Golden Years

Nobody can hear you screw up, or so they say…

Major Culpham had that thought in his head as he prepared for the day. He looked through the viewfinder and studied the material captured. All the scanning of the previous day was uneventful and he felt that he should just get this out of the way early to complete his other duties. And yet…he felt an urge to go back once more and review what he saw…and heard.

Noises from afar…

At any other moment, he might have laughed about it and moved on with his work. Any child knew the basics of space travel: no atmosphere, no way to conduct sound, therefore… All the movies and television shows they had watched as children were lies. Explosions in space might be colorful, but they would also be very silent. Space was quiet, peaceful, and sometimes even quite dull. You did not get to hear it.

But he had heard it.

Fifteen days into the mission and it came up during routine repairs at a station the ship detected on its scopes. They had been set up for the Amber Wave as it made progress beyond the main station. It was the most popular ship in the fleet, commissioned by the brightest and boldest minds of the galaxy over many decades. And, if the major was totally honest – he often was when having a moment to himself – he should have had a lesser vehicle while this one became the retirement gift to some general or lesser figure who gave a lifetime of fair (?) and honest service (did such a creature really exist?).

But no, they had to give it to the major. He was a real hero with the war record, medals, private charities established in his name, and discoveries made in difficult and strange places. The Council agreed to let him have this mission. He was the right man of the right age with all of the right attributes needed for a journey through space where the chances of encountering another human were very low (even the repair stations sent out before hand were all automated). No one else could have taken such a trip for such a length of time without a crew (his psychological, emotional and synaptic studies proved this). Food and supplies were stored at the repair stops and on board (no worries about shortages or rationing when he saw the cargo hold; it was a fear they did not detect during the testing). He was the right choice.

And then he heard it.

It was in the middle of his second analysis of the ship (no real problems were detected). Culpham had been walking through the processing booth, waiting for the results when it was loud and clear:

“HELP!”

The major was a war veteran. He had heard the desperate screams of civilians and soldiers in battle. He knew what a cry for help was supposed to sound like. But he had never heard anything like that one simple word used and spoken in such a manner.

It was not just spoken. He could feel it project through his uniform, down his spine, up his legs, and into his mind. It invaded his body and would not settle down.

Maybe it was part of the test… After all those weeks on his own, it was possible that they wanted to run one more probe to see how he was running a mission all by himself. There was the chance that he could be monitored that way and have the information shipped back home (would the Council do that?). The ship’s diagnostic concluded with nothing more than the recognition of a possible short on the light deck (easy to handle; he had suspected it could be a problem), but nothing else was detected.

Not a single sound.

Maybe he should monitor his own profile. They encouraged this from time to time in battle (some of his soldiers had been taken away when the reports were filed and analyzed). Culpham sat in the main holochair and let the probe run itself (only twenty minute out of his day):

“No problems located or detected with subject. All scans match with the expected results of initial settings. Subject is normal.”

Every time the major saw this, he still felt uncomfortable. It was him, in the third person, with the screen indicating blood pressure, heart rate, sugar levels, salt levels, psychological disparities, weight, vision level, and on and on…

Not a thing out of line.

Maybe he really did imagine it all. He turned to look at another screen where he could entertain himself with an entire culture’s history of movies, television, other audio-visual and three-dimensional art. Culpham thought that a comedy would be best (how did they manage without the skill and talent of Peter Sellers before the Pink Panther series became a hit?). A simple oral command would get this started.

“Seek movie.”

The screen lit up and expanded into the empty holospace.

“Comedy.”

A list flashed before him. He would just have to name it.

“The Pink…”

And the screen flickered for a moment, and disappeared.

Now, Major Culpham was told that anything could happen on such a journey. The training included emergency measures to deal with such technological problems. He did not worry about this. Another diagnostic and this would be…

The screen reappeared.

There was only one word on it:

HELP!

Major Culpham stared at it for a moment, adjusting his visors to take in a non-three-dimensional image.

And then it disappeared.

Anger was beginning to occupy his thoughts. If the computer could not detect this, and he was just analyzed and found to be sane (at least, that was how he read it), then this was actually happening to him and the Amber Wave. This was very real.

And he could use the technology around him to find out what was happening.

Major Culpham entered new information into the machine and smiled.

He was going to enjoy this trip.

*

From the reading on the sensors, the message – if it was a message – was coming to him from a region that no one else had scanned before; not even with a random probe. Culpham, sitting back in his chair, smiled and thought about all of the potential promotions and praise he might receive for this. A completely unknown sector…

He watched as nebulae, stars, planets and entire galaxies flitted by. It would be out of his projected route, but he knew that the risks involved would be worth it, even if it turned out to be nothing.

“Help!”

It was not even shocking that time.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya. I can’t help but hear ya.”

Culpham had made sure that the monitors were not connected with the base unit or a Council feed. To have them know that he was now talking to himself would have guaranteed that his mission would be scrapped and the flight rerouted home. He did wonder how they would do that with such a trip, but took no chances with it. There was even concern about how a man could be alone for such a long time and just interact with computer technology. Culpham settled this with his diagnostics and his obvious ease with the interactive programs on board. So, no talking to an empty void…

If it was empty…

A light began to flicker on the holoscreen to his left. This is what he had been waiting for and he smiled again while sipping a food concentrate. If that indicator was functioning properly, he was within one parsec of that message. There were no other stations for repairs or analysis, so he knew that he would have to be careful with this trip. Culpham did notice that the number of planets and debris in this area was very low. Maybe it was too low.

Was he moving through pitch blackness?

It felt as though the entire galaxy in front of him had turned into ink (a substance he had heard of once, although he doubted it still existed). There was no effect on the Amber Wave’s momentum and all the instruments were functioning properly, but it was a very chilling moment for the major. Culpham preferred the usual distractions of space travel to this great and ugly nothingness.

“Help!”

“Help yourself! I’m comin’…”

Maybe he was beginning to understand why he was receiving that message. The voice was definitely male (no audio adjustments were performed on that voice; the recording he managed to create had no aberrations); it was certainly in distress; it was in this area.

But where in this area?

The light began to flicker much faster, sending out a strobe effect of redness around the enclosed cabin. Culpham knew that he was near.

“Help?”

A slight change in tone with that one, wasn’t it? It was now asking a question. Culpham wondered why he had not really tried to engage it in conversation before making this detour.

It seemed to be asking him for a chat.

The light stopped flickering. It was now a solid red glow.

Culpham examined the co-ordinates and looked out the main view-screen.

No, no, this cannot be it. This cannot be it.

The co-ordinates were on the monitor. It was 00.000.000.

That was impossible. The number was an impossibility and the space he was in should not have been there.

But here he was and the ship had all the data needed to confirm it.

“Help…”

“Yeah, help. Don’t we all want some now…am I right?” Culpham was not sure he should smile now.

Now, one of the good things about the mission was the amount of equipment provided for a passenger on the Amber Wave. He had flight suits, travel suits, prepackaged food, weaponry…and the one thing he might need to solve this particular mystery: The Ro\Bon Suit.

The name was a mistake. The designers of that suit wanted to combine the words “Robot” with “Bond” to show how well any human could work with the suit. It would provide a level of flexibility to the wearer “unlike anything that the Council ever prepared or developed before” (a nice little advert for it, Culpham thought). The backslash in the name bothered him, but he did not think much of it, until he learned that someone had been very sloppy and let their finger slip when preparing to display the newest innovation of the week. No one else thought about it, but the major wondered about it. A slip of the finger…

“Help.”

If this really was where the yell was coming from, and all of the readings were correct, he would have to step out of the Amber Wave and walk through…that.

Not a single star or particle of matter or anything nearby.

Culpham felt a little odd about this.

The protocol clearly stated that he had to examine and study any phenomena encountered on the journey and keep a record of them. He was also still a military man. Culpham could not let himself be terrified by a cry for help; a cry that seemed to be for him only.

What could really happen to him?

He prepared for the walk outside.

*

At first, he thought that it was a mistake to not be tethered to the ship. Culpham had adjusted the suit to his measurements, and he found that it was even easier to use that the equipment on the ship. But there was still a worry that he might drift away to far from the Amber Wave and not be able to continue the trip; just another piece of debris stuck in space.

But no, that would not be a problem.

First, he could rest his feet on that inky blackness.

Second, he could hear the cry in his suit and detect where it was coming from.

And finally, he was beginning to recognize the voice.

It should have disturbed him, but at this point there was nothing that would have stopped him from heading into the void.

It was his own voice.

“Help…”

“Yeah, I am going to do just that…”

He began to move over the surface. It reminded Culpham of the rides back home that he enjoyed at birthdays and public fairs. He tried to hop on the blackness and found that there was a bit of bounce (no silliness while being monitored). Maybe he would enjoy it more on the journey back…

“HELP!”

Major Culpham, seasoned veteran, chosen pilot for the Amber Wave, talented and skilled soldier, almost soiled the Ro\Bon Suit.

He was standing right in front of himself.

A quick psychological profile made by the suit indicated that it really was him: same age, height, blood type, physical ailments, hair and eye color. It even had the same outfit (he had to keep calling it an “It”). What was different was the face.

Fear…that was pure fear.

Culpham knew why he was here and he had to get away.

“Wait. Please. I know what you are thinking: I called you and want to trap you here.”

“Well, yeah. That was what I was thinkin’. Seems like the sensible thing based on all the readings…”

“There is so much more to tell you. You have so much to learn.”

“Okay, teach me.”

*

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space? That was a damn lie. The figure had a story and Culpham had a duty. It would be best to let them talk in private as the Amber Wave awaited one of them to return and continue its travels. The journey was not yet over.