Anastomosis by David Kutai Weiss
2520
I am one of one.
Stowik bounced along as the massive rover made its way back to the Arksent. He didn’t know where his hopper was, but that was inconsequential, a forgotten detail futilely knocking on the door of Stowik’s mind. He didn’t answer. His colony was gone. Stowik’s mind was devoid of thought as he stared out the window. A large bump jostled him out of his trance and he took stock of his surroundings. He was sitting on a plastic bench in a room full of soldiers talking, eating, and reading. Occasionally he caught one staring in his direction, but they quickly averted their gaze.
“Hey.”
Stowik turned his head towards the voice. Dalrin. “Hey,” replied Stowik.
“How are you doing, son? The soldiers feeding you okay? asked Dalrin in a fatherly tone.
“Yes,” said Stowik.
“Good,” Dalrin replied as he took a bite out of a piece of bread, “your hopper is up on top of the rover. Thought you’d like to know.”
Stowik turned, remembering where he had landed and left his prized vehicle, “Someone was able to fly and land it up there?”
Dalrin laughed, “No one’s that brave. We used the crane.”
Stowik nodded. This thing is a moving fortress.
“You can go back, you know. We aren’t holding you or anything,” said Dalrin.
I am one of one.
Stowik shook his head, “There’s nothing for me to go back to. Maybe four droes of fuel left...sixty days.” He paused, looking around. “The soldiers are all wearing their masks indoors. Because of what disease or whatever I’m carrying?”
Dalrin nodded, “Make sure you keep your face mask on at all times within the Arksent.” He limped away.
The hours passed as Stowik passed in and out of consciousness on his plastic bench. The sound of boots all moving in unison brought him to attention.
“We’ve arrived at the Cortex,” a passing soldier said to Stowik.
Stowik got up and descended the rover, where he was greeted by another soldier. He saw the rim crest of Ksa crater looming up at him. One section of the outer crater wall had been completely removed to make an opening for the hangar.
“Stowik, follow me,” the soldier said. It was Lieutenant Caplock.
Stowik followed the Lieutenant inside the colossal complex of the Cortex and noted the clinical precision of the place. Where Alpha India and the Opposition tunneled the path of least resistance, the Arksent walls were close-cut corners, and the passageways split off in perfect ‘T’s”. As they traveled the long white corridors Stowik marveled that he could see his reflection in the glossy walls. After several moments, the Lieutenant hit a button on the wall and the elevator door in front of them opened. They ascended a number of flights that Stowik didn’t care to count. Lieutenant Caplock then stopped in front of a door.
“This is where you’ll be staying. Breakfast is downstairs at oh-seven-hundred,” Lieutenant Caplock turned around and left Stowik to stand in front of his room and listen to the fading footsteps.
Stowik turned the handle and was greeted by a robotic voice, “Voice identification calibration. State your name.”
“Stowik?” he ventured uncertainly.
The door unlocked and Stowik walked in. It was a modest room that was starkly white, impeccably clean, and depressingly different from his grittier room in the Concrete. Stowik lay down in the bed, mind numb but too awake to sleep.
Imbria is dead, and it’s my fault. Am I supposed to be upset? She was stealing the hopper blueprints, and she lied to me about the Arksent and about Dalrin. Dalrin took a bullet for Alpha India; he was the good one all along. Except he took a bullet for nothing: Alpha India is empty. Could I really have hallucinated the whole thing? That’s impossible…it was so...real. Was my grief for nothing when Rockhead crashed? Of course: he’s been dead this whole time. Everyone has been dead this whole time. I wonder if my parents were really like how I remember. What was Rockhead like? Is that his name? Is Stowik my name? All I’ve ever had is myself and the Concrete. Before, I would have said that building things keeps me sane, but it seems that doesn’t even hold true anymore. Maybe I should I have just stayed in the Concrete, living out my lie. Why did I feel the need to leave?
2122
Day 132: Entry 29: Commander Neil Taylor: I never thought I’d say this, but I wish Castle were here. Don’t ask me how, but some of the crew have gotten seriously ill, and he was a damn good doctor. Louis was trained as the backup doctor, but as you already know, Louis went with Castle. In my haste to protect the rest of the crew, I may have overlooked a few things. I’m starting to rethink now whether splitting up was truly in our best interest. Apparently the rest of the crew has the same thought, because people are…“pairing.” It’s exceedingly uncomfortable, not to mention I’m fairly certain that one of our crew (who shall remaind unnamed due to the professional nature of these entries) has been trying to “pair” with me. Maybe I should; it would probably be good for me. But I can’t help but keep thinking about Mindona. Anyway, the crew morale is neither good nor bad. Truly, Titan is boring. I mean, as an explorer, I’ll be the first to say that looking from afar is exciting. But living here? I’m bored out of my mind. We schedule each EVA (which generally involves some form of argument, because only three people can go out at a time). And the suit heaters are falling apart, so when we can go outside it’s freezing. That being said, life goes on, and we’re toying with some ideas to start building structures, or underground, or whatever it is the crew wants these days. Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up.
I just reread this entry, and it seems far too morose; in reality we’re doing great. People are generally content, (or as content as one can be on this desolate ball of ice) and we’re not in any danger of running out of food, or electricity, or really anything else we need; Nicole has gotten really clever with her experiments and is starting to synthesize plastics. I don’t know where she learned this stuff. She maintains that our constant burning of ethane is going to terraform Titan’s atmosphere, but I don’t notice any difference so far. She told me I needed to think on a hundreds-of-years scale. I’ve always considered myself an effective commander thinking weeks to months in advance, so excuse me if I don’t think on a geologic timescale. Nicole responded that I have no concept of what geologic time is. I’m getting a headache. Time for sleep.
I am one of one.
Stowik bounced along as the massive rover made its way back to the Arksent. He didn’t know where his hopper was, but that was inconsequential, a forgotten detail futilely knocking on the door of Stowik’s mind. He didn’t answer. His colony was gone. Stowik’s mind was devoid of thought as he stared out the window. A large bump jostled him out of his trance and he took stock of his surroundings. He was sitting on a plastic bench in a room full of soldiers talking, eating, and reading. Occasionally he caught one staring in his direction, but they quickly averted their gaze.
“Hey.”
Stowik turned his head towards the voice. Dalrin. “Hey,” replied Stowik.
“How are you doing, son? The soldiers feeding you okay? asked Dalrin in a fatherly tone.
“Yes,” said Stowik.
“Good,” Dalrin replied as he took a bite out of a piece of bread, “your hopper is up on top of the rover. Thought you’d like to know.”
Stowik turned, remembering where he had landed and left his prized vehicle, “Someone was able to fly and land it up there?”
Dalrin laughed, “No one’s that brave. We used the crane.”
Stowik nodded. This thing is a moving fortress.
“You can go back, you know. We aren’t holding you or anything,” said Dalrin.
I am one of one.
Stowik shook his head, “There’s nothing for me to go back to. Maybe four droes of fuel left...sixty days.” He paused, looking around. “The soldiers are all wearing their masks indoors. Because of what disease or whatever I’m carrying?”
Dalrin nodded, “Make sure you keep your face mask on at all times within the Arksent.” He limped away.
The hours passed as Stowik passed in and out of consciousness on his plastic bench. The sound of boots all moving in unison brought him to attention.
“We’ve arrived at the Cortex,” a passing soldier said to Stowik.
Stowik got up and descended the rover, where he was greeted by another soldier. He saw the rim crest of Ksa crater looming up at him. One section of the outer crater wall had been completely removed to make an opening for the hangar.
“Stowik, follow me,” the soldier said. It was Lieutenant Caplock.
Stowik followed the Lieutenant inside the colossal complex of the Cortex and noted the clinical precision of the place. Where Alpha India and the Opposition tunneled the path of least resistance, the Arksent walls were close-cut corners, and the passageways split off in perfect ‘T’s”. As they traveled the long white corridors Stowik marveled that he could see his reflection in the glossy walls. After several moments, the Lieutenant hit a button on the wall and the elevator door in front of them opened. They ascended a number of flights that Stowik didn’t care to count. Lieutenant Caplock then stopped in front of a door.
“This is where you’ll be staying. Breakfast is downstairs at oh-seven-hundred,” Lieutenant Caplock turned around and left Stowik to stand in front of his room and listen to the fading footsteps.
Stowik turned the handle and was greeted by a robotic voice, “Voice identification calibration. State your name.”
“Stowik?” he ventured uncertainly.
The door unlocked and Stowik walked in. It was a modest room that was starkly white, impeccably clean, and depressingly different from his grittier room in the Concrete. Stowik lay down in the bed, mind numb but too awake to sleep.
Imbria is dead, and it’s my fault. Am I supposed to be upset? She was stealing the hopper blueprints, and she lied to me about the Arksent and about Dalrin. Dalrin took a bullet for Alpha India; he was the good one all along. Except he took a bullet for nothing: Alpha India is empty. Could I really have hallucinated the whole thing? That’s impossible…it was so...real. Was my grief for nothing when Rockhead crashed? Of course: he’s been dead this whole time. Everyone has been dead this whole time. I wonder if my parents were really like how I remember. What was Rockhead like? Is that his name? Is Stowik my name? All I’ve ever had is myself and the Concrete. Before, I would have said that building things keeps me sane, but it seems that doesn’t even hold true anymore. Maybe I should I have just stayed in the Concrete, living out my lie. Why did I feel the need to leave?
2122
Day 132: Entry 29: Commander Neil Taylor: I never thought I’d say this, but I wish Castle were here. Don’t ask me how, but some of the crew have gotten seriously ill, and he was a damn good doctor. Louis was trained as the backup doctor, but as you already know, Louis went with Castle. In my haste to protect the rest of the crew, I may have overlooked a few things. I’m starting to rethink now whether splitting up was truly in our best interest. Apparently the rest of the crew has the same thought, because people are…“pairing.” It’s exceedingly uncomfortable, not to mention I’m fairly certain that one of our crew (who shall remaind unnamed due to the professional nature of these entries) has been trying to “pair” with me. Maybe I should; it would probably be good for me. But I can’t help but keep thinking about Mindona. Anyway, the crew morale is neither good nor bad. Truly, Titan is boring. I mean, as an explorer, I’ll be the first to say that looking from afar is exciting. But living here? I’m bored out of my mind. We schedule each EVA (which generally involves some form of argument, because only three people can go out at a time). And the suit heaters are falling apart, so when we can go outside it’s freezing. That being said, life goes on, and we’re toying with some ideas to start building structures, or underground, or whatever it is the crew wants these days. Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up.
I just reread this entry, and it seems far too morose; in reality we’re doing great. People are generally content, (or as content as one can be on this desolate ball of ice) and we’re not in any danger of running out of food, or electricity, or really anything else we need; Nicole has gotten really clever with her experiments and is starting to synthesize plastics. I don’t know where she learned this stuff. She maintains that our constant burning of ethane is going to terraform Titan’s atmosphere, but I don’t notice any difference so far. She told me I needed to think on a hundreds-of-years scale. I’ve always considered myself an effective commander thinking weeks to months in advance, so excuse me if I don’t think on a geologic timescale. Nicole responded that I have no concept of what geologic time is. I’m getting a headache. Time for sleep.