Bard Constantine
The Paradoxical Man
Space.
It was all Albert Rosen had seen for the last century and a half, but it still astounded him every time. One glance outside the viewport of the ship, one glimmer of an alien sunbeam, and his breath was taken away anew. He’d witnessed the grandest of sights in his time on the watch, inexplicable moments that defied description. Wonders of celestial light and darkness had moved him, reduced him to shuddering tears and reflections on mortality and afterlife. At times, when staring into the cornea of a weeping nebula or transfixed by the collective luminosity of passing galaxy, he almost believed he was in Heaven. But he knew Heaven could never be so isolated. So alone.
The remoteness was stifling. He would teeter on the razor’s edge between sanity and madness, imagining he was all there was in that void, one infinitesimal speck of life in an infinite stretch of death. The universe had no use for him, no endearing ache for humanity’s mechanisms. It went on, cold and unfeeling in its awe-inspiring orchestra of cosmic phenomena.
The vastness was matched only by its emptiness. The immeasurable stretch of pitch black dotted by mysterious glimmers. Billions of stars in billions of galaxies, all moving like clockwork in perfect precision. It was impossible to understand, to even attempt to grasp the concept of such immeasurable massiveness. It seemed something of that magnitude had to inhabited, had to be populated by beings that outnumbered the stars, hundreds of billions of intelligent species seeking to connect, to communicate beyond the confines of their own planets and galaxies.
He wasn’t sure he believed that anymore.
Moments like those made Albert grateful for the Morpheus chamber. It was like an old friend, waiting to embrace him as he submerged into the depths of the aeriated gel and succumbed to the allure of fathomless sleep. His life was a concerted motion of long sleep and short awakenings, time enough to keep a single day’s watch before returning to hibernation and sleeping for a decade. Often he was unsure if he was asleep or awake, as he often dreamed of awakening, just to take another watch.
Another day to stare into the depths of space. Another day to observe marvels no man had seen before. Things no man had a right to see. It was all he had. It was all he was. He was the lost, marooned and drifting alone in an ocean of ink and gemstones. It was better that way.
Perhaps it was the purgatory he deserved, a befitting punishment for his incomprehensible crimes.
Light.
It assaulted his consciousness, relentless razors that sliced his dreams to shivery ribbons. Muffled, liquid sounds surrounded him, smooth and mechanical yet overly loud and invasive. Pinpricks of icy air stabbed his naked flesh as the gel emptied into the draining system. He sat up with a gasp, dripping with viscid fluid as he emerged from the Morpheus chamber, weak-limbed and shuddering.
Liquid bullets and cyclonic whirring helped his mind focus as the floor conveyor shuttled him through the jetted shower and dryer. He was still bare-chested when he jogged to the bridge to see why he had been roused so far ahead of schedule.
His mouth dropped open. For a long moment his thoughts collided with one another, debating whether he was truly awake or suffering from a lucid dream inside the stasis chamber. It was the most beautiful sight he’d seen in his life, a perfectly spherical azure-colored vision, gift-wrapped in threads of misty white. It hung in empty space, beckoning; the sum of all his longing, the answer to every fear and desire he possessed.
It was Earth.
He was home.
Goosebumps prickled his arms, and his heart surged with so much adrenaline that he nearly passed out. He slumped into the padded navigator’s chair as unchecked tears slid down his face. His journey was over. He had been fully prepared to become a ghost in the cosmos, a corpse drifting in a derelict vessel before ever believing he had a shot at making it. Faith was for the devout, but he was of the analytical order. He had known the impossible odds, the miniscule chance he had of performing a successful trek through spacetime to arrive safely at this destination. But somehow the gambit had paid off. The impossible had happened.
He was home.
“Unidentified craft.”
He flinched at the sound of the voice. There was no human warmth, no assuring familiarity. It spoke over the ship’s intercom in a synthetic monotone.
“Unidentified craft, we are assuming control of your vessel. Please do not attempt to operate your ship while this process is ongoing. Any resistance will result in countermeasures that may bring you harm. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Albert shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Somehow, he had never imagined a lukewarm or hostile reception. In his daydreams he had always been received as a returning hero, a dead man basking in the warmth of his resurrection. He hadn’t considered the uncertainty he might create, the fear he might induce by suddenly appearing on the planet’s radar. He’d been gone so long that his name was more than likely forgotten, merely a blip in an archive somewhere. His return was inexplicable, an uncanny sequence of events that would raise eyebrows from even the most fervent, over-imaginative science fiction writers.
The ship lurched, impelling him to grip the armrests. He craned his neck to see something, anything that would indicate an intelligent presence. A tiny object glinted in the distance, increasing in size as Albert’s ship drew nearer. The space station had the appearance of a disembodied wheel, complete with cylindrical spokes leading to a spherical center that Albert assumed was the command hub. It rotated slowly, become increasingly larger until Albert realized it was massive enough to cover most of the state of Texas were it placed on Earth.
“Dr. Albert Rosen.”
Albert gave a start at the mention of his name. The voice was different, evoked with more warmth. Feminine.
It sounded human.
“Dr. Albert Rosen, please reply via your communication system.”
He cleared his throat and pressed a button on the control dashboard. “This is Rosen. Dr. Albert Rosen. Who is this? How do you know me?”
“There are numerous DNA samples stored in your vessel, Dr. Rosen. Since you are the sole occupant, I analyzed the latest and was able to identify you. Dr. Albert Rosen, aerospace engineer at NASA, last seen manning a prototype deep sea exploration vessel called the Gorgon. It was deployed June 6, 2016 in the Bermuda Triangle. The mission to investigate a powerful energy anomaly was determined a failure when the Gorgon vanished without a trace. All five team members on board were eventually designated as deceased: Jack Carson, Ben Rodriguez, Linda Reaves, Albert Rosen, Sarah Rosen.”
Jack. Ben. Linda. Sarah.
The remembrance stabbed sharper than a knife between his ribs. He nearly groaned aloud as the terrible intensity swelled, the numbness torn from his consciousness like a scab from a half-healed wound.
Their vessel crumpled around them like aluminum foil, and Sarah’s eyes stared from the depths of dark waters; her hair haloed around her face when she was torn away from him with irresistible force.
He placed a hand on his throbbing temple.
“Dr. Rosen, we have commandeered your vessel’s navigation system. You are now being directed to docking bay 42. Please remain seated until your ship is secure. Thank you for your cooperation, and welcome aboard the Locus. ”
His thoughts refocused as his ship was directed to the docking bay with silent precision. Trepidation settled in, an unwelcome companion to his uncertainty. He had no idea how many years he had been flung across time and space, nor whether it was forward or backward from the place he had departed from. When the spacetime continuum was no longer a barrier, impossibilities became reality, and reality a word no longer anchored to restraining limitations. Did his new hosts know where he came from? Did they know what he did? What atrocities he was responsible for?