Solutions: The Dilemma of Hopelessness - James Gerard (novel books to read txt) 📗

and grinding teeth confirmed that it was far from an image dreamt in a sweat, stained pouch.  Unable to withstand the anxiety that squeezed pressure on his heart a minute longer, he came flying through the swishing doors then winced as his body slammed against the tube.

 

“Hello” echoed in the gloomy corridor.  He hovered above the floorboards and listened for the faintest of responses to his call, but only silence responded.

 

Spotting a camera mounted at the far end of the corridor, Charles was not about to allow security to hunt him down for arousing suspicious thoughts.  He stabbed at the handrails propelling him to the doors, pushing them to the sides as they did not open quickly enough for his hurried excitement.

 

He halted the momentum now and then to peak in modules along the way, but only dormant machines resting in silence and bedroom wheels resting motionless were seen.

 

“Where the hell is everyone?” he shouted while continuing to fly through the corridors.  Confusion suddenly gripped the mind as he aimlessly drifted and maneuvered to the left, right, up, and down in the cloned tubes.  “What has Senator Richards done?”

 

Panic sent his body darting through the corridors.  One after the other he was met with eerie silence and shadows standing still from the artificial morning.  I can’t believe it, he thought.  How could I be so careless?

 

He approached yet another cloned door to see if any sign of life could be found: A half container of coffee with a lukewarm feel, the lingering smell of smoke from a cigarette,or the remains of a breakfast wrapped in an envelope of plastic.  Anything?

 

“You schemer,” he screamed.

 

Door after door, room after room, corridor after corridor he darted ‘round and ‘round, to and fro, a quick peak here, a quick peak there, but the station was abandoned.

 

Coming to yet another corridor, then another door, the door answered.  It swished open.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

 

Before him, in a view offered by a large window, the rear of the ship was revealed.  He inhaled deeply, whistled out the expired air as maintenance rovers glided in and out of the limited view.  A cool breeze swept the moisture from his face as his body hung suspended at the window.  He reached out and gripped a pair of hand supports.

 

The activities before him certainly pointed out that the hoard of workers would not be examining the ship for life, relentless in their prodding and probing, assuring themselves that their patient would live if indeed devious deeds were at work.

 

“Charles,” a voice called.

 

Muscles twitched in reaction to the unexpected interruption.

 

“Where’ve you been?” the voice asked.

 

Recognizing what sounded of aggravation in the familiar voice, Charles loosened the grip wrapped around the supports.  The jaw eased, allowing lips to turn up a loose smile.  Eyes began to sparkle from behind the cloud of red.

 

Charles rotated around.  “I apologize Justin,” he said.  “I woke up early this morning to take a look around the station.”

 

“You should’ve let the communications center know.  I’ve been looking for you for the past half hour.”

 

“What for?”

 

“The briefing!  Robert is waiting to start the briefing.”

 

Charles shook his head.  “He didn’t tell me about any briefing.”

 

“Just come on,” Justin responded.  “Robert’s waiting.”

 

“I’d rather see Timothy.”

 

“Later.  Robert wants you at the briefing now.”

 

Charles’ eyes shifted to the ship.  “After?”

 

“Yes, after.  Now come on.  We’re late.”

 

Charles tailed Justin through the corridors, but he did not understand why his presence was required at some briefing that no doubt concerned just the operation of the ship—not the solution.  But he figured it would be best just to play along with any request no matter how idiotic it seemed.  Besides, he reasoned, there’s still ample time before the launch to see Timothy.

 

Justin suddenly stopped his momentum at a door.

 

Charles rammed into him.  “Sorry.”

 

As they both glided into the room, Robert’s eyes darted between them.  “It’s about time,” he said.  “Call in the rest of the team Justin.”

 

“You didn’t mention the briefing yesterday,” said Charles with a smile.

 

“I forgot to.  But you shouldn’t have left your room.”

 

“I’m sorry about that, but relax.  I suppose the excitement of being up here has affected me.”  Charles peered at Robert’s scowling expression.  “Besides, what’s the big deal?”

 

Robert shook his head in response.

 

As the team members started to glide in the room one by one, Justin maneuvered his way over to Robert.

 

Charles squinted his eyes, stared at their moving mouths, but was unable to read the dialogue in whispered words.

 

Robert broke away from the talk.  “Let’s get started.”

 

Charles shifted the attention back and forth as the team members pointed to diagrams flashing on the ceiling’s monitor, voiced their opinions on the readiness status of the lone ship held captured in the maintenance bay, but he could have cared less.  Instead, he allowed his thoughts to wander from the readiness testimony while his thumb rubbed a hand support.

 

Charles was disturbed by Robert’s change of demeanor, wary of the exchange of hushed words between the two.  He was aware that the constant shift of emotions was like a roller coaster running full speed on a track filled with twists and turns, climbing heights and sudden drops.  All added to confusion.  He fought the urge to just give up on the whole solution and resume his position with Senator Sorensen and his future power move—he found it simply was not worth it anymore.

 

As insane as the situation was, he felt his former livelihood seemed like a vacation in the sunshine of the southern shore compared to the layer of clouds lingering above the solution that seemed so simple at the time of conception.

 

“Oh yes, the southern shore,” Charles whispered.  He ached to be on the beach, with friends of old.  A smile turned up on the face and eyes closed as the mind stirred up memories of how the warmth of the water would invigorate the body in swirls of gentle whirls.  He remembered the feel from the warmth of the sand between the toes, and to stretch the body upon a sandy bed that contoured to his form.  “Yes,” he whispered, “to feel sunlight bathe the body in rays of warmth and remove any and all tensions in waves of cascading heat.”

 

Though the area was known to be off-limits to the public because of high levels of toxic contamination, Charles knew better.  He would assure his friends that there were safe pockets along the shore in which both air and water currents provided an oasis within the wasteland.  Once convinced no one would come after them, they would follow him south to the shore, where they would have the beach all to themselves.

 

He remembered how they would build an inferno of a bon fire that draped them in currents of warmth after the cool shroud of night had fallen upon them.  His lips smacked at the thought of a kettle of water, suspended over licks of flames that provided the cooking method that provided the aroma of fresh clams and crabs smothered in fresh squeezed lemon juice and gobs of butter.  Wow, how that satisfied our ravished appetites.  Then to relax with a pint of ale, to laugh at tales, and to simply have fun on their private beach was an experience in which he never realized how much he had missed.

 

Reality slapped his mind hard.  Charles remembered where he was.  The smile was wiped away.  There would have been other opportunities, he thought.  He pressed his hands to his face and chuckled, “I should’ve never involved myself with Timothy.  I should’ve just silenced my lusts from the beginning and forgotten about this entire plan.”

 

“What was that?” asked Robert.

 

Realizing his words and maniacal laugh had carried further than what he thought, Charles dropped his hands and noticed everyone staring at him.  “Oh, just…just tired is all.”

 

Robert stared intently at him, and then turned the attention back to the team.  “We’ll do one more walk through before it’s towed.”  He glided over to Charles.  “Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine.  I’m just tired.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah, just tired.”

 

As the team members dispersed, Charles loitered about the room.  When they all had exited, he figured now was the time, the opportunity to see Timothy.

 

His eyes darted about the room and then led the way to an intercom.  He scanned the panel then pressed a red button.  “Hello.”

 

“Yes,” a voice crackled.

 

“Where is Timothy?”

 

“Who?”

 

Charles laughed, grabbed and tugged at a chunk of curls on top of his head.  “Timothy,” he calmly repeated, “the specialist for the mission?"

 

“He’s aboard the ship.”

 

Charles flew through the stark corridor, looking left and right, at outlines of unsoiled rectangles where directional signs once were attached to the tubes.  Realizing his aimless journey through the maze just piled on the frustration that now ached his mind, he glided to an empty room.

 

“Hello, excuse me,” he said into a speaker.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I seem to be lost.  I need to get to the maintenance bay.”

 

“One moment.”  Static momentarily crackled in the silent room.  “From your present location hang a right,” the voice announced, “a left at the second corridor you come to, down one level, then straight on through.”

 

Charles darted away from the silent room in anticipation of reaching the maintenance bay.

 

“Good,” he said as he spotted Justin anchored before the flashing screen of a computer terminal.  “Where is Timothy?”

 

“He’s setting up the terrariums.”

 

“I’m going in to talk with him now.”

 

“Wait,” said Justin.  “Sorry, but Robert received a communiqué this morning saying that he’s to be left alone until the final walkthrough.”

 

“What communiqué?” asked Charles.  “And from who?”

 

Justin shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t know.”  He turned his attention back to the monitor.

 

Charles shook his head.  Of course, he believed, the communiqué was dispatched by Senator Richards.  He concluded that whatever its contents entailed, it certainly explained Robert’s behavior.  His insistence on attending the briefing, of which he had not been informed, let alone his presence having served no useful purpose.

 

Charles laughed.  “Justin, I am the solution’s executive you know.”

 

“You may be, but whoever sent the communiqué made it specific to leave Timothy alone.”

 

“But it is important that I see him.”

 

“Sorry.  If you want to talk to him, we’ve scheduled one last briefing before the walkthrough inspection.  You can talk to him then.”

 

“Where will the briefing be held?”

 

“On the ship.”

 

“When?”

 

“About twelve hours.”

 

Charles clenched and squeezed a hand support.  “I suppose I can wait,” he calmly said.  “Where is the cafeteria?”

 

“Go down the corridor and turn….”

 

“Please,” Charles blurted out, “I have had enough trouble finding my way around here.”

 

“Then call security.”

 

“Is there a schematic of the station somewhere I can refer to?”

 

“Oh,” said Justin and reached around to the rear of his pants.  He pulled out a piece of paper.   “Here, they gave me this map when I arrived.”

 

“Were these issued to everyone?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Charles chuckled and then shook his head.  He snatched the map out of Justin’s hand.  He could not understand why he was not issued a map in the first place, but secondly, he reasoned, then why not.  He floated over to a corner, unfolded the tattered paper, and peered over the route of tubes leading to the desired destination.  He then darted out of the bay and guided himself with the power of arms through the corridors.  He turned right, floated up, and checked the map in his free hand as he glided back to the left.  Suddenly, familiar sounds softly echoed in the corridor.  Like a perfectly placed dart, he hit the bull’s eye of his target.

 

“Excuse me,” said Charles, “I wonder if I could see a copy of the communiqué Robert received this morning?”

 

“Who?” a man answered.

 

“The guy in charge here.”

 

“There are no copies,” answered the man as he clipped a paper onto a clipboard.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Who are you?”

 

Charles heard what sounded of suspicion in the man’s voice and detected a leery stare from his eyes.  “I am Charles Stevens,” he answered as he snatched his identification badge from a shirt pocket, flashed it before the man.  “You keep records of all communiqués do you not?”

 

The uniformed clad man looked towards a clipboard amidst a clutter of others.  “The log indicates it was delivered by courier