2520
During the next forty eight days, Stowik kept to himself in his room and left only for meals in the mess hall. He never left the Cortex. Stowik spent his time analyzing everything in his life he now knew to be a creation of his mind. Everything he thought knew of Alpha India was just a fabrication to protect himself from the truth. I am one of one.
A knock on the door. Stowik sat up, walked over to the door, and opened it to see Dalrin staring back at him.
“Long time no see,” Stowik addressed Dalrin as he made his way back to his bed, grateful for Dalrin’s visit. Once Dalrin dropped his professional, political persona, he reminded Stowik of his own father. Who’s been dead for years, Stowik reminded himself forcibly. Pulling his focus back to the present.
Stowik heard Dalrin ask gently, “How are you doing, son?”
Stowik shrugged. “I lived at Alpha India. Alone. I pumped ethane and built things. Alone. I don’t know anything but that, Dalrin. I feel like I have no purpose. All those people I cared for?” Stowik let out a harsh laugh, “I know what you must be thinking. You probably want to run as far as you can from the insane guy. Do you know how terrifying this all is from my perspective? I feel fine. It’s not like a flip switched in my brain and all of the sudden I know I was imagining things. I still don’t know what to believe.”
Dalrin lowered his voice, “I know where you come from, but where do you belong?”
Stowik kept eye contact and said nothing, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. I can’t stay here though, can I? Dalrin shifted his gaze slightly and coughed.
He looked over at Stowik, now with a professional tone his his voice, “I know the transition to Arksent has been rough, but it’s time you thought about what you want to do for the Arksent if you are going to continue staying with us. You’ve been housed in the Cortex—the applied science and engineering section—out of convenience, but if you choose to enter food production, or mining and construction, you will be relocated. I might add that you are ineligible to be transferred to the education section. No offense, but you can’t teach if you haven’t undergone an Arksent education.”
Stowik nodded carefully. “Engineering sounds good but—”
“You’d have a workshop with all the hands and parts you want,” offered Dalrin in an almost hopeful voice.
Stowik stared at the floor, considering Dalrin’s plea. “I’ll work alone.”
I am one of one.
Dalrin suppressed the smallest hint of a smile and shrugged, “Suit yourself. Here is a radio earpiece if you need to communicate with me. Just say ‘link Dalrin’ and you’ll have me in your ear,” Dalrin handed Stowik the radio and rose to leave.
“When do I start?” asked Stowik as Dalrin walked out.
Dalrin shrugged, “Now, if you’d like. Room EC 212. I thought you’d appreciate the voice-command lighting options,” said Dalrin. He turned around and walked off into the gleaming white plastic hallways, the sound of his boots echoing off of the sharp corners of the lengthy corridors. What does he mean by ‘voice-command lighting options’?
Stowik closed the door silently behind him and examined his new radio. It was the color of his skin and sat directly in his ear, making it visible by only close inspection. Stowik decided to look at his new workshop. He walked through the long hallway and saw his faded reflection gazing back at him against the glossy white walls. He image appeared distorted, which he felt was appropriate to how he felt. He strode up to the elevator doors and entered. Buttons labeled with numbers lined the wall. Stowik pushed the button labeled two and felt the elevator compartment accelerate downward. Standing in the elevator, he looked at the poster that took up an entire wall of the elevator. It was a picture of Dalrin, arms crossed in a pose that looked both relaxed and menacing. A slight smile played at Dalrin’s lips, and the caption read: “Dalrin Taylor brought you the Turbine, and with your help, he will stop the Opposition terrorists too. Report any suspicious activity to…” After a moment, the lift came to a halt and Stowik stepped out. He walked through a large room filled with hundreds of workers and machines transporting materials in large silos and boxes to and from a massive elevator that took up an entire wall. He reached the other side and opened the door, which led to a network of hallways. He walked along and checked the door numbers until he came across EC 212. “Stowik,” he said, and walked in after the voice recognition software confirmed his identity. Overhead and floor lights immediately flickered to life and illuminated his new workshop. It was too bright for Stowik’s abnormally large pupils, and he squinted in pain.
“Dim lights fifty percent,” yelled Stowik in desperation, hoping that that’s what Dalrin meant by ‘voice-command lighting options’.
The room responded and Stowik took in the soft reflections of the plastic parts lining the walls. The room was easily as big as his workshop in the Concrete, but the machinery was far more advanced. Stowik slowly walked between the rows of complex plastic parts and examined the massive machines that would create any components he wanted. Here, Stowik seemed to have every resource he could want, but suddenly the machines and parts looked suspiciously familiar—though it looked like a variety of parts at first glance, they had actually only provided him with the necessary parts to construct a hopper. That was fast, he thought to himself wryly, impressed that the Arksent engineers had been able to deconvolve his spare blueprints, which were messier than the more refined blueprints that Tharsis stole. He immediately set to work teaching himself how to use the machines, some of which were eerily familiar to the Alpha India fabricators.
For hours, Stowik put scrap pieces of plastic through his new tools to learn how each one ticked. Eventually, he wiped the sweat from his brow and stood back to survey his work. On a worktable lay bits of plastic cut into different shapes, some with precise holes and other geometric shapes cut into them. The floor was littered with plastic shavings. He smiled to himself.
They’ve given me the run of the place. My own workshop, with as much raw material I can imagine and countless tools. Of course, they are allowing me this privilege so that I help their war effort. It’s not my war, but I’ll build a hopper for them if that’s what it takes to keep this room. Hell, I’ll build them fifty hoppers. A new thought made Stowik frown. Whatever it takes to get me to stop thinking about Alpha India constantly.
Stowik left the room mentally and physically fatigued. He navigated through the main loading area and up another floor to the mess hall where soldiers, engineers, doctors, and hundreds of other citizens were eating. Stowik got his food from an alcove in the wall and sat down at an empty table to eat his meal after lowering his facemask. I could get used to this place, provided it actually exists.
Stowik finished eating and donned his facemask. He walked over to put his tray with all of the other used ones. I could use some fresh air. He left the mess hall and walked through the halls, past the bright overhead lights and bustling workers. He walked through another hangar unit where countless rovers were parked. As he made his way through the room, he examined the machines built for the Titan surface. Stowik walked closer to one and looked at the hastily assembled armor plating bolted onto the plastic skeleton of the rover. It didn’t belong. These rovers were not built for war, but for surveying and exploration. Everything here has been converted for warfare. He continued to the end of the room. Stowik hit a button on the wall and the door in front of him parted ways. He gazed out, expecting blackness, but day gazed back at him. Stowik looked up in irritation at the countless spotlights dotting the terrain outside of the Arksent. He looked up, hoping to see the stars overhead through the spotlights, but only blackness and the glare of light pollution greeted his eyes. This doesn’t feel like fresh air. He kept walking, and then broke into a run. His breathing labored to keep up with his pace, but it was simply impossible. Titan’s atmosphere just didn’t have enough oxygen. He slowed to a halt, bent over with his hands on his knees. After a moment, he resumed a brisk walk to the building-line, where the spot
lights ended and the Titan wilderness began. Stowik crested a hill and was over the other side. He jogged down the hillside at a diagonal to keep his footing, and leaned up against a boulder at the base of the incline. Stowik closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened them and was pleased to see at least a few stars overhead. He turned his sight several degrees to see a sliver of Saturn, but he could almost imagine a full Saturn with its circling rings. Stowik had this strange sensation that if not for the rings keeping it in place, the giant gas planet would tumble through the solar system.
“I know some of it was real, Rockhead. But my brain shut down and I filled in the rest,” he said bitterly. “But when did it all fall apart?” he called out to the haze as he kept his eyes trained on the majestic ringed planet in the sky. Stowik was frustrated.
Stowik lifted his palm to his face and looked down at the brown-orange hydrocarbon dust stuck in the lines of his palm. When did I lose Alpha India?
“I should have just stayed at Alpha.” No, I couldn’t have. Time was running out. I wasn’t imagining that. Or was I? No. It was inevitable that I leave. It was inevitable that I found the truth. The Arksent was inevitable. It was only a matter of time.
Rockhead, where did you go? Best the cold, brother.
Stowik fell asleep under the stars, out of reach of the prying spotlights and noisy rovers, out of sight of the looming structures and the bustling people. Several hours later, he awoke abruptly, his eyes shooting open. Feeling well rested, Stowik pried his back from the cold hard boulder and felt his muscles protest and his stomach rumble. He navigated the terrain under the shield of darkness over the hill and past the spotlights. He made his way to the mess hall for breakfast and sat down. He ate quickly. I slept on the edge of Titan’s wilderness. Now it’s time to dive deep into it. Just for an afternoon. Adrenaline blazed through his bloodstream and his mind was racing, attempting to form an exploration route.
Stowik spoke out loud to his earpiece, “Link Dalrin.”
A moment later, there was a reply, “Yes, Stowik?”
“I want to take my hopper for a spin,” Stowik said.
“You don’t need my permission; it’s in Hangar One,” replied Dalrin.
Stowik donned his facemask and left the mess hall. He found his way to the elevator and hit a button labeled H1. To his right he saw another of Dalrin’s propaganda posters. This one had a picture of Dalrin standing next to the turbine with a group of smiling kids. The caption read: “Nothing is more important than the education of our children; the future of the Arksent. Thanks to the efficiency of the Turbine, we have the power to do it. The rest is up to you. This message is endorsed by the Department of Education and Dalrin Taylor.” As the elevator doors were closing, Stowik saw a soldier speedily pushing a cart from the mess hall to the elevators. At the last second, the man stuck his arm into the elevator to interrupt the closing doors, and they reopened with a faint hiss. Stowik stepped aside as the soldier wheeled the massive cart into the elevator. Stowik looked on curiously and noticed that the cart was laden with packages of food. The soldier stared pointedly at Stowik, until Stowik looked away. Satisfied that Stowik’s gaze was averted, the soldier lifted up a disguised section of the elevator panel beneath the buttons and pushed a button underneath. Stowik watched from the corner of his eye. What was that all about? A hidden level of the Cortex? Stowik felt the elevator descend for several minutes until it drew to a stop at the hangar. He glanced behind him and made eye contact with the soldier, who stared back defiantly. Stowik stepped out of the elevator and began making his way to his hopper when he stopped. We both came from the mess hall. Why would the soldier be taking food out of the mess hall? Was he going to a secret floor? And could he have done it more blatantly? I was standing right there. After a few moments of contemplation, Stowik couldn’t stand it anymore: his curiosity got the better of him. Stowik turned on his heels and walked back to the elevator. When the elevator appeared, he stepped in and inspected the buttons. He felt around beneath the panel with his fingernails until they found a tight crevasse. Carefully, Stowik wedged out the panel to reveal a bright orange button beneath, labeled HT. What is HT? I hope I don’t regret this. With a frown, Stowik hit the button and felt the elevator slowly descend as he replaced the panel. Stowik paced nervously in the quickly descending elevator, hoping no one else stepped on the elevator. A minute later, the elevator came to a slow halt. Stowik tried to count the seconds as he descended and determined that they must be at least several floors below the bottom floor.
Stowik got off and found himself in a deserted hallway with grey concrete walls, in stark contrast to the glossy white walls of the upper levels of the Cortex. Feels like home.
He walked through the desolate halls and heard only his footfalls as he plodded through the passage. He turned a corner and found the same drab hall staring back at him. Curious, he continued walking onward, hoping the man with the cart of food didn’t find his way back to the elevator. He reached an intersection and turned. After a few more minutes, he encountered another intersection. And another. He wandered aimlessly through the halls for what seemed at least an hour.
He reached another intersection and that’s when he heard it. Footsteps. His instincts told him to duck around the corner and press his back against the wall—just in time to see a bald man in a white coat pass him without noticing. I think if I were supposed to be here, the place would be more inviting. Stowik noticed a sign on the wall next to where his cheek was pressed.
“Of course, we haven’t been able to replicate it yet,” the man was talking into an earpiece, “well, if you want faster results let us take a crack at the working…” the voice faded off through the hallway.
Stowik waited until he was completely out of earshot and removed himself from the wall to take a closer look at the sign. He examined the large green sign and observed white lettering, spelling out Taylor East hall, with an arrow pointing to the hallway the man came from. Another arrow, Taylor West hall, pointed the opposite direction. Stowik followed the arrow labeled Taylor East hall and crept down the hall the man came from.
After several minutes, he came across a green door: the first door he had seen. Beside the door hung dozens of white coats identical to the one the bald man wore. Next to them were three bins filled with white gloves, and white coverings for his shoes and hair. Stowik shrugged. I came this far. He started putting on the gloves, shoe, and hair coverings, and finally the white coat. He could almost hear Rockhead’s voice in his mind: You dummy, you’re not actually going to open the door, are you? After he was fully geared up, he opened the door to another enormous room and looked around. Not everyone already knows all the answers like you, Rockhead. Woah. They really build big here. He found himself in a workshop equally as large as his in EC 212.
Dozens of workers dressed identically to Stowik bustled around the room, so focused on their work that they didn’t notice Stowik’s entrance.
He overheard two of the closest workers, “Yeah, I heard it from Jennuss over in West. It’s no joke,” a white-clad woman said to a man with long hair poking out of his white hair covering working beside her.
“Wow,” the man responded, “sounds risky to me. Doesn’t that cross the line of ethical twice? We are talking about his head here.”
Who is ‘he’. They couldn’t be referring to me, could they? Stowik wandered closer to what everyone was working on, his guard up.
In the center lay a giant machine that they all seemed focused on. Stowik examined it nonchalantly from afar so as not to draw attention. It was plastic, two stories tall, with several legs at odd angles protruding from it. Other legs lay broken on the ground beside the machine. A transparent material on the top of the machine was cracked in many places and was smeared red.
Wait, that’s a hopper. That’s my hopper. But my hopper is in Hangar One, and this one is in pieces. That’s when it dawned on him. Rockhead’s hopper. Nausea hit him like a wave. A faint hissing sound filled his brai
n, clouding his senses. He staggered out of the room, his presence apparently undetected. Stowik stripped off the white gear and ran down the hallway. He found himself back at the intersection that split the halls Taylor East and West, and he sat against the wall to catch his breath.
I am one of one. Am I hallucinating again? No. That was Rockhead’s hopper. They must have found his hopper and took it before I got there. Which means I haven’t been living alone in Alpha India for my entire life. So the Fire never happened? I’m not crazy? Like Dalrin wants me to believe. But why? Do they want Alpha India vision? I am one of one.
The bald man’s words reverberated through Stowik’s head, “Of course we haven’t been able to replicate it yet… if you want faster results, let us take a crack at the working…” At the working hopper. My hopper that’s in Hangar One. But why? To manipulate me. To get me to live in the Arksent and build them hoppers, because they can’t. To fight their war for them from my workshop.
The only other conversation he heard down on level HT replayed in his head, “Yeah, I heard it from Jennuss over in West, it’s no joke…Wow. Doesn’t that cross the line of ethical twice? We are talking about his head here.”
Stowik stood up straight, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He turned and started walking quickly down Taylor West hall. His feet plodded rhythmically through the grey corridor. My mind did not betray me and create a false reality. It was all real. They didn’t find Block two empty, they emptied it. The soldier bringing the food cart down here…They have Alpha India. I am not one of one. I am one of fifty. Stowik could feel his heart beating out of his chest. His breath became more rapid. Calm down, Stowik. As if brought on by his renewed awareness of Alpha India’s existence, a childhood rhyme popped into his head. One is a tree, two is a forest, you won’t find them here so get back to the core-test. Stowik froze. Get back to the core-test. Get back to the Cortex. Get back at the Cortex. That’s it. Stowik stopped and turned his ear toward the hallway. Footsteps. Stowik needed to get back to the elevators and get off this level. He turned around and carefully walked back down the hall, passed the signs, and turned back the way he came. I don’t blend in down here. He grabbed the white gear and moved quickly, his footsteps resonating regularily through Taylor East hall. Just then, his earpiece buzzed to life.
“Stowik,” sounded into his ear. Dalrin.
“Dalrin,” Stowik said softly.
“Is everything all right?” Dalrin asked in his usual fatherly tone.
Could he know where I am? No, that’s impossible, don’t let him get in your head. I am one of fifty.
No. “Yes, everything is fine. Why?” asked Stowik, struggling to keep his voice steady.
“I thought you were taking your hopper for a spin but I see it here untouched in Hangar one,” said Dalrin.
Damn. “Oh, right. I wanted to rest after working in EC, but I’m actually on my way right now,” offered Stowik.
“All right, just making sure you found it okay,” replied Dalrin.
Stowik stuffed the white gear in his pockets and folded up the coat into a ball. I’ll need this later. He quickly made his way back the way he came, and within fifteen minutes he was back in the elevator on his way to floor seven. On floor five a woman stopped to enter the elevator and stood in front of Stowik. Stowik looked past her at the propaganda poster of Dalrin standing with the smiling kids. Lying scum. Bushbaby involuntarily ground his teeth.
The elevator stopped at floor seven and he got off. He walked to his room, hid the white gear under his mattress, and hurried back to the elevator. After descending, he stepped out onto floor one and immediately found himself in a long hallway. Stowik continued through the hallway and entered a massive opening labeled Hangar One. He made his way through the bustling soldiers and workers, around the rovers and equipment of different sizes, until his eyes rested on a familiar site: his hopper. Standing below the hopper, speaking with a soldier, was Dalrin. Stowik’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah, Stowik, glad you made it,” Dalrin said with a smile.
Stowik forced himself to smile back, fighting back the torrent of voices in his head that wanted to make Dalrin feel the pain that he had felt, “Of course.”
“So, I trust you enjoy your new workshop?” asked Dalrin.
Stowik was honest, “It’s incredible. I take back what I said about working alone.” I am one of fifty. “I have something big in mind.”
Intrigued, Dalrin only replied, “Of course, whatever you need.”
Stowik nodded at him and climbed up into the hopper. He ignited the engine and lifted out of the hangar as the ceiling parted ways for him. He flew off into the dark Titan sky to relax his nerves. That’s when he planned his next move. Because human nature isn’t a flat pasture, it’s a series of rolling hills, and for every low, there is a high of equal magnitude. Alpha India was back, and Stowik had purpose.
One is a tree, two is a forest, you won’t find them here, get back to the core-test. Get back at the Cortex, Stowik amended.
2123
Day 372: Entry 50: Commander Neil Taylor: It’s been over a year since we landed. This should feel like a milestone, but it doesn’t feel like anything. It’s hard to feel at all. The cold is numbing and the loneliness is insanity. One year ago from tomorrow marks the day we lost almost half the crew to the virus. The day I lost my best friend. I don’t know why I keep writing these entries. Maybe I’m kidding myself that someone fifty years down the road will be interested that we replaced a broken gasket on the Monarch suit. Or that we figured out a way to route atmospheric methane directly into the generator. The small tasks that keep us busy. And alive. Will they care to know that when we go outside its still frigid in our suits? No amount of thermal regulation can keep the cold away. It comes on instantly. It’s a cold that wakes the dead. What does that make me? Long after the EVA, I can feel it in my bones. And for what? To gather more fuel, to begin building structures? The crew is determined to build underground. We’ve rigged the rovers to run ethane and stripped them of their front wheels. Instead, abrasive spikes are belted to the front wheels to dig away at the ice. The rover was designed to be lightweight on Mars, but it’s much lighter on Titan, so it only takes two people to alter its orientation to continue digging. It works, but it’s slow. I go through the motions to keep the crew happy, but in truth, my heart isn’t in it. I’m not really filling my end of the bargain to future generations, am I? That’s when I worry the most. When anyone mentions future generations. Like humans will breed on Titan. Is it ethical to raise a child in an environment like this? Is it human? It’s cold, its dark, the atmosphere contains toxic hydrocarbons, the list goes on. I hate thinking about things like this. Give me another broken gasket, anything. I remember when I was a kid, my dad took me out fishing. It was 2062 and we were in DC. You could practically see the waves lapping up on the White House. That was pre-Eastern Federation, when there was a White House. We were in the marshes, just me and him. Where would I take my kid here? Come on, Johnny, wait 18 years until a suit fits you, and follow me outside. We’ll bond, it will be fun. You can watch a pebble sink in the hydrocarbon sludge if you don’t freeze to death before you can pry a meteorite out of the ice. Oh, maybe I’d name him Arthur.
It would be nice to have more manpower. I miss the rest of the crew. I never should have let them go. But I was backed into a corner. Constantly reminding myself does nothing to ease the doubt. Those first days I protected the Ark Initiative with a vengeance to the point of exiling the very same people that put the Ark Initiative here. But that’s not true, is it? The Ark sent us here, not the other way around. Now I just don’t care about the Initiative, but atleast we haven’t died yet. I don’t think we will, unless it’s a conscious decision. I never thought we’d make it past the first months, but we’re doing well. Just the thought puts an acid taste in my mouth. There’s so much fuel on this godforsaken moon that we’ve expanded the greenhouse. The plants are thriving. No one else seems to realize it doesn’t
matter anymore.
Sometimes I think about leaving. I would walk on and on until my bones ache, and not just from the cold. Until my legs couldn’t carry me any farther. I would collapse and stare up through the haze and maybe I’d see Saturn staring back. It would be like I’m the last human on Titan. The last human ever. What would that feel like? Liberating, I’ll bet.