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

of hands picked the articles from the air.  Hands balled them up as tightly as possible.  A senseless waste, he thought.

 

It became a gloomy day in the living room.  Eyes stared at the distant stars, but they no longer intrigued the thoughts.  The chair turned to the terminal.

 

“For a long time you knew they were out there.  You just waited until the ship was in close range before firing the missile.  Friend, display, headings, systems.”

 

The list scrolled by.  A finger stopped and highlighted friend.  A finger tapped the keys: T-o-r-m-e-n-t-o-r.  Enter.

 

The chair turned back to the view of the twinkling stars.  Why do they have to keep secrets about everything? he thought.  Pretend things are just okay when they’re not.  They lead us into thinking what they want us to think; not the truth.  He looked to the window and saw the reflection staring back: Because you’re a fool Timmy.

 

The bedroom called.

 

The wheel began its spin before he had settled down and bounced him into a wall.  But the pain from the strike was overshadowed by the numbness dimly lighting the thoughts.

 

A hand groped about the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of replacement fluid.  The liquid was reluctantly brought to the lips then slurped thought the stra and forced down into the stomach.

 

Once the replacement ritual was completed, Timothy lay quietly in the bed and hoped the ghosts from the past and present would not upset a restful slumber, penetrate the dreams, and act out nightmares all through the night. There was too much work to do the next day.

 

*                            *                             *

 

Completing the analysis of the east garden, Timothy looked to the nectarine tree.  Though he missed the taste of the sweet and sour fruit, he just could not desecrate the grave of his fallen friends.  He believed that within the succulent orbs mixed the juices of life from his fellow sojourners, and he did not want, could not, take of their life—they had become one with the tree.

 

He figured it would be best to just allow the orbs to fall to the soil, decompose, and feed the nutrients directly back to the cycle of life.

 

With the east garden secured, Timothy drifted about the ship completing the litany of chores.  The water reclamation system received new microbe filters.  As usual, as the ship’s systems grinded away at the hardware, filters at all the vents were replaced.  Cable connections were wiggled snugly in place, or if too frayed, banished to a storage room.  New monitors and computers replaced the failed ones.  Leaks about pipes were sealed and their faulty pumps replaced.

 

Drifting to the shower to see if the spongy nozzle was still leaking, his hands pushed him to the kitchen instead.

 

Eyes peered over the food locker.  After noticing the stock that needed replenishing, the body drifted to the hallway and its rows of storage rooms.

 

Cabinets opened. The contents within were exposed.  Eyes scanned the bins containing packages of food hardly touched.

 

“Plenty of powdered eggs left,” he whispered.  “Plenty of powdered milk and fruit drinks,” he observed.  “I probably should’ve drunk more.”

 

To another cabinet.  “Spaghetti.  Never cooks up right.  Always mushy.”

 

Eyes scanned the rest of the cabinets filled with emergency supplies of dehydrated fruits and beans and an assortment of other dried vegetables.  So much food left.  Eyes looked down at the bony frame that was his body.  “A daily diet of twenty-eight hundred calories,” he chuckled.  Curious as to how much weight he had dropped, Timothy drifted to the bathroom sink.

 

“Wow, where did all the gray hair come from?”  A hand combed through the aged crop.  “Where has the time gone?”

 

Wrinkles were still buried underneath stretched skin.  “Maybe I’ll check myself in the bedroom later when the mask is removed and watch the face underneath fall apart.”

 

Soiled shirt and pants came off.  Eyes stared as hands ran over sticks of bones that once resembled arms.  The rolling hills of ribs surrounded the desert valley that was the stomach.  Bony fingers touched tips as hands wrapped around the scarce meat clinging to a thigh.  A hand slid down and grabbed the knob of a knee.  Maybe death will come soon, he wondered.

 

As he floated before the mirror, eyes just stared at the bony skeleton: “You’re repulsive.”

 

He floated along silent, thought about going to the east garden but was not in the mood for company.  He instead drifted to the attic.

 

“Tormentor, activate, camera, exterior.  Camera, four, pan right, stop, focus.  A discolored and jagged piece of metal that had stabbed the ship was now in sight.

 

“Tormentor, damage, danger,” he softly said.

 

The tormentor tied into the fault tolerant network.

 

Insignificant damage.

 

“Tormentor, damage, danger.”

 

Insignificant damage.

 

“Tormentor, damage, danger.”

 

Cameras five and six came on line.  The tormentor was thinking.

 

Timothy wondered if it was programmed with enough artificial intelligence to stop him from fooling it a second time.

 

Manual inspection required.

 

“Guess not.”

 

Hands guided him back to the living room, secured the suit around the body.  He drifted back up to the attic and checked the batteries power levels and oxygen supply on the survival pack.  “Dead,” he whispered.  “Low.  I’ll just use the rover’s systems.”  The helmet was locked into position.

 

A gloved finger popped open the airlock door.  Timothy drifted into the chamber.  The door closed.  The suit expanded.

 

The body shivered while a gloved hand plugged the cord from the rover’s environmental control into the auxiliary port.  Warm air flowed and stopped the shivering.  The fog on the visor lifted.

 

Eyes stared into the void.  Thruster ignited.  Gloved hands slowly guided the stick to the right.  Fingers released the tormentor’s control.

 

The bright star that once clearly stood out from the background was now a dull pinpoint of light amidst the countless stars.  “The sun.  Wonder how long it’d take for the rover to reach it?”

 

The control stick moved forward and to the left to guide the rover directly to the side of the stab wound.

 

Eyes scanned the partially burnt and melted and ragged shard of metal that had penetrated the skin of the ship.  No doubt, one powerful missile, thought Timothy.  But not too good of a job tormentor—you left a piece of evidence behind.  “Excuse me tormentor; I’m the murderer.”

 

The rover stopped above a bubbled protrusion on the underside of the ship.  “Is that where you hid the missile?  Any more inside?  Tell me tormentor, how many more ships do you expect?”

 

Timothy weakly smiled.  “Wouldn’t it be funny if you blew up the alien’s ship?  What would Senator Richards and Charles think if you mistook them as the enemy and blew away the solution?”

 

The smile vanished.  Eyes looked toward the distant stars.

 

Carefully, Timothy maneuvered the rover behind the enormous nozzles jutting out of the engines and came to a stop.

 

“Hey tormentor,” he whispered, “here’s your chance—barbequed Timothy.  But you better not think about it too long or you’re going to miss your chance.”

 

Eyes stared down one of the nozzles but they were unable to see anything lurking within the dark chamber.

 

“Too late.  You lost your chance,” whispered Timothy as the rover crawled to the left then to the right.

 

Not that bad, he thought as eyes peered over the small depressions pitting the aft module.  Scars were many.  You’ve certainly been injured enough.  I hope you haven’t suffered too much.

 

Eyes wandered to the left.  “Anybody out there?”  He stared at the bodies trying to spot any constant faces of light amidst the twinkling ones, but none could be seen.

 

The rover moved forward.  It skied down the sloped surface to the mid module and then to the nose of the ship.  Eyes stared ahead.  Questions muddled the thoughts.

 

“Where are you?”  Eyes blanketed with a field of red tried to focus on blurred images.  “It’s time to go home.  You have to come and get me.”

 

He soon realized he volunteered for the solution not to deliver his own message, but rather to simply get away from the smothering minds.  That’s why I’m here, he thought.  Just to escape; but what have I escaped to?

 

He stared into the void searching for the peaceful haven he yearned for.  “Come on.  Where are you?”

 

Eyes reflected a light that faintly flashed ahead.  “Boom,” he whispered.  “Another ship blown away.”

 

The control stick moved forward, but the rover would not budge.

 

The tormentor flashed: Power levels critical.  Returning rover to the docking rails.

 

Still wearing the spacesuit, Timothy drifted into the bedroom.  A gloved finger began the rotation anew.

 

*                                  *                                *

 

The tormentor screamed and aroused Timothy from a deep sleep.

 

Tracking.  Stand by.

 

“For what?” he mumbled

 

The ship lurched.  The tremors from the force erupted the senses and shoved the body to the left of the chair.

 

I moved towards the kitchen, he thought.  Eyes looked back to the monitor.  “Are you slowing down the ship?"

 

Naked fingers tore off the tape form the tormentor’s monitor and revealed the time.

 

“Let’s see,” he whispered as fingers rubbed the eyes, “I left sometime in March and it’s now January.”  Fingers calculated the passing years.  “That’s like two months sooner than expected.  It’s gotta be another ship.”

 

He flung himself out of the chair.  Hands reached out to pluck the helmet from the hold of the closet, but they retreated.  “I don’t want to go outside.  Not again.”

 

The attention turned to the tormentor.  Stand by.

 

Legs sprung and launched him up to the attic.  “Tormentor, activate, camera, one, pan, left.”

 

No ship could be seen.

 

“Camera, one, pan, right.”

 

Eyes darted about the monitor.  “Where is it?  Camera, one, pan, directions, all, continuous.”

 

The camera’s eye swept from side to side, up and down, and all the way around.

 

A brilliant light pulsed rapidly.  “What is that tormentor?  Camera, one, focus, magnify, magnify, magnify, stop, focus.”

 

The tormentor’s eye clearly displayed the object.  That’s too damn small to be a ship, thought Timothy.  The Observer?  But it can’t be.  It’s not time yet.

 

Unexpectedly the ship erupted again with a tremendous shake.  The force slammed Timothy into the back of the commander’s chair.  It’s slowing down.

 

He darted down to the living room.  Hands grabbed supports.  Arms pulled the body into the chair.  He fumbled about the restraints and managed to secure himself onto the seat.  The ship erupted again.

 

Eyes danced about the window.  “Come on already,” he shouted.  “Let’s get this over with.”  Only eyes twinkling from afar were visible through the window.

 

“Tormentor, transfer, camera, exterior, living room.”

 

The tormentor would not relent control.  Stand by.

 

Faster and faster, brighter and brighter rays of light beamed about the room.

 

Boom.  The ship shuddered from what seemed like the force of a series of high magnitude earthquakes.

 

Hands clutched the armrests as the continuous boom of thunder rattled the ship.

 

As the quaking started to subside, the intensity from the pulsing light increased.

 

The tormentor stopped flashing, and then started screaming: “System check.  System check.  System check….”

 

Not now,” screamed Timothy.  Hands threw off the restraints.  He darted back up to the attic.  Switch after switch was flipped until the ranting and raving stopped.

 

“Tormentor, transfer, camera, exterior, living room,” commanded Timothy as he soared into the room.  Securely strapped onto the chair, eyes darted back and forth between the monitor and window searching for any movement within the frames.

 

The flashing light pulsed no more.  Now it burned bright and constant—too bright.  A hand rose and shielded the stinging beams of rays.  For the first time in a long time Timothy shut the window.  The glow from the monitor flooded the room with light.

 

He wondered if the camera’s eye would go blind staring into the inferno, but then figured it had to have filters in order to avoid such damage.

 

For hours, while the ship continued to shake intermittently, he sat with eyes closed waiting for the aliens to make contact, but no one came knocking.

 

Scant muscles, gripped tight with tension, started to cramp.  Timothy grimaced as pain pounded the brain.

 

Hands released the grip from the restraints and guided him into the bedroom.

 

The lights turned off.  Thoughts spun in the mind as he put to rest the excitement.  What do I say when I meet them? he pondered.  “Hello there!  My name is Timothy.  What is yours?  Right,” he laughed.  “Sounds like something the tormentor would say.”

 

The excitement ebbed, eyes closed, but sleep was the