The Outward Path
by
P.S. Hoffman
Copywright 2015 P.S. Hoffman
Read more at https://pshoffman.com/
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Acknowledgements:
There are so many people to thank, for so many things. To Dr. Starnaman, for enabling me, without you this story would not exist. To my friends, my family, my readers, you’ve done more for me than I can explain. To my little thief, you know what you did.
All I hope is that you find something meaningful in this story.
The Outward Path
by
P.S. Hoffman
Captain Sanesh lowered his head, clasped his hands together, and tried to remember the last time he’d seen any captain sit, cross-legged, on the cold, metal floor. His knees were a respectful distance from the bodybag. Martin had placed strips of fabric around the room, and each was painted with symbols that Sanesh had seen tattooed on Martin’s skin, and printed in Martin’s books. Tall, black sticks ringed the bodybag, like miniature obelisks, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. A tingling sensation played under his skin.
On the other side of the bodybag, Martin sat cross-legged with his robes spread across his lap. Arms outstretched, hands held over two of the black, smoking sticks, Martin nodded as if he was paying careful attention to someone only he could hear. A fist-sized stone, dented and round, rested in the gap between his legs.
Martin bowed his head to the bodybag, “Your thoughts become our beliefs. Your dreams become our passions. Your gifts are our gifts. May you forever light the Path.”
I wonder, Sanesh thought, how many more times he’s going to do that.
Sanesh squeezed his fingers and shifted his weight, but the tingling sensation wouldn’t go away. He was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t from a lack of circulation. He eyed the smoking sticks.
I shouldn’t have let him do this. His legs were cramping, and he heard a buzzing sound. He wasn’t sure where it was coming from.
“As you sleep, so we awaken. Bill, you have changed us. May you forever light the Path.”
Maybe Aless is right. Maybe Martin is unstable. He looked over to Martin, whose eyes were rolled up into his eyelids.
Clack. Martin’s chanting stopped. Vents whirred into motion, sucking the smoke out of the room. Every breath of filtered air seemed to diminish the buzzing in Sanesh’s head.
A feminine voice crackled through the room’s speakers, “Captain Sanesh, you are needed on the bridge. Captain Sanesh.”
“What happened?” Martin sucked on something behind his teeth, “Captain? I thought we turned the EC off.”
Sanesh shook his head, less as an answer, and more to clear his mind.
The speakers fizzed and popped, “Captain. Damn it, Sanesh, get up here.”
Sanesh coughed to clear his lungs before speaking, “What is it, Aless?”
“We’re within visual range of the planet. It’s not right, I don’t see any atmosphere.”
Sanesh tilted his head to the ceiling, “Any sign of the satellite?”
“No contact.”
“I’m coming up.”
Martin put a shaky hand on the floor, and struggled to untangle his legs from his robes. Sanesh stuck out a thick, brown arm and helped him up. They stood, side-by-side, staring down at the bodybag.
“Goodbye, Bill.”
“Bill,” Martin bowed his head, and held his hands over the insulated bodybag, “May your life ever echo, may your deeds ever shine, and may we meet again at the end of the Path.”
“Well said.” Sanesh added, and he meant it. Martin means well. It was an accident, nothing more.
Martin smiled, “Those were the last words of the First Seer. You know of the First Seer, don’t you? He was a great man, Captain, I could tell you so much about him.”
The speakers prickled and Aless’s voice called again, “Sanesh. Now.”
Sanesh had to hide his relief. Martin shrugged.
Sanesh put a hand on Martin’s shoulder, and spoke in a low voice, “Remember what we said. Try not to talk about the accident. And don’t tell her that I let you keep using the wax. I told her I made you stop.”
Martin bowed his head gracefully, “Yes, sir. Won’t say a word, Captain.”
They turned off the lights, dropped the temperature, and the two walked out of Bill’s room for the last time.