A shiver went through my body as consciousness returned. I was so unbelievably cold. The only warmth was in my right hand, the pearls’ heat soothing my callused hand. I took a shaky breath, then rolled awkwardly to one side. I could feel my weak heart trying to keep up. My vision was blurry.
I was on the floor next to the station I had activated. Everything was precisely where I left it. I regretted the day I fished those damned pearls out of space. Though they had given me something, the history of my ship. According to Robert's memories, I'd finally found the command deck.
I was in it.
I rubbed my frigid limbs, trying to warm them. I must have been lying there for hours while the pearls controlled me. Falling asleep in this part of the ship was dangerous. With the low temperatures I could freeze to death. I was also unfamiliar with this area. I could wake up too hungry to escape, or perhaps I would be too disoriented to find my way back. I was lucky this time. The path home was still clear to me. Now I just needed to fight the urge to go back to sleep, there on the floor. This urge was remarkably strong, and my eyes grew heavy.
“Robert Peters, hero,” A ghostly voice said from somewhere in the room.
My eyes flew open. I looked around, my insides turning to ice. Then I saw him. Sitting on a chair set before the large Terran symbol...was Robert Peters. He was staring at the painted wall, oblivious of me.
“What?” I croaked.
The transparent man remained still for a few moments, then responded. “It was the last part of myself I was ever able to see. How fortunate.” His voice was hollow.
I watched him, unsure of what to do. The memory of Mary Tanaka screaming at me came to mind. Robert however, seemed docile. Slowly, I got to my feet. Once standing, I saw Robert stir. He inhaled slowly and stood up, walking towards me, his lifeless eyes fixed on mine. I felt naked to this kind of stare. He studied me as if he were searching behind the clothes, the skin, the bone. He saw things others simply didn’t.
“When you understand yourself completely, you understand others more easily,” he said cryptically.
I retreated with every step he took. We were both moving very slowly.
“You can study their every twitch,” he explained, “their every expression. People become a finished painting, static and understandable.”
I watched him, examining his features. He was about my height, but the similarities ended there. He was much thicker, stronger and well kept, with his uniform clean and orderly.
“You,” he began slowly, “…are not a coward.” He stopped walking, now standing beside the powered station.
Still I waited, sensing there was more.
Robert tilted his head slightly to the side. “You don’t fear anything that's possible. You never had the chance. The impossible has plagued you for a very long time.” He turned to the station, running his fingers harmlessly across it.
“You are impossible,” I said. I believe that’s what he meant. He must have been referring to my playful mind, my tormented reality. That would make him what I feared.
Robert smiled, not looking up from the station. “That’s up to you, Abel.” His hand moved to the small buttons in the top right corner and typed in seven digits. With the cracking groan of metal on metal, the Terran symbol shook, and was slowly dragged out of view. Behind was the thick glass window between the command deck and open space. There, bobbing in the black curtain of space, was Earth. It was a distant blue orb to me. My poor eyes couldn’t articulate any details. The glass itself was filthy. Still, it was no less mesmerizing a sight.
“You’re a brave man, Abel, probably the bravest I’ve ever seen,” Robert said. He moved back to his chair and sat down, crossing his legs and admiring the spectacle. “You’re no hero, though. A hero couldn’t have survived this long…”