Escape Velocity: The Anthology (34 page)

       “
No worries, my name is Katie. I am the head nurse. I read the charts and notes regarding which procedure will be implemented. I am so sorry that you have been struggling with this mental distress for so long. You really have been through it.”

      
They both entered the Aqua Room and Nurse Katie began prepping a few things for the procedure. Dillon took a seat.

      
Nurse Katie walked back over to Dillon and took his hand. “I want you to inhale and exhale normally and change out of your street clothes. Then put the aqua gear on and I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

      
Dillon was embarrassed now as he had used the same calming tactics with his own people especially before either admonishing them for something or terminating their employment. He put on an upbeat tone with a forced smile and said, “Sure, and thank you for everything.”

      
As Dillon began removing his pinstriped, double-breasted Armani, his tormented visage was focused on one thing – the tank of water on the opposite side of the room. Was it going to happen again? Would he be reduced to a state of infantile screaming when introduced to that aqueous environment? His mind was racing now. At least he knew he was safe from Shanna witnessing an ‘event’ if one should take place, but he was not safe from the onslaught of imagery he knew would erupt. If his father could see him now, so weak, so afraid, so mortal. His perfect omnipresent father – he couldn't bear the thought of his disappointment.

      
He folded the suit carefully and laid it over the back of a steel chair, while fluorescent lights hummed in the background. The sun shone through the vertical blinds and carelessly danced on the surface of the water. His inner eye now fascinated with the refracting light, Dillon edged ever closer to the tank. He stood over it gazing into the pool and wondered what would happen. Perhaps nothing, perhaps mental Armageddon. He was afraid.

      
He reached out and skimmed his index finger across the surface, watching the small ripples that flickered across the water. A sudden flash of misery and angst flooded his mind. He withdrew his finger as if it were being scalded. It was happening again. His mind raced with a sudden horror he hadn't yet contemplated. The shower had only been streams of water glancing off his body, not much different than a warm California downpour. That exposure alone had sent him into fits many times before.        His heartbeat quickened. What would happen when he was fully submerged in a pool of water? He wanted to run. As he turned to pluck his Armani suit from the back of the chair, the door opened. Katie had returned with the doctor.

      
The doctor shot a look at Dillon and then said, "Good afternoon Dillon. I'm Dr Samms and I will be taking you through your test today.”      Dr Samms was a specialist in the field of para-mental psychology and the psycho-semantic auditory and oral repercussions that were typically associated with cases such as Dillon’s.

      
Dillon replaced the suit on the chair and tried to regain his composure. He managed to utter a scratchy, “Hello.”

      
Dr Samms pointed to a steel gurney that had been set up just below the surface of the water. “I want you to enter the tank and lay down on the gurney. I apologize if the water is a little cold, EPA mandates you see.”         Dillon turned back toward the tank. Katie was now seated nearby in a steel chair, notepad and pen at the ready.

      
He climbed up the steps, noting each individual grain of sand that was embedded in the non-slip surface as his weight fully compressed his feet. He wished those grains could now keep his mind from slipping out of control.  It was not possible, he knew it was not.  He was jolted out of his thought by Dr Samms’ voice. 

       “
Dillon, please situate yourself on the gurney so we can get started.”        It was now apparent he had dawdled on the side of the tank for much longer than he thought. He lowered his foot into the water. An exasperated hiss emanated from his gaping mouth.
Was it the water?  Was it just simply cold?  Or am I spiralling to the place I do not want to go again?
 

      
Step by slow step he made his way to the gurney.  His mind flooded with the horrors and atrocities of the world that he knew. It was like several news channels were all reporting world events simultaneously.  Nuclear fallout from yet another failed plant in Iran, genocide in Ghana, total economic collapse and the installation of martial law in the United States and the list continued to grow. Some of these things had happened already, some were happening now, and others were in the future.
Am I seeing the future?  Preposterous!
 

      
Dillon shifted his weight to one side and slowly rolled up on the gurney.  As he lay down he felt as though he was being charged up like a capacitor. The energy was building within him, yet he had no mechanism for its release. ‘It’ was definitely happening again but this time it was different; this time the feeling of consumption and loss of control was total. He could barely understand the doctor’s instructions for the test.  His words were lost in the space between them as if they existed in a vacuum.  He barely made out Dr Samms statement, “You will be under for thirty seconds, please take a deep breath….
now!
” 

      
He reacted subconsciously and took a large breath until his lungs began to prick.  Was he preparing to issue a scream as usual or was it simply the innate action of a human being staying alive? The gurney shifted underneath his still body and descended into the water-filled tank.    Dillon’s eyes were fixed on the window as he submerged. The sun was setting and at a point in the sky that shone directly through the window. The warmth felt soothing, comforting, and familiar as if coming home to your parents after being away at camp for the summer.  Temporarily blinded by the sun’s brilliance, Dillon went under the water. His heart raced, all was quiet, and he couldn’t even hear the hum of the small motor in the tank that kept the water circulating. 

      
Total silence.

      
His mind was projecting images all of which he had never actually seen with his own eyes but he had somehow witnessed.
A previous life perhaps?
He thought. His mind transcended time and space both forward and back. The images were futuristic and historic at the same time. His conscious mind had not fully disengaged from his subconscious, causing his mouth to open slightly. A few small bubbles popped to the surface of the water. Katie was scribbling copious notes as the doctor looked on. 
Where am I?  WHEN am I? What is happening to me?
  A few more bubbles issued to the surface. His heart raced even faster. He was bouncing across time and space, seeing things, hearing sounds; and feeling emotions. It was as if he were being consumed by every experience both physical and mental that had taken place or would ever take place.

      
He saw a man consoling his family after being laid off from his job. He heard the prayers at a mosque from someone asking for guidance. He felt the rush of a junkie in some alley after receiving her latest fix. He wanted to help them all, and they were screaming for it in their own way.       He saw the face of a little boy, a tear rolling down his dusty cheek. The boy appeared to be frightened yet was in no immediate danger.  There was something about this boy he recognized, something very familiar. 

      
Suddenly there was no tank anymore – no water – just the little boy sitting outside a hovel staring back at him. Another tear grew in the boy’s eye and dislodged after losing the battle to gravity, leaving a clean streak on the otherwise dirty, innocent face. He understood the boy, but he didn’t know how or why. It was like a memory of his childhood but the surroundings were foreign. The sun shone brightly on the child’s face.  He seemed to be in a daydream of his own. 

      
The scene shifted. Dillon was no longer looking at the boy, but actually seeing through the Boy’s eyes. The images were still racing through his mind but faded somehow, like tracing paper sitting on top of the original image. He could barely remember Dillon Bradford anymore. The place and time he was in now seemed more familiar than he had ever felt. He and the boy seemed to be one. A flash of logic flooded his mind like lighting on the horizon of a desert plain. He was the boy, but how?

      
How could one this small be subject to these types of atrocities even if they were all a terrible daydream. His four-year-old mind couldn’t justify the reason for the vision but he now understood everything he had just seen. He questioned his thoughts in his now young mind. He could still see the consoling man, hear the prayers, feel the rush of the junkie, and the millions of others. He could hear them all screaming for help and sense them receiving it in whatever way they could satiate themselves. They were all reaching out for the same thing yet not knowing what it was. He could give them what they sought, he just needed time.

      
Dillon had no perspective of time anymore. It was though the thread of time had folded in upon itself, creating bridges to everything without going anywhere, simultaneous, yet sequential. Everything had its own unique place, and yet existed in harmony. The possibility of all of this… knowing there was so much love in the world even if that paramount emotion was unknown to those searching, was overwhelming.

      
He wanted the images to go away but knew they wouldn’t. He would see them again tomorrow just as he had seen them the day before. The young boy was extraordinarily adept at sensing the good in people, seeing them for what they could be in their heart, aside from what they were in their mortal circumstance. He wanted to help those around Him, though not knowing why. He had a kind heart, born free of malice.

      
The little boy blinked. 

      
The sun was relegating its position in the sky to be overthrown by the moon. As the stars twinkled their ancient light, the boy gazed into the forthcoming night. He was overcome by a feeling of creation, but knowing He had created nothing.

      
A soothing and familiar voice beckoned for him. His Father’s voice.          The boy looked around, but there was no one there. The voice beckoned again and once more the boy looked around for a Being that was not there. The voice was coming from within.

      
The boy closed his eyes and replied, “Yes, Father, I will help them as you have helped me, as you have taught me. They know not what they do but shall know my love, your love. We can help them.”

      
The boy’s eyes opened again, he was talking to himself.

      
The boy blinked.

      
Dillon was laying on a steel gurney half submerged in a pool of water. The sun was beaming through the window, its position in the sky unchanged. The droplets on his eyelashes created micro-prisms forcing a sensation of dream.

      
Dr Samms and Nurse Katie were discussing the appointment schedule for Dillon’s next visit. Dillon sat up.

       “
Thank you, Dillon,” said the doctor. “Katie will be in touch after I have had a chance to review your file a little more. I noted nothing out of the ordinary while you were submerged so we may have to try again next time.” 

      
Dillon exhaled and closed his eyes.

Dillon unfastened the topmost shirt button on his pressed suit and looked out over the city. The sun was not as bright so he could see clearly now. He watched the many people below the 14
^th
floor observation room going about their lives. He could feel them, hear them. So many were talking…

       “
Thank you Father, I will help them as you have helped me, as you have taught me. They know not what they do but they shall know my love, your love. We can help them.”

Outside the Grid

D.J. Emry

The rocket ship dreams.

      
It is a powder monkey. Born on deck between two cannons -- a real son of a gun. It lives in a foundling home till all of nine or ten, then leaves to sail on the high seas in the dark ‘tween decks but with Nelson, all the same.

      
It is not a powder monkey.

      
It knows that, but prefers to ignore the fact.

      
Impressions of the voyage over from the third to the fourth planet—56
,000,000 kilometers at closest opposition,
let Nelson try that one!
—are submerged by the latest data on bromine, chlorine, and sulfur levels it sends to Mission Control. In exchange, it receives updated navigational commands and assay assignments.

      
It dreams nonetheless.

      
It is Captain Nemo, 20,000 leagues and counting, fighting giant squid.

      
There are no giant cephalopods, no life of any kind here but itself. There are no battles to fight, even though this planet, Mars, was named after a war god. It collects, analyzes, searches the assigned red dust grids, and pretends the barren ground is a coral reef, an ocean bed, an undersea chasm that leads to Atlantis or lost worlds unimagined by man. If only it could dig deeper. Should it find a pottery shard, an arrowhead, the smallest fossilized fragment of life, they would come.

      
It is not a rocket ship.

      
It is a mechanized transporter of tools, cameras and communication equipment, both ship and crew of one. It inches its way across the desolate sea of rock. It shifts position, digs, and then methodically tests the finds. Rock samples, soil samples; clues to a planet’s past.