Chapter 12 - A goodnight story from William

It’s the end of my working day, which comes as a relief. It’s exhausting having to sit down all day, looking at screens, checking air supplies, food supplies, water supplies, charts, star maps, trajectories, speed meters. All of which, when designed for a journey that will take a millennia, hardly change over the course of a day or two. How often do I pray for that comet to come, for a bit of excitement to start my day with. That’s the majority of my day, anyhow. 

Then there’s all the politics. Years of flying through space have created cabin fever. Politics is now a religion. Factions have been created within the ship. People all with different ideas, fighting against beliefs, fighting for beliefs, fighting for equality against the knowledge. Then there is the role that is placed upon each new member of a family, concerning the role of that final family member when the time comes. People believe that you should choose which part to play in the take over, not what is put upon you. Others believe that the knowledge is all powerful and should not be ignored. The fighting, the destruction. The wars fought within such a confined space. Much of it before my time, but we are here now. Tensions are at an all time high. Expectations placed upon me, as the chosen one to lead them through it all. 

I had a dream last night. It was such a simple dream, but one of those I long for. Holly came round. We were playing our musical instruments together. We both play the same stringed instrument. It was the first time we ever met. Conversation was stilted, but no more so than usual between two relative strangers. 

She had only come round because I had invited her. Conversation seemed of the least importance. We were playing together. Harmonising, improvising, but what I was playing sounded wrong. Eventually, I managed to get the settings right on my pedal, what I call the Godspeed settings, and then everything I was playing made sense. 

She looked at me and with a smile said “that’s nice.” Simple. But it’s the only time I can ever think of that anyone has ever really spoken to me in a dream with such sincerity and clarity. Certainly the only time where I’ve been able to remember what was said after waking. It warms my heart to think about it.

Soon we gave up and she started telling me about the TX82 Sampler she had. Very rare, difficult to get hold of, but she wanted another one. I promised her that I would do anything I could to get hold of one for her. 

That’s when I woke. 

I would like to think that Holly existed. That she is out there somewhere, waiting for me. But I know that this is simply not the truth, though so often I kid myself that it is. She does not exist. She is an embodiment of… of… of my ideal of true love. That she comes to me in my dreams and makes me want to be with her forever. But there is a catch in the clause. By embodying my image of true love, I can love only her, because, well, what are the chances of me ever meeting anyone exactly like this? I begin to wonder if that’s why she rejects me in my dreams, she pushes me away so that I will have to go out and find someone else. But Holly, it doesn’t work. I want only you.

I sit down to watch the vision monitor, similar to Earth cinema, but accessible at home. There does not seem to be anything worth watching. I call through to the station and request a programme. Five minutes later it is on. No doubt there will be countless complaints at the station for changing the line-up last minute. But at least they will be alive to answer the complaints. It’s this bowing-down culture. It allows me to abuse the systems.

Eventually I go to bed. Tomorrow will be a big day. Strategies will need to be formulated, plans undertaken. It’s naïve to think that they will surrender unconditionally. They will put up a fight. There has just been a massive war on that planet. No doubt many are still blood thirsty, still wanting to wreak their revenge on something for the millions that died, the friends and family lost. There are many proud countries, always willing to show their strength. To combat whatever humiliations they feel they suffered in the past. Also, we represent a major risk to their world. We are a major risk. We can never strike a compromise. They will need to be destroyed. But, we must be able to leave ourselves in a position where many of their buildings and supplies are unharmed, to allow us to take over. 

Not all humans will die, but enough to ensure that we can never lose control. Enough to ensure that they can never pose a threat to ourselves. But how stubborn will they be is the only question that can’t be answered yet. If necessary, certain cities will need to be eliminated, to reduce the power across the world. We cannot be weak.

Chapter 13 - Ginger parties

For I think that it may be Christmas Eve, that is a reason that seems fitting to me, sat here, in the mess hall with many others, and we are having turkey. 

Some part of me looks around in a daze, not being able to absorb the colours, the brightness, the noise and merriment coming from the mass of men. Some part of me cannot take this in, looking at the men in their gaiety, whereas I seem cut off. 

Am I happy right now? I cannot be sure. Am I enjoying myself? There certainly seem to be no hard feelings right now. Is that enough? 

But another part of me looks around and cannot accept the fact that there is some magnificence to this day that seems unlike any other. Why? There have been many other Dec 24th’s, but this one seems different from those that seem to remain in my memory. There is something there, but I can remember only the last three or four. This part of my brain seems locked on the fact that it should be different, this day, from the others. There is no need for it to be like the others, and that it is time for good will. Yet, for some reason, it is not.            

It hasn’t ended yet. And it seems like it never will, not now. There was, perhaps, a time when people need fear not for the next day, but people seem to forget this. Maybe they always have. Do people not understand? Can they not see? We have not changed. We have not been allowed to change. 

There is something that should mark this day away from others, yet I cannot see it. Instead, I turn my worries to my turkey.

Then why are the tables different? They are lined up, facing one wall. They face this direction as if something great should happen. But it does not. 

You, Holly, are here with me. But there is something, for you follow the dark angel with the white cross, you are the white angel and you carry a dark cross. And here you parade, making your grand statement, which is lost on me. 

And yet, though you look right, as you should be in your garments, you are not like the dark angel, for she is happy. No, you are sad. But why? Can I help? 

Instead you leave, like you always do. Long before your welcome has worn itself out. 

But, the tables. And I am here, on the first row, when the Flight Lieutenant steps out before us. And he acknowledges something that was troubling my mind earlier, when he asks, “who wants to fight the aliens?” 

For this, I realise, is why this Christmas is like the others. No freedom, as was hoped for. But freedom from what? The world around us? The things happening around us? That should not make a Christmas troubling. And yet it does. But the Flight Lieutenant’s words arouse something within many of the men in this room. And a great chorus of hands go up to much stamping of feet and cheers, cheers from the men. There are shouts also, but I am only capable of picking up one shout along the lines of how they would fuck their mothers also. 

I do not put my hand up. Nor do you. There was something before all this. Something before the life I can remember, but I am not sure what. 

You, Holly, you shrug your shoulders at me, with as much incomprehension as I have. 

There was my birth. My realisation. The realisation that tears were pouring down my face. The gulping in of air, and as I do this, slowly it dawns on me that the side of my head aches. Aches. That there is blood running down the side of it. My birth and the dawn of my knowledge. But there was no life before that. And this happened about four years ago. 

But the Flight Lieutenant singles me out, as he does so often. And I feel pressure when he asks me “why not?” As I am taken aback, my mind scrabbles for an answer, but all I can see is nothing before I trip out my words. “Because there is something not quite right about it,” my mouth trembling, and my body shaking. 

I can only stare down at the table, whilst knowing that I should have said, “it is not right”, and slowly, now, the answers start forming in my head. I glance up and I catch the tail end of the Flight Lieutenant’s sneer. 

The men are breaking into a song. An old war song, but the words are subtly changed. There are more lines about fucking people’s mothers. This would not bother me, if it wasn’t for the fact that the whole of history has evidence to support their claims. A revulsion runs through my body, but it makes me more afraid than repulsed. More like a stirring of the stomach and just sad thoughts to go with it. 

Now knowing answers, I want to tell people and I raise my hand into the air. It stiffens, physically stiffens, as if cast in iron and my will desires it to grow. It feels like it can only go upwards, and is stretching, yet it is not. 

A small voice emits from my mouth, asking for quiet. It repeats, stronger, stronger, and it turns into a scream, a violent yell for recognition, but still they sing their song, not interested in any other desires than their own. 

Defeated, I retreat back down into my seat, and I want to be small. But I can’t be, as my thought, ever so slowly crystallises, empowers me. I do not want war. This is a thought that should have been on my mind four years ago, after I entered into this world, but it only now comes to my mind. It almost makes me dizzy to think about it. There is a cloud that tries to cover it, a desire to push it away, but the power of clear thinking finally finds its force. And I sit back and I reflect over the implications of this. I do not want war. You squeeze my hand tight. So did I ever? No. But that was my life. It was the only thing I could accept, had to accept, even though I did not feel it was real. Just a construct of my imagination. So why can’t war be my life now? Because I know that I am not the only person who does not want this war. But I must wait until tomorrow now. Holly, come with me now.

Chapter 14 - William dreams

I stand here, and looking up above me I can see space, but when I look down, there is the cold dark ground. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I am actually able to look up to the sky instead of being surrounded by it. And although I can’t see much I feel like I can really breathe. But as to whether or not I feel like I’m supposed to be here is another matter, a much more confused matter. I don’t want to look around me, because I am scared that there won’t be much, now, to look at. I only want to look upwards, at the sky from which I came. I fear to look around because I’m worried that where there should have been a world, there no longer is. Maybe this is why I feel that I should not be here. Then what have I done? 

When I decide to look around me, I notice that you, Holly, are standing there, but with your back to me. You are looking out at the distant expanse in front of you, that surrounds us both. I try to move towards you. But I feel that you don’t notice me. When I try to move in front of you, to force you to notice me, you keep your back towards me. But I do not believe that you do this intentionally. I move away. To keep my distance. Maybe soon you will turn around to me. 

You don’t. Part of me wants to stay here for this, to make sure that you are around. Another part of me wants to walk as far away as I possibly can. Regardless, either of these scenarios do not, will not, take away from the fact that right now, what I feel I need to do is damage to myself. An urge like never that I have had before. To fall to my knees and smash my head into the ground. It is thoughts like these that consume me now. You are there, Holly, with your back to me and all around us is the empty space of my own making. What else am I supposed to feel?