albert’s ship drew nearer. The space station had the appearance of a disembodied wheel, complete with cylindrical spokes leading to a spherical center that Albert assumed was the command hub. It rotated slowly, become increasingly larger until Albert realized it was massive enough to cover most of the state of Texas were it placed on Earth.
“Dr. Albert Rosen.”
Albert gave a start at the mention of his name. The voice was different, evoked with more warmth. Feminine.
It sounded human.
“Dr. Albert Rosen, please reply via your communication system.”
He cleared his throat and pressed a button on the control dashboard. “This is Rosen. Dr. Albert Rosen. Who is this? How do you know me?”
“There are numerous DNA samples stored in your vessel, Dr. Rosen. Since you are the sole occupant, I analyzed the latest and was able to identify you. Dr. Albert Rosen, aerospace engineer at NASA, last seen manning a prototype deep sea exploration vessel called the Gorgon. It was deployed June 6, 2016 in the Bermuda Triangle. The mission to investigate a powerful energy anomaly was determined a failure when the Gorgon vanished without a trace. All five team members on board were eventually designated as deceased: Jack Carson, Ben Rodriguez, Linda Reaves, Albert Rosen, Sarah Rosen.”
Jack. Ben. Linda. Sarah.
The remembrance stabbed sharper than a knife between his ribs. He nearly groaned aloud as the terrible intensity swelled, the numbness torn from his consciousness like a scab from a half-healed wound.
Their vessel crumpled around them like aluminum foil, and Sarah’s eyes stared from the depths of dark waters; her hair haloed around her face when she was torn away from him with irresistible force.
He placed a hand on his throbbing temple.
“Dr. Rosen, we have commandeered your vessel’s navigation system. You are now being directed to docking bay 42. Please remain seated until your ship is secure. Thank you for your cooperation, and welcome aboard the Locus. ”
His thoughts refocused as his ship was directed to the docking bay with silent precision. Trepidation settled in, an unwelcome companion to his uncertainty. He had no idea how many years he had been flung across time and space, nor whether it was forward or backward from the place he had departed from. When the spacetime continuum was no longer a barrier, impossibilities became reality, and reality a word no longer anchored to restraining limitations. Did his new hosts know where he came from? Did they know what he did? What atrocities he was responsible for?
…
Fear.
After suiting up in an all-black uniform, he waited at the docking bay doors with his heart pounding against his sternum, his throat dry and his fingers trembling.
The doors slid open.
A diminutive woman dressed in loose folds of black and white greeted him with a warm, dimpled smile. Her sleek, raven-black hair was bobbed to near razor sharpness, and her face was perfectly contoured, highlighted by nude and silver enhancements. It was impossible to guess her nationality.
“Hello, Dr. Rosen. My name is Maria. It is an unexpected pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m sure you have many questions. If you will follow me, I will escort you to the Central Sol, where Deis can explain everything to you.”
“Who is Deis?”
“The commander of this station.”
“Don’t I have to be placed in decontamination? There’s no telling what I might be carrying, what viruses I may have—”
“That won’t be necessary, Dr. Rosen. Your ship has kept detailed logs on your health, and you’ve been screened for entry. This way, please.”
She gestured before leading the way to an awaiting shuttle. The sleek machine hovered over the gleaming floors and silently propelled down the brightly lit, tubular hallway. Rectangular windows lined the walls, allowing a view of the other spokes as the ship rotated in the darkness of space. Earth was a cerulean jewel, tantalizing in the distance.
He was struck by a startling sense of déjà vu. It was as if he walked in the shadows of his own footsteps, trailed by their ghostly echoes.
He was greeted by color. Trees and shrubs, veritable forests lined the hall, imparting a damp freshnes
They stopped at a conveyor affixed with lines of cushioned, orbicular chairs. When they sat down, lap belts automatically encircled their waists, adjusting for height and width. A domed visor slid over them, completing the sphere.
Maria turned to him with a reassuring smile. “Take a deep breath, Dr. Rosen.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you please.”
He took a deep breath.
The surroundings distorted; whirs of black and white flashed by.
“Here we are.”
Albert tried to rise as the visor whirred up and the lap belt unfastened. His muscles felt like putty, and the result was an awkward spill from the chair to the floor while dots blurred his vision and his chest heaved. He felt Maria’s arms guide him to a sitting position. Her small frame belied impressive strength as she made the action appear effortless.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Rosen. We normally wouldn’t have used the shuttle in such a manner, but Deis insisted on seeing you as soon as possible. Are you capable of standing, or do you require more time?”
“I think I’m all right.” He accepted her offered hand and stood on trembling legs. He felt geriatric when he leaned on her for support as they approached the massive central sphere that only a few seconds ago had appeared to be miles away. It dwarfed anything Albert had seen before. A long time ago he had marveled at the Ericsson Globe in Stockholm, Sweden. It was a marvel of architectural design, and had been the largest hemispherical building on Earth at the time.
The Central Sol was more than fifty times larger.
The silvery surface was overlain with dimensional hexagon formations, creating the illusion of ridged imperfection. But Albert was almost certain were it to be measured, it would be flawlessly spherical. It gleamed as the darkness of space contested with the winking lights of the station across its multifaceted surface.
Albert was again struck by the familiarity of the moment. He had been there before. In a slightly altered fashion, but still so similar.
A door slid open upon their approach. Maria stopped just shy of the entrance.
“This is where I leave you, Dr. Rosen. The elevator will take you to the central hub.”
“Thank you, Maria. May I ask you a question?”
“You may.”
He gestured to the stretch of empty passageway. “Where is everyone?”
Her cheerful smile never slipped. “Deis will answer all of your questions in time, Dr. Rosen. And you will answer all of his.”
The elevator doors shut, and Albert was rocketed upward. As he rose, he took in a bird’s eye view of Maria walking down the cylindrical passage, the only sign of human movement in the entire massive structure.
…
Brilliance.
The elevator door opened to a view of frosted white.
Albert was reminded of a gargantuan igloo, with the interior absent of any right angles and the contours, skylights, and spare furnishings all rounded. The floor appeared to be slick tiles, but the pressure under his feet was soft, as if walking on flattened clouds. His boots made no sound as he cautiously stepped forward. He halted as a soft, masculine voice spoke.
“One moment, please.”
A tangle of thick black cables descended from an aperture in the ceiling. Moving as though sentient, they formed together in a humanoid shape. Thin, glimmering wires intertwined as well, electrical veins for a cybernetic nervous system. Plates of flexible white alloyed material rose from the floor, attaching to the cables and wires to form a sleek exoskeletal covering for the android that strode toward Albert and extended a welcoming hand.
After a brief hesitation, Albert took it. The mechanical fingers that clasped his own were warm, the shell covering softer than he expected. He felt a slight galvanic quiver from the artificial being that greeted him with a gaze decidedly human in manner. Its face was molded from the same supple material as its shell, allowing it facial expression while still remaining an obvious automaton.
“Welcome, Dr. Rosen. As you have no doubt guessed, I am Deis.”
“You’re a robot.”
Deis laughed.
It was eerie, hearing an android laugh as though it knew what laughter was. Deis gestured to their brightly illuminated surroundings. “I am a system, Dr. Rosen. The system that oversees this entire station. The physical form you see is simply a construct to make our communication more comfortable, especially in view of your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Yes. I am quite sure you are disoriented by your travels. You departed from Earth on June 6, 2016, entering a wormhole bridged between your time and a distant point in the future, possibly thousands of years. You then took a secondary trip that brought you here, July 20, 2374. Which would make it the past from which you departed, yet still the future of your original point of time.”
Albert had guessed as much, but it was still staggering to hear the feat related in such a casual manner. “How do you know that?”
“Your ship. It is technologically more advanced than any we currently possess, but still familiar enough to communicate with our systems. What does that tell you?”
Albert reflected for a moment. “It means the future I visited was our own. The Denizens, as they called themselves…were human. They were us.”
“You sound surprised.”
“They didn’t appear human. They were…taller. And their shapes and appearance were completely different. Alien. Almost insectoid.”
“I’m certain there is a valid reason for their appearance, Dr. Rosen. Please have a seat.” Deis indicated a pair of gleaming white semicircles with luxurious padding. “Hibernation is exhausting, and your muscles still have to adjust to the exertion of continued movement.”
As Albert sat, an automated tray wheeled over, laden with bowls of fruit and cream. Albert wasn’t sure if the colors were strikingly rich because of the white surroundings, or because he hadn’t seen real fruit in ages. Regardless, the assorted berries, peaches, and melon spheres looked absolutely mouth-watering.
“A taste of Earth’s finest, to welcome you home.” Deis waved a hand as he settled into the opposite chair. A portion of the wall slid open to a view of the planet. The horizon glowed as the sunrise struck it, a sight so beautiful that Albert’s breath was taken away. He absentmindedly lifted a spoonful of fresh fruit to his mouth.
The taste was nearly enough to bring tears to his eyes. The combination of sweet and tart flavors that saturated his tongue was superior to any he’d ever experienced. It was as if he’d never tasted fruit before.
Deis inclined his head. “I take it you approve.”
“It’s…amazing.” His fingers moved of their own accord, greedily dipping fruit in the bowl of cream and lifting it to his mouth in rapid succession.
“Completely natural. Free from any the pesticides and chemicals you were subjected to in your period of time.”
“Who are they for?”
“For the occupants of this station, of course. Although by the time they receive it, it is broken down to raw nutrients. Far less palatable than what you’re currently enjoying.”
“What occupants? Where are the people?”
“In stasis. Much like your time in the Morpheus Chamber, humanity sleeps.”
“Why?”
“Because they are not yet ready to return.”
Albert paused with his spoon half-raised. He took a longing stare at the enticing display of condensation-beaded fruit before he sighed and willed himself away. “I want to see them.”
…
Frozen.
Humankind was reduced to freeze-dried meat.
That was the initial notion which sprang to Albert’s mind. In climate controlled sectors of the station, they lay in thin receptacles constructed of slim metallic pods with opaque sheaths pressed tightly against their bodies like Saran wrap. Various tubes extended from the casing, tentacles that imported and exported necessities vital to extended hibernation. The holders were suspended on racks attached to towers that extended beyond Albert’s range of vision. Clouds of vapor billowed in the chamber, seemingly more alive than the frozen occupants.
