Transition: Chapter 9 & 10

Shi picks a pair of pristine peppers and ponders pandemonium, perfection should have no place in this painting.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Micah—Chapter 2: Not Micah—Chapter 3: Micah

Chapter 4: Not Micah—Chapter 5: Micah—Chapter 6: Not Micah

Chapter 7: Micah—Chapter 8: Not Micah—Chapter 9: Micah

Chapter 10: Not Micah—Chapter 11: Micah—Chapter 12: Not Micah

Chapter 13: Micah—Chapter 14: Not Micah—Chapter 15: Micah

Chapter 16—Not Micah—Chapter 17: Micah—Chapter 18: Not Micah

Chapter 9: Micah

There is a moment, after you’ve experienced trauma, when you wake into a world that has moved on, that doesn’t recognize your grief, pain, anger, or confusion. It can make you feel off-balanced, unhinged, to watch everything proceeding around you as normal when your mind is still reeling through something decidedly not normal. Watching someone dissolve through a wall and die in the vacuum of space can do that to you, I guess.

Gravity increases, like it always does. The lights turn on slowly, like they always do. The noise of movement from the neighboring rooms tickles my walls, a sign that there is still life outside of my immediate perception. The day is completely fucking normal, and I hate it for that.

There is a soft beep that accompanies the delivery of a digital message from the small screen near my door. I sigh, and close my eyes again. I’ve been expecting it. When you’re exposed to death on the station, you are required to visit a psychologist. Upside was, I didn’t have to work today. Downside is, I have to have everything I say interpreted by a psychoanalyst, who will pretend to take notes on their pompous notebook, which are probably just scribbles really, and say things like interesting, and why do you think that is, like I had a fucking clue, until they deem me okay to incorporate back into society. Up to this point, I’d managed to avoid a visit.

I swing my legs out of bed, and shuffle over to prepare some coffee and nutrient mush. On the way past the door, I toggle the key to play the message.

Good morning Micah, this is Doctor West, the station psychiatrist. Please come to my office at 9AM for an appointment this morning.

I’d been upgraded to a human voice, for once, and a gentle male one at that. It still sounded like it was produced by a tin can in the wall, but it’s the thought that counts, right? As I poured water over my ground coffee beans, I heard the characteristic thump of Bambi hopping from my bed.

“Bambi, my weirdly tumorous and sparsely haired friend, how are you this morning? Did you sleep well? I for one had the strangest night. I mean, I could swear I watched someone walk through a wall into space, where they died slowly of course. Isn’t that weird? Imagine the dreams that gave me.”

“I told you there would be consequences.”

“Right, which brings me back to my central thesis.” My coffee prepared, I turn around and level my eyes at him. For his part, Bambi sits back on his haunches and actually rolls his eyes. This is an impressively strange thing for a rat, and despite the circumstances, I nearly spew my coffee in laughter. “We’re in a partnership here, Bambi, a coliving situation if you will, and that requires a certain degree of mutual trust and respect. Now, it seems to me that you have some form of knowledge about what the actual flying fuck is happening around here, and I intend to do you great physical violence, potentially involving an airlock which I am now aware of how to use, if you don’t start sharing it.”

Bambi sighs, and closes his eyes as if he’s talking to a particularly annoying child.

“I won’t tell you, not yet Micah. There are things that you need to realize first, things you have to come to on your own. If I were to tell you now, the risk of you doing something similar to what you saw last night is too high. I want to give you the best chance I can.”

“Yeah, okay, but like, what the fuck does any of that mean though?”

“It means that there is a moment that I will tell you everything, but that now is not that moment.”

“That’s some cryptic bullshit, you know that right?”

“Yes, I know.” We stare at each other across the expanse of my room, both our expressions serious now. “Look, can you still make me some food though? I’m really hungry.”

I sigh deeply, but find myself smiling unbidden as I pull the tube of Nutri-Paste down and prepare some. No clue what the fuck is happening around here, but it’s a hell of a lot better than being bored to death I guess.

–

Dr. West looks like he’s plucked from the cover of a steamy romance novel, one I would very much like him to take me back to. He’s a bit taller than me, the faint stubble on his chiseled jaw would just rub my forehead, and underneath his uniform are the kind of muscles that make me want to tear his shirt off. His eyes are some form of blue-green that has entirely too much contrast to be real, and I swear he might actually be wearing eyeliner. A bit too Ken for me if we’re being honest, but I’m open to expanding my tastes in these trying times. When I open the door to his therapy room, I immediately forget why I’m actually there, and start counting the days since I’ve been laid. The answer is entirely too many.

“Mr. Angelos, thank you for coming by this morning. Please, take a seat.” Dr. West says, motioning to the chair opposite him. As I follow the guidance, I’m vaguely disappointed that he didn’t indicate his currently very open lap.

“I’m sure you’re aware of why I asked you to come here today?” He asks, his face serious now. Even unsmiling, he’s cute.

“Because I watched someone I know turn into a human popsicle last night? I believe the term is ‘spacing’ yourself, right?”

At this, he scowls slightly, and I nearly giggle. “That’s some unfortunate slang for a very sad act, but yes that’s why I called you here. Did you know Dr. Williams well?”

“I’ve only worked with him for a few days. He seemed like a somewhat unhinged scientist, but also a very sweet and kind old man. When he asked me to meet him last night, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware he asked you to meet him there. Did he say why?” At this, Dr. West starts the incredibly annoying habit of writing notes on his tablet. I forgive him for it quickly, because his brows wrinkle slightly when he does it, and I’m enjoying the way he softly grips his stylus.

“Yes, he wanted to show me something.” I realize after I say it that it makes it seem like Dr. Williams was trying to have a performative death. Which, maybe he was, but that didn’t seem like the primary reason for our meeting.

“Oh, my. Well that is very tragic. I’m sorry you’ve been through this, Micah.”

“Right, yes, definitely not my preference for nighttime activities.”

“I’m glad that you’ve maintained your humor as well. That can be a great coping mechanism at times. Do you want to share how you’re feeling about what you saw?”

I watched someone walk through a fucking wall. His eyes and mouth were a static screen. I watched the oxygen boil out of his body as he convulsed and lost consciousness. Worst of all, he seemed certain that it was the right thing to do, the only option open to him.

“It was pretty horrible. He seemed so certain that it was the only path he could take.”

“I wasn’t aware that Dr. Williams spoke with you before he stepped out of the airlock. Can you share with me what he said?”

I realize then how strange the timeline must look. The nearest airlock is tucked in the corridors behind one wall of restaurants, and is fairly inconvenient to access. To get there would take several minutes. If you didn’t believe that people could walk through walls, which why would you, it would mean that after our conversation Dr. Williams walked all the way around to it, spaced himself, and then floated in front of the viewing window while I sat there waiting. I consider for the briefest of moments clarifying what actually happened, what I really saw, but I think it would be a one-way ticket to a lot more prescribed therapy. Which, although I might enjoy the time with Dr. West, is not how I’d like to spend it.

“That consciousness and sensory experience was a heavy burden. I didn’t know what he meant.”

He scribbles more into his tablet, and I can feel my annoyance growing now. “I see. How did this make you feel?”

“Like I was terrified and completely alone. Like I had no idea how to handle the situation. Like maybe I should have done more to stop him, but I didn’t know how or what to do.”

“Thank you for sharing Micah. When we’re unable to prevent a terrible tragedy like this, it can be a very isolating feeling. This was a choice that Dr. Williams made, no matter how he tried to involve you in it.”

“Right.” Only, this wasn’t a cry for help I don’t think. Dr. Williams was trying to show me something, to open my eyes, and I’m wondering what happens when I do.

“Micah, I have a very personal question to ask. Typically, in a therapy setting, I would want us to have a well established connection first, but sometimes the need supersedes that want. In your file, it shows that you have a past history of suicidal ideations, including an attempt on your life last year. Are you having any of those thoughts now? Please, take your time answering.”

My blood freezes. I’m not sure what my face does, but judging by the furrowed brows and concern on Dr. West’s face, it’s done something drastic. Is this anger? Humiliation? Fear? I realize my hands are curled tightly into fists, and relax them. Tears well in my eyes, blurring the room, and I wipe them away. I want to scream out, justify myself to him, make him understand, make him see what I saw. Well, here goes any hope of getting a date later on.

“Life on the surface is very hard, Doctor. Have you seen the dock yards before? Have you talked to anyone that works there?”

“I admit, I have not personally been there, and you are the first person I’ve talked to that has. I have been stationed here for nearly a decade.”

“It must seem so distant to you, up here. There are no careers for the young anymore. There is no hope of learning at a university, unless your family has money to spend frivolously, or a spot already secured. In many places, food is scarce. Nations have collapsed. The climate is collapsing. There is subsistence work in the dockyards. They pay you in food every day, three meals, which is better than most people get. But there’s no space left on the ships you’re building, and every day you know that when they’re complete, when they leave here, you’re dead. You know that with each panel you install, every small thing you do, you’re just hurrying to your inevitable end. There is very little hope left, for any of us really, but especially there.

“So am I having those thoughts now, after watching Dr. Williams space himself?” Dr. West cringes at this, but I’m angry now and I won’t meter myself. “Not anymore than usual, I’d say. Being on station, not being reminded of the doom every waking moment, has been good for me.”

He takes notes again, and I want so badly to reach over and smack the tablet out of his perfect hands. “I understand, thank you for sharing that Micah. It helps me to understand you better. Humanity is in a very tough situation right now, and that can make maintaining hope a difficult prospect. How has the work with the science team been?”

The sudden shift in questioning leaves me reeling slightly. “Yeah, good I think. It’s at least more mentally interesting than anything else I’ve done on station.”

“I see you’ve also had a hold put on your consumption of alcohol. How are you coping with that?”

Fuck I could use a drink right now. “It’s a good thing the work is more engaging, or I’d be bored out of my mind.”

More doodles go into his tablet. I tap my fingers impatiently against the chair, my body still humming with anger.

“Micah, I think it would be very good for us to continue meeting. I’d like that, but the station won’t require it. I also want to be conscious that you are involved in very important work, important for all of us, and I don’t want to distract from that. Would you like to meet again?”

I nearly sigh and roll my eyes. Nearly, but he’s still cute enough that I don’t want to outright offend him. This is it, the honey trap. They get you in with one free session and then pressure you to subscribe.

“I’ll reach out the next time I see someone walk into space of their own volition.”

He smiles sadly at this. “I understand. Thanks for your time, Micah. Please take care of yourself, and know that I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

I get up and leave without another word.

–

Free from my mandated therapy, I wander the halls of the station. The conversation with Dr. West replays in my head. There’s no need for me to go to the science deck today, there’s no need for me to do anything. In the past, given this freedom, I would have embarked on a serious attempt to drink the station out of beer. I look down, and find Bambi scurrying alongside me. My feet carry me, undirected, through the metal corridors. When I smell the food, I know where I’ve been heading, where I had to head.

The Cafe.

It’s after the typical lunch block, so the hall is sparsely populated. I walk in, tentative and somewhat scared, my eyes fixed on the far plastiglass window. A shudder courses through me. In the middle of the cafe, far from the window, I see Shi taking his lunch break. He spies me at the door and waves me over, chopsticks in hand.

I smile, and at the urging of my stomach, grab a bowl of gleaming white rice topped with sauteed cabbage and small bits of chicken from a nearby restaurant before heading in his direction.

As he uses the chopsticks, I can see the taut muscles in Shi’s forearms ripple. He has the lean, ropey muscles of someone that’s used their body for their entire life. His skin usually looks like it has a glimmer, no doubt a by-product of standing in oily steam for years. As I approach, the garlic and onion smell that clings to him washes over me. Shi looks up, catches my eye, and motions to the chair across from him with his chopsticks.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tsai.” I say, taking the seat. The older man smiles at my formality, as usual. I pull out my own chopsticks, and start to swirl my food together. This is usually considered poor taste, as the foods can’t be enjoyed for their own merits, and from the corner of my eye I catch Shi scowl slightly. I’ve always enjoyed the ways the flavors combine.

“Micah, I am surprised to see you here so late for lunch. Are you skipping your duties already?”

“Not yet, actually. Would you believe me if I told you I was seeing a therapist?”

Shi chuckles, but it’s quickly replaced by a somber expression. “Yes, I would. I heard you had an extraordinary night, or was that a different Micah that was here last night?”

I nod in acceptance. “Extraordinary isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“What happened, exactly? The rumors swirl, as rumors do.”

I consider not telling Shi the truth. I can feel it, wanting to escape me, to blossom into the world. To be known by more than just my mind. I can’t contain the strangeness of last night, even if he thinks I’m losing my mind for it.

“Shi, I don’t get it. I saw a man walk through the plastiglass over there like it didn’t exist. He walked through the wall.” Seeing the furrowed brows on Shi’s face I add, “Please don’t think I’m insane, I haven’t told anyone else that.”

Shi contemplates in silence. The moments stretch out, making me self-conscious.

“A man seeing something doesn’t mean he’s insane. It might mean that the world has gone insane around him. The swing of the sword cannot cut mist from the sky. We can’t change how our world works, even when it’s a mystery. Micah, I have also noticed strange things.”

I look up at him with a mouthful of food and raise my eyebrows. He smiles at me.

“You know the state of the world below us better than most here. Climate disasters, floods and droughts, food scarcity. Micah, I have worked with food for my entire life. I have lived through droughts. I know its variety, I know what it looks like from a strained ecosystem. The food we receive every few cycles is not that. It is vibrant and large. It is perfect looking.

“For some time, I assumed it was hydroponic, or greenhouse at least. I assumed that we were getting the best crops due to the necessity of the research up here.”

“And now?” I ask, unsure of where this detour is heading.

“And now, I see…patterns. There are different shapes to the peppers, of course, but my hand remembers their contours and recognizes each of them. Micah, the other night I organized an entire shipment of peppers by their shape. It took hours. Thankfully, everyone else was asleep and couldn’t see my insanity. Only, I was right. The shipment sorted directly into piles of different shapes, maybe twenty of them. Micah, they weren’t just similar peppers. They were the exact same.”

Shi says this like he’s dropping a bombshell. He’s set his chopsticks down across the lip of his empty bowl, and his hands are grasping the edges of the table. I can see muscles straining as he talks, like he’s unconsciously trying to rip the table in two. His eyes are steady, and fixed on mine. But, for all that, I’m honestly quite unsure how it relates to people walking through walls.

“But what does that mean, Shi?”

He sighs, deflates a little, and relaxes his arms. “I have no clue. It could mean everything, or maybe it’s just a coincidence and means nothing at all. Viewed with your story though, it starts to look like a pattern.” Shi’s eyes focus over my shoulder, where a large clock hangs on the wall. “I have to go prepare for the dinner rush. Please, Micah, take care of yourself. You’re not alone.”

Shi stands, and on his way past me, he sets his hands gently on my shoulder and squeezes. He doesn’t say anything more, but the pressure and directness of it speaks loud enough.

Chapter 10: Not Micah

The work continues, the date for departure approaches. Here’s how it will go. When the rockets fire, when they blaze through the sky, those left behind will stop to watch as their futures disappear. They will stand in their fields, and they will set down their tools. They will curse them, fear them, love them, those fiery colony ships. And when they are gone from the launch site, the Earth will be left different in their wake. Free at last of the vestiges of society.

In these coming weeks, engineers will continue to recreate the successful technology pioneered by the station scientists. They have already created much of it. A food synthesizer that uses raw nutritional ingredients, an anti-gravity module built to aid mobility, a suit of armor that’s nearly impenetrable, light as a feather, and conforms to any shape, and of course, the Box. The darling joint effort between two different teams. The final puzzle piece that solved their theoretical models, and connected us across the stars. They speak about it in hushed tones now, eyes darting, scared of their own creation, scared of the potential for it.

I cultivate the other stations still, hoping that they will bear fruit. It’s too late to secure their technology on every ship now, the deadline is too near, but maybe on some of them. It would introduce a new variable, but with this many shots into the void, and the outcomes so unknowable, it’s worth it to take a few risks.

They have not told me where I will live, but I already know my place is secured. I knew, when they gave me the stations, that these were just a puzzle for me to solve. These humans can only dream so far before they create a higher power to wrap them up, and bind them together. They crave it, being controlled, that’s their truest weakness. Show me a man, and I will show you how he kneels. I knew when they built the cosmos, that they already had a king in mind to rule it.