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

he had yet to do any maintenance on.

 

“Hmm,” he grumbled in response as the diagram flashed onto a monitor.  “If the friend screws up and lets problems slip by, that could be serious.”

 

Timothy eyed the lines of two dimensional conduits running below the floorboards and adjacent to the main power conduit.  Other lines looped from the electric company to the gardens to the apartment and back to the electric company, feeding along the way spent air to the plants.

 

Still, other lines led to storage tanks accumulating any toxic gases that travelled the loops, awaiting exile to the void of space.  He had not given much thought to the environmental and atmospheric systems, and then suddenly realized that they were the most important systems in the journey through the vacuum of space.  Hope it doesn’t forget how to tell good air from bad, contemplated Timothy.  Naw, it’s too damn smart to mess up that way.

 

Eyebrows rose as the location from where the friend controlled the world was noticed.  The attic.  I haven’t been up there since I came on board.

 

Out of curiosity, actually more of something to do to ease the boredom that dulled the mind, he glided to the apartment.

 

The hatch to the attic would not budge.  It too had been affected by the grip of time.  Timothy wedged his feet and a shoulder between the living room chair and the ceiling as a means of leverage.  Securely anchored, he tugged at the latch—felt something.

 

“What is this,” he whispered as an object stashed within the recess of the latch was pulled out.  “Hmm.  A map to the station.”  He was about to crumple it up when he spotted what looked like handwriting on the back:

 

Timothy, this is Charles.  If you’re thinking about trying to get off the ship, don’t!  Senator Richards wasn’t too comfortable with your selection, believing if you were to meet the enemy, you’d cooperate with them, let them beat us to the meeting.  She had Robert place an explosive device on the attic’s hatch that’s detonated when it is opened from the inside.  Don’t try it.  Don’t let them kill you.

 

“Exploding hatch.  Right!”  He tugged at the latch.  The hatch popped open.

 

However, fearing the friend might enjoy blowing him up in bits and pieces, Timothy whispered, “I’m just up here looking at the control panel.  I don’t intend leaving the ship.  Do you understand?”

 

No response.  No explosion.

 

He could feel a draught of cold air hit the face then penetrate the lightweight shielding the clothes offered.  Nose crinkled as it sniffed the air containing a musty, stale odor to it.

 

“If I remember right, the lights are supposed to come on automatically.  Anytime now,” he whispered as indicator lights penetrated the darkness.  “Well friend?”

 

Floating motionless, he waited for the friend to respond, and then drifted towards an indicator light glowing with a soft blue hue.

 

Having run out of patience, he turned to a terminal.  “Friend, activate…um…lights, overhead, panels…monitors.”

 

Illuminating beams of light suddenly flooded and flashed and pulsed all about the room.  Eyes examined the foreign place hidden away for such a long time.

 

The chair looks comfortable, he noted; designed no doubt for the comfort of the commander during re-entry.  But there are no windows to view the stars.

 

“Ouch,” he uttered and winced after bumping into one of the overhead panels.

 

Eyes stared at the airlock, but then quickly diverted away.   Body shuttered over visions of chunks of himself being blown to bits, careening about the attic, and then sucked out into the cold void.  Timothy had long realized Charles could not be trusted, yet the journey involved a lot more people than just him—every one of them could not be trusted either.

 

Cautiously, Timothy glided over the headrest of the chair and maneuvered above the forward control panels.  Looking down at the face of a monitor, eyes peered over the flashing pulses of lights that he had never seen before.

 

“A star map from the guidance system?” he wondered.  Eyes scanned the grid containing pinpoints of light.  A finger stabbed to the spot on the screen that was flashing brighter, pulsing in the center.  “Is that where I’m going?”

 

Looking back to the terminal he shouted, “Friend, display, schematic, system, guidance.”

 

The information flashed onto the screen.

 

“Okay,” he whispered while scanning the technical verbiage and diagrams.  “Hey, calculation commands.  Good deal.”

 

Eyes guided a finger hovering over the keyboard to the specific key.

 

“There it is,” he said.  The finger tapped the key.

 

Based on the last transmission from the Observer, current velocity is 86,638.6 miles per hour.

 

Timothy rubbed the strain from the eyes. Robert said the speed would diminish over time.

 

Eyes again scanned the information.  A finger was just about to jab a key to calculate the remaining journey time, but it was retracted.  “No,” he said, “I don’t want to know.  I’ll get there eventually.”

 

*                                  *                                  *

 

“Another day, night, afternoon, whatever it is,” Timothy contemplated.  He sat before the window and just stared at the distant stars.  Are they really that far away?

 

Lately, Timothy spent more and more time thinking about the situation that surrounded his existence.  “The message,” he sighed, “my sole purpose is to deliver a message.  That’s all there is to do besides maintaining the ship.”

 

The straps and restraints were removed and pacing between the walls began.

 

Did they even consider that whoever sent the message was sure that we had the technology to get near the edge of the solar system? he wondered. So they find a stupid satellite and think it was sent out there on purpose—you see Gorgon, they can too send one of their own out here.

 

Maybe whoever found it represents a colony ship from a distant solar system who intends on colonizing Earth?  But then they were surprised to find out that there was life there already.  Could it be they’re just seeking permission to land not knowing our defensive capabilities?  Are they afraid?

 

Possibilities aside, Timothy realized the doubts did not matter, for Charles and Senator Richards were willing to take the risk, had taken the risk by launching him out here.

 

Hands pushed back and forth faster.  Palms slapped the wall harder.  But why me?  They could’ve sent someone else.  Maybe a two person crew.  Why not mission specialists trained to maintain the ship without the friend telling them when to do this, he thought sarcastically, when to do that, and do it now.

 

He looked at the friend and thought of the frustrated attempts to disable the annoying thing—to shut it up.  It’s jerking me around.

 

Hands pushed away and towards the terminal.  “Friend, display, schematic, system, computer, all.”

 

The friend flashed a two dimensional jumble of overlapping and intersecting lines and squares and dots.  Eyes scattered about the series of veins and arteries and organs and nerves and synaptic connections representing the physiological functions of the artificial entity.

 

“No,” he shouted and slapped palms on the terminal.  “Why can’t you just give it up?”

 

Sometimes he just could not understand his thoughts.  He knew it was hopeless, yet continually ways to change the systems and subsystems controlled by the friend disturbed the mind.

 

“I hate life.”

 

Frustration created dull aches about his bloated frame.  Hands stabbed the supports to hurl the body into the bedroom.  Aggression invaded the thoughts.

 

“Friend, display, programs, combat.”

 

Eyes scanned the list of virtual reality games scrolling by.  No threat of real harm or death, he thought. No challenge.  But feelings to do something—anything to relieve the emotional turmoil storming within—were constant.

 

“Stupid and boring,” he said after calling up and scanning the list of feel-good movies he had no choice but to ask for.

 

“Not now Charles,” he whispered after spotting what looked like one of his surprises.  “Don’t mess with me now.”

 

The specific program, automatically highlighting itself on the screen, would not go away despite the rapid tapping of the delete key.

 

“Okay friend, load, program, Charles.”

 

Instantly an image flashed on the screen.  “How are you doing Timothy?”

 

“Don’t mess with me Charles.  Life sucks right now.”

 

“Relax.  This isn’t going to hurt you.  It’s for your enjoyment.”

 

Realizing it was the friend he was actually interacting with, the friend tapping into memories held in storage in the brain, Timothy relented.  He attached the net to the body, and adjusted the visor.

 

“Wow,” he whispered.

 

He found himself standing amid candles flickering, emitting a soft glow about a room.  Tucked away in the corners and placed against walls, separated from one another in booths with plush chairs, were tables inviting intimate moments to unfold in the comfort of privacy.  Timothy could clearly see that one of the tables was covered with white silk.  Upon it lay napkins of red wrapped around utensils of silver.

 

He sniffed the air.  The aroma was heavenly.  The scent was of spice enhanced sauces simmering in pots, of meats sizzling on grills, and of bread baking.

 

The sound of crystal clinking could be heard.  Timothy imagined lovers toasting their vows of a lifelong voyage as companions.

 

The scene was not familiar, but somehow it was.  Though he was certain he had never dined at this particular restaurant, the feeling of déjà vu hinted otherwise.

 

“Charles, what does this have to do with anything?”

 

No response.

 

“Charles,” called out Timothy as eyes scanned the room, but Charles was nowhere in sight.

 

“Timothy.”

 

That’s not Charles’ voice, he thought.

 

Turning around, there, before him, was a woman he could not quite remember, yet she had a familiarity about her.

 

She wore a strapless red evening gown made of a glistening fabric that draped over a slender body.  She would never win a beauty contest; nonetheless, her looks were of a genuine beauty.  No artificial means were used to enhance eyes of blue sparkling with warmth, highlighting a slightly freckled complexion.  Mousy brown hair curled off to the side of cheeks blushing a natural pink, draping about the naked shoulders of white, then coming to rest on her bosom.

 

“Timothy,” she softly said and flashed a smile.  “You came.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“It’s Kitty.  Don’t you remember?”

 

“I knew you?”

 

“A long time ago you did.”

 

“What are you doing to me friend?” he whispered.

 

She was so unlike one of the beautiful people, who demanded they be adored and worshipped, placed upon a pedestal for all to admire.  Her beauty transcended such shallowness.

 

A lump formed in the throat and choked off the words.  But with a smile he managed to say, “I do know you.”

 

“Yes you do.”

 

“But I don’t…I mean I can’t remember….”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kitty interrupted.

 

But it did matter.  Thoughts ran wildly through the past trying to identify the moment they first met.  Eyes fell to the floor.  “Yeah, I know you, but not like this.  I wanted to, but I….”

 

“It’s okay.”  She smiled.  “But now it can be like this.”

 

“No friend, this is too real. This is all a lie.”  He closed his eyes.  “Friend, stop, program.”

 

“Don’t be afraid,” whispered Kitty.

 

“Stop doing this friend.”

 

Timothy’s eyes popped open as the feel of Kitty’s hand stroked his gently.

 

“Would you like me to say it?” she asked.

 

Timothy pulled away from the touch.  “Friend, stop.”

 

“I can stay if you want.  I like you.”

 

“There’s…” he stopped and inhaled deeply, “…don’t you…there’s nothing to like.”

 

“Then why am I here?  Why am I here before you now if you believe that?”

 

She started to wrap her arms around him, but Timothy leaned away.

 

“I…don’t do this friend.  You’re just an image.  You don’t have to live in reality.”

 

“Don’t worry about that,” she said while taking hold of his hand.  “You can stay here with me.  The friend can take care of the ship without you.”

 

Timothy could feel the blood drain from the face, numbness evaded the mind, and a dull ache in the heart.  With trembling hands he removed the visor.

 

A voice shouted “no.”

 

He again commanded the friend to stop the program, but it would not.  Hands snapped the visor in two and severed the connection.  The voice, the flashing light on the friend fell silent.

 

Eyes opened, and then squeezed tight to shut out the beams of light that had flashed on.

 

A hand, clumsy in its motion, reached out to the panel and managed to program the timer for a lengthy sleep.  Lying down unrestrained, he mumbled, “Maybe I’ll sleep until all this