419-2 « MuseMart

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419-2

(15 posts)

Gumshoe
The Duck

From nothing, came everything. A green tinted world banished the darkness, too fuzzy to make out any details. Nerves flared, and he could feel them come alive, like a million needles burning every inch of skin at once. He gasped - tried to gasp - in pain, only to discover he couldn't. His lungs wouldn't work. They felt heavy, as if they were full of something dense. Instict kicked in, an automatic fear of drowning that drove him to try and escape. His feet kicked out, pushing against the hard surface below him, but something hard blocked his upward progress. He panicked further, not just drowning but trapped, and struck out with his hands. They hit something hard and unyeilding less than a foot in front of him, and he flailed at it repeatedly, desperate to escape. It refused to give. He planted his hands firmly on this invisible object, and pushed hard. He sank into something soft but firmly unyielding behind him, giving him leverage to push harder. At last it moved, sliding sideways instead of falling out as he'd expected.

He fell forward, landing akwardly on the cold floor as a cascade of green gel splashed thickly around him. He frantically tried to draw a breath, found his lungs still wouldn't work, and began gagging. More green gel splashed onto the floor as his lungs clenched painfully. He drew one haggard, painful breath and gagged again, sputtering out more goo. His stomach, also heavy, joined his lungs and he wretched still more gel into the thick puddle just inches from his face. He collapsed onto his side, gasping painfully, feeling dizzy. He stared around at the fuzzy green world he was finally aware of. It wouldn't come into focus, wouldn't stop being green. Fearing more gel he screwed his eyes shut tightly, scoured them with the palms of his hands and felt something thick and wet leak down the sides of his face. When he opened them again, he could see clearly.

He was in a long, erraticly lit hallway. The floor was hard, cold metal, and roughly textured. Pipes crowded the cieling, unlabeled, varying in size and color. Every so often they would part just enough to allow for a lighting fixture. He rose to his knees, breathing slowly and deliberately for the sake of his bruised lungs. The wall before him contained rows of tall, thin doors. Each had a number etched into it, along with what appeared to be a small display screen. There were buttons, arranged in a square beneath the screen. He looked to his left, found that the corridor continued on... seemingly forever, swallowed as it was after some distance by impenetrable darkness. To his right, it was the same. Occasionaly one of the soft blue lights that illuminated his section of hallway would flicker and die, only to return a minute or so later.

He wiped ineffectively at the goo that covered him from head to foot, giving up as it began to dry and turn unpleasantly sticky. At last he rose to his feet and turned to regard the wall behind him. An open glass cylinder greeted him, occupying the wall from floor to ceiling. More green gel slid and dripped down the inside surface, and about an inch of it puddled at the bottom, which was grated and presumably contained a drain, as the level of goo was slowly dropping. A cushion, contoured to fit an upright form, was affixed to the back of the cylinder. At the top of the cylinder, on the outside, was engraved a number. It was the same number that adorned the door on the opposite wall: 419-2. To the left and right of the empy cylinder were identical ones, lining the wall on and on untill they dissapeared into the darkness. Curious, he looked at the number on the cylinder immediately to his right. It was numbered 420-2. It was full of green liquid, presumably the same goo in which he himself had been encased. He pressed his face against the glass. There was somebody in there, fuzzy and indistict in the gel. He watched for movement, some sign that the person within was alive. There was nothing. He glanced farther along, at the next cylinder in line. It was also full. The one after that... was empty.

Curious, he approached. There was no trace of the green goo that still dripped from, or more often, clung to his jumpsuit, either inside the cylinder or on the floor before it. The glass front had also been partially closed, an opening only a hand's breath wide remaining. He looked back at his own cylinder and the mess he'd made falling out of it, and wondered at the difference. Perhaps the empty cylinder had never been filled? But all of the others were (presumably) occupied, the people incased in green gel. Why would this one be different from all the rest?

He looked back at the tank before him. He could see his reflection in the glass front, and studied it. Bald, blue eyes, no facial hair. No eyebrows. His face was thin, gaunt. He took a step back, studied the rest of himself. He wore a skintight white jumpsuit, unadorned except for a black barcode over the left breast and on the left shoulder. The green goo didn't seem to have stained the garment, though unsightly globs of it were spattered at random. He noted that his build was thin and lean, to match his face, and something about it struck him as unhealthy.

He turned his attention from the tank and looked up and down the hallway. Nobody had come... he felt strongly that somebody should have come. He stood there, wondering if he should wait and how long. He wasn't certain how long he stood there, debating whether or not to go. Finally, he found himself confronting the door across from his cylinder. He tried opening it, but pulling on the latch had no effect. Similarly, trying to get the display to function proved useless. It refused to turn on, and punching several of the buttons did not conjure it to life. At last he gave up. He stood there, staring at the door, fighting a rising sense of disorientation. Things shouldn't be this way. Somebody should have come, the door should have opened. But they hadn't, and it hadn't, and now he had to figure out what to do on his own.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

Originally posted by Lady of the Winds:

Dude... where do you come up with these ideas? This is pretty interesting, yet was there not a deal about you needing to keep going on the same story? anyway, I want to say watch your spelling "Instict" should more than likely be instinct... sorry, I have issues spelling myself as you should know, and it annoys me . Your style of writing intrigues me, I don't know why. Probably because you tend to introduce your characters as unkowns... no name or recolection of anything (also refering to "sunny-side up"). When you do this it makes me want to read more. Is there actually more to come? Well I will see ya later

p.s. so I am going to put a new story out myself since I can't think of more for the one I have posted myself so ... .

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

Originally posted by Janus:

I -really- liked the way you opened it--I did feel that the ending was a little weak, though.

It felt like there was a slightly too-abrupt shift from him not knowing or recognizing anything to suddenly hitting buttons, looking into tubes, and realizing that he looks unhealthy. I almost had the feeling, from reading the first part, that the whole last bit could stand to be a bit more indistinct--almost a 'fade to black'. With this kind of thing, usually a character wouldn't remember much more than little details like that there were other green tubes, maybe a flash of what their face looked like, etc.

However, it still reads brilliantly---I love it . Don't stop here!

After Above Post was edited:
MUCH better! I think it reads much, much, MUCH more smoothly all the way from the start to the end. Nice work!

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

Well, if you'd just popped out of a tube full of green slime, what would you do? I tried to go with what I thought somebody might do in that situation. Look around, explore your immediate surroundings. There's also a few things prompting him from the back of his mind... I put in that he thought somebody should have come for him. There's a reason he thinks that, which will get revealed later.

I also share a bit of dissatisfaction with the end of the intro. Depending on what I end up writing for the second part, I may rewrite it.

Thanks for the feedback, both of you. And now... on to the second post! Or at least the pre-post writing... er... writing. See, I wrote the first part longhand and then typed it in. I think I'll do the same for the second. It makes you slow down as you write, gives you more time to think on what's coming next.

Posted 3 years ago #
Audrey
Head Muse

I think it's better as well.

Part of me wonders if maybe there's a little TOO much description, or some of the description (such as the description of the panel with the buttons below it, which occurs early in the segement) should be moved closer to when he actually tries to use it (at the end.) Make it relevant description, I guess. I get that you're trying to create an atmosphere, though.

Posted 3 years ago #
Audrey
Head Muse

Originally posted by Lady of the Winds:

Bravo. There is a bit much description, however it does add a level of realism to the story that otherwise might not be there.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

The long, dark hallways seemed to be as endless as they had first appeared. He had no sense of time as he walked them, no way to know how long he'd been trudging endlessly forward. The small haven of light where he'd first come into awareness of the world had fallen behind him, dissapeared around a gradual bending in the corridor. He'd felt a pang of insecurity as he'd it had fallen out of sight, a vulnerability at being alone in the dark. He'd taken a moment, hand braced against one of the cylinders, to recover his resolve. Staying where he'd been would get him nowhere. He needed to press forward, to move on and find somebody. And there had to be somebody here... somebody alive, and not encased in cylinders of goo. All he had to do was keep walking and he'd find them, and then... He wasn't sure what would happen then. Whatever it was, he was certain it was better than staying where he'd been.

So now he stumbled slowly forward in the darkness, right arm outstretched so he could keep a hand on the cylinders. Their surface was always warm to the touch, and the way their smooth, curved surface rose and fell beneath his fingertips was somehow comforting. He'd tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness, closing them for minutes before opening them again, hoping that there would be some dim illumination to show him where he was going. But it was always as dark when he opened them as it was when they were closed. So he moved carefully, slowly putting one bare foot in front of the other, making certain there was a solid surface to put his weight down on before taking another step. It seemed to him that this went on forever, and his thoughts began to wander.

What was the green stuff he was still spattered with? Where it had been in contact with his skin, he noticed, the green goo had simply soaked in, leaving no trace that it had ever been there. On his jumpsuit, it had dried into a crust and begun to flake off. Experimentally he peeled off some of the dried goo. It crumbled easily in his hand, and had no particular odor. It had no taste, either, for which he was glad, having come into being with a mouthful of it. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't harmful.

What was he doing here, his thoughts moved on. Why had he been encased in one of those cylinders, and why had he been released when none of the others had? Who was he? What was his purpose? These last two questions seemed the most important to him. He was sure he was somebody. He was there, after all, so he must be somebody. And something told him that he was there for a reason, that he had a distinct purpose... if only he knew what it was.

Perhaps they're all dead, he mused, thinking of the motionless figures that lay suspended in the cylinders. Perhaps he was dead. He wondered about death, and what it meant, and found he had no clear concept of it except as something that should be avoided at all costs. Death was bad. Life was good. He knew that death involved no longer functioning, no longer being. He also had the vague notion that death involved a good deal of unpleasantness and pain, after which he would no longer be alive. So, he decided after further thought, he probably wasn't dead.

His mind continued in such circles for some time. He was in the middle of pondering whether or not he'd been dead (after all, he hadn't been functioning or aware of anything in the cylinder), when something caught his eye. A red dot in the distance, the first light he'd seen since he'd begun his journey into darkness. He stopped walking, and squinted. He closed his eyes, and the red dot went away. When he opened his eyes, it came back. Curious, he started forward again, faster this time. Gradually, the red light began to grow larger as he approached. Soon it was the size of his hand, and illuminated the hallway for several feet around.

It was, he discovered, a door. Or rather, it was a glowing rectangular panel set into the wall to the right of a door. The hallway had ended. Despite his bouyed spirits, something told him to be cautious. Red lights, he remembered suddenly, usually meant bad things. So he inspected the door, looking for possible dangers. It was shorter than the hallway, and there was a lip at the bottom that he'd have to step over, but it was still large enough to get through. There was no obvious damage, either to the door or the wall around it. Deeming the portal safe, he took hold of the small wheel mounted to the door at about chest height and turned. Or tried to turn. The wheel didn't move. Bracing himself, he tried applying more force. Again, the wheel refused to move. Puzzled, he tried turning the wheel in the opposite direction, with similar results.

The door, it seemed, did not want to open.

Arms and back sore from his efforts, he sat down on the deck and thought. Thought about doors, and how to open them. To his surprise, information began to surface. There was something about it's shape... and the wheel... and the light... There was something special about the door. Bulkhead. The word appeared in his mind as if from nowhere. It was a bulkhead door, meant to seal one section from another. They were airtight, and if the the red light was on it meant... it meant something was wrong on the other side. He couldn't open that door, because if he did he would endanger himself and the section he was in. He sat in front of the door, hopes falling. If he couldn't get through the door, he'd have to go back the way he'd come. He'd have to trudge through the darkness again, until he finally returned to the place he'd come from. And then he'd have to leave that bastion of light behind again, to once again walk through an unknown length of pitch black darkness.

He sighed, frustrated, and began to realize how tired he was. Tired, and hungry. He couldn't do anything about the one, but he could do something about the other. With another sigh he stretched out on the floor, arms behind his head. He could still see the red light, so he closed his eyes. He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, or how long he slept, but he remembered dreaming. There were people, all the same. The dressed the same, they looked the same, they acted the same... and he was one of them. And it felt... safe.

When he opened his eyes again, the light was green.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

Originally posted by Janus:

Nitpicking:

In the first paragraph

Quote
"He'd felt a pang of insecurity as he'd it had fallen out of sight, a vulnerability at being alone in the dark."

Second paragraph

Quote
"Their surface was always warm to the touch, and the way their smooth, curved surface rose and fell beneath his fingertips was somehow comforting."

It's a good description, and I love it! But it made my eyes skip back once or twice when I read 'their smooth, curved surface rose and fell beneath his fingertips' because I had a mental image of the material pulsing somehow, like a heart or something. Might want to change that description around a bit.

Fourth paragraph

Quote
"What was he doing here, his thoughts moved on."

I'm not a grammar expert at all, but I think that's incorrect. I'm honestly not sure though.

The fifth paragraph felt very awkward and out-of-place, somehow. That entire paragraph just seemed weak compared to the ones before it.

That done, I made a second read through. Except for that one paragraph, that I still feel was weak, I LOVED it. Even stronger than the first chapter, and this end was -very- powerful. Top notch work, man.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

Ah. Yes. The first one, I simply didn't backspace far enough. I was writing one thing and decided to change it to another.

The second one... I suppose I could change it. *ponders* I'm not sure how to do it, though, without making it seem clunky. I think I'll leave it as-is for now, and maybe redo it on a second pass (like I did with the first post).

That third one is supposed to represent a sort of internal monologue. I'd thought of putting his thoughts in itallics, but decided to try and keep it in the third person perspective. And hey, being an author (someday) means you get to ignore some rules of grammar.

Oh, the fifth paragraph. Yes... yes, I know exactly what you mean. It doesn't really seem to fit. Sorta, comes out of nowhere. I think what it needs is something to help the reader follow the character's flow of thought. As it is, it just sort of jumps.

Thanks for the continuing critiques, it helps.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

Originally posted by Janus:

Any time--I absolutely love what you've got so far.

Are you just writing it for kicks and giggles, or do you think you might actually try to get it published as a book/magazine/whatever? I definitely think you could do something with it if you want once you've finished it up and polished the whole thing over a little more.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

I dunno... I always write for fun. But I always hope that someday when (actually, if) I finish it then I can get it published. Mostly I just never finish stuff.

I actually finished two stories and sent them off to publishers in high school... but even I think they suck, looking back over them now.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

He rubbed at his eyes, blinking away the residue of sleep, and squinted at the now greet status light. For a moment he wondered if it had malfunctioned, registering safety despite the hazardous situation beyond. Then he wondered if whatever was wrong had been actually been fixed, and felt a surge of hope. You had to have people to fix things, and that meant he wasn't alone after all. Either way, he knew, he'd have to go through the bulkhead to find out. The idea of going back the way he'd come wasn't something he was willing to contemplate - not when he could go forward. He got to his feet, groaning as stiff joints complained about time spend sleeping on a metal floor. His stomach registered it's own complaint, and he hoped he'd be able to find some food soon. He'd already been one day (more or less) without it, and he wasn't sure how many more he could endure. He was also getting rather thirsty, and in the absence of food would gladly accept something to drink. Anything. Well, almost anything. But if he got desperate enough, who knew?

This time the wheel turned easily in his hands. There was a dull thud as the mechanisms that held the door shut withdrew. He paused, looking once again at the status light to make sure it hadn't changed and was, in fact, still green. When, after a few seconds of observation, the light showed now indications of changing, he took a breath and pulled. The door swung open easily, bathing the corridor in light. It wasn't the flickering, inconsistent blue light that had illuminated the other part of the hallway, but a steady dim red. Emergency lighting, his brain supplied the term before he'd even thought to wonder. Run off of battery power, it automatically cut in whenever the main power was cut. It was also, he recalled, used to indicate a state of emergency. Hence the name, he supposed, and smiled wryly, only to frown a second later. If the emergency lighting was operational on that side of the bulkhead, why hadn't it been operational on this side? The question served to add to his growing apprehension and the suspicion that something was wrong.

His eyes now adjusted to the emergency lighting, he peered through the now open hatchway. There was a short hallway beyond, ending at bulkhead door not unlike the one he'd just opened. Another layer of protection, he surmised, should one section or the other decompress or suffer damage. The hallway was devoid of cylinders, it's slightly rounded walls free of the pipes that clustered along the walls in the previous section. He stepped into the short hallway, mindful not to trip over the raised lip of the bulkhead. Closing the first hatch, he crossed to the second and inspected it's indicator light. It was green, so he opened it. He found himself looking into a darkened, unoccupied room. A lone bank of emergency lights illuminated the room, casting deep shadows. It was barely enough to let him see from wall to wall.

Carefully closing and securing the bulkhead door behind him, he took a few steps into the room. There were three more doors, one on each wall, though they were less robust than the bulkhead he'd just closed. As his mind caught up to what he was seeing, he knew that they would be just as airtight as the bulkhead doors. They were just thinner, meant to keep individual compartments pressurized instead of entire sections. All of the hatches were closed, and since there were no indicator lights he couldn't tell what the situation on the other side was. While mildly frustrating, it was something he could wait to find out. He let his eyes wander across the rest of the room. It wasn't a large room, he thought. At least, that was the feeling he got as he took it in. Come to think o fit, he really had no frame of reference. Still, it didn't come across as being very large. In the center of the room was a workstation in the shape of hollow, open ended square - three banks of consoles facing inward while the third side was left open. In the center, there was a comfortable (and well worn) looking chair. While the chair itself was unoccupied, dim lights flickered and played across it's surface. At least some of the consoles were operational.

Curious, he lowered himself into the chair and gazed blankly at the equipment that surrounded him. There were displays of various sizes, buttons, switches, and a couple of keyboards. There were a few holes of various shapes that looked like they could have things plugged in, though he didn't see anything readily available for that purpose. He had, after a moment's reflection, absolutely no idea what any of it was for. Well, he thought, maybe he did know, and he just hadn't remembered it yet. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the chair and let out one long breath. He pictured the room, the workstation, the consoles, and concentrated on remembering. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could will some knowledge back.

A short time later he opened his eyes and looked around. None of it was any more familiar than it had been before. He made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, and decided to give up that line of inquiry. He couldn't sit around here all day hoping he'd remember something. The renewed complaints from his stomach were making that abundantly clear, as was the increasing dryness of his mouth. Another approach was obviously needed. Looking slowly over the consoles, he selected a button seemingly at random and pushed it. At the very least, maybe it would get somebody's attention. Prompt whoever was in charge to send somebody to figure out who was messing with things they shouldn't be. On the upside, the button made a very encouraging click as it was depressed. On the downside, nothing else seemed to happen. He pushed it again. Still nothing happened. He waited a few seconds, hoping for some sort of delayed response. Pushing the button once more, just to be sure, got exactly the same results. Annoyed, he tried another button, and then a couple more just to be on the safe side. None of it seemed to do anything. He flipped switches, tapped at keypads, glared as menacingly as he could. The screens remained dark, the status lights unchanged. Apparently the random button approach wasn't going to work as well as he'd hoped.

He sat, staring at a blank screen and trying to decide whether or not he should wait a little while longer or try one of the doors. Abruptly, the console he was staring at sprang to life, nearly blinding him. He pressed his eyes shut instinctively, raising a hand to help shield his face from the glare. In the dim red lighting, it's glow was like the harsh light of a supernova. His was still looking away, wondering when the floating spots were going to disappear, when he heard a voice.

"Who...?" It asked, "Oh... you! Thank goodness you made it, and faster than I'd expected. Good. We've got a lot to talk about..."

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

Originally posted by Janus:

Omg, this is BS. BS, MARK!!!!

WTF happens next?! You couldn't write, like maybe ONE MORE PARAGRAPH?!?!!? Would it have been too much, just to do that, Mark? Would your little fingers have fallen off from the -effort-? Jerk.

I kid, of course .

First just let me say this was a nice addition!! My only complaint is that it was too short . Seriously, though, it felt a little like it was more a 'segment' of the previous post rather than a solo progression of the storyline. If you ever decide to go back through the story and edit everything, you might consider combining those two parts into one. The plus side being that they -did- flow very smoothly and beautifully into each other.

I'm starting to feel a connection with the character, now that we're seeing some of his instincts kicking in. What I like is that you've kept him, on a purely emotional level, very androgynous and neutral--if it weren't for you writing, 'he', right now I wouldn't be able to say if it was a man or a woman we were following. While I'm starting to connect with him now in a, 'okay, he's human, I know this,' kind of way, I want to know more about him on a personal level. Now that he's not just a random, blank sheet, I want to know about the character as well as the storyline itself--you've got a great 'pull' to hook the reader into wanting more. Whether it's intentional or not, I think you've done really well with that .

I'm gonna toss in some tiny editing mistakes I noticed, just cuz :
Paragraph 2, 4th sentence: "When, after a few seconds of observation, the light showed now indications of changing"

Paragraph 4, 8th sentence: "Come to think o fit,"

And then these are just a few little critiques that came to my mind. I read it fast the first time, and it looked great. Some of these only popped into my head after the third read... so take from it what you will . It's possible my brain was just looking for things to nitpick at.

6th paragraph, near the end: "None of it seemed to do anything. He flipped switches, tapped at keypads, glared as menacingly as he could. The screens remained dark, the status lights unchanged." I think that might flow a little more smoothly with a ":" instead of the period between glaring as menacingly as he could, and the screens remaining dark... or would that be horrible grammar? I'm not really sure, but it makes sense in my head .

Second to last paragraph: "He pressed his eyes shut instinctively, raising a hand to help shield his face from the glare. In the dim red lighting, it's glow was like the harsh light of a supernova."

Personally, I think I would swap those two sentences around. But that's a teeny little quibble, just something that leaped out at me.

In the last paragraph, I think I would mess with the dialogue a little. It feels ever-so-slightly unnatural, although it's not in a glaring kind of way, and it's still well done. Just that I might switch it from: "Who...?" It asked, "Oh... you! Thank goodness you made it, and faster than I'd expected. Good. We have a lot to talk about..."

To something more like, "Who...?" It asked," Oh, it's you! Thank goodness you made it... faster than I expected, too. Good. We've got a lot to talk about..." or -something- like that. I tried saying your line out loud a few times, and some of the stresses and pulls via the punctuation marks, syntax, etc. felt slightly off.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

I do it just to annoy you, you know.

In all seriousness, though, I'm having a bit of trouble thinking of how to work the next bit. Maybe I can work on it during my lunch breaks during the week...

Also, this is all intended to run together eventually. I'm sure there will be chapters and whatnot when it finally gets organized (and, you know, finished...) but for now it's one story told in small chunks as I come up with them.

Quote
Paragraph 4, 8th sentence: "Come to think o fit,"

Ah, bloody spellchecker being lazy on the job again.

Interesting thing about the sixth paragraph, I actually had a dash where you've recommended a colon. Didn't look quite right, though, so I took it out. And as for the dialogue... well, it didn't really sound right to me, either. But dialogue has always been one of my weak points. I'll have to work on making it sound a bit more organic, as it were.

Posted 3 years ago #
Gumshoe
The Duck

He remained motionless for several seconds, letting his eyes recover from the initial shock. Then, slowly, he lowered his hand and squinted tentatively at the screen. A young woman was looking back at him, eyebrows raised. He lowered his hand a little further and looked her over. Though she was only visible from the shoulders up, he immediately recognized that she was wearing a uniform. A single braid of blond hair emerged from underneath a dark blue beret, just visible from the angle at which she faced the video pickup. More obvious were the rank tabs that adorned the stiff collar of her matching blue tunic. They identified her as a lieutenant. The knowledge came so readily that it surprised him, as accustomed as he'd become to having to grasp for almost every wisp of knowledge. Curiously he noted that her uniform had no name tag, nor any other adornments. He filed that away, but considered that from this view he simply couldn't see them. And there was something else about her, aside from the uniform. She seemed familiar, and when he looked into her faceted green eyes he felt vaguely uneasy.

"I haven't been able to get a read on the damage down there," she continued. "But it can't be too bad if you got here this quickly. Did you run into any problems?"

Well, he thought, That depends on whether or not you call getting spit out of a tube of green slime with an annoying case of amnesia a problem... Personally, he thought it was something he would have been happy to avoid.

"Are you ok?" she asked, frowning. "You're not injured, are you?"

He belatedly realized that he hadn't spoken anything out loud. Well, he wasn't going to get any answers just by staring blankly at her. "Uh," he blinked, trying to force himself out of mental monologue and into real conversation. "Yes," he tried, but the word came out raspy and nearly too soft to hear. He had to clear his throat and try again. "I'm fine," he added. "I just..." He wondered how much he should tell her, and then wondered why it mattered. He still felt uneasy around her, and the thought of telling her he had amnesia - of admitting some sort of shortcoming to her - made him more uneasy still. A sudden complaint from his stomach gave him an excuse. "I haven't had anything to eat yet. It's hard to concentrate."

"Oh, of course." She said, looking as if the possibility hadn't occurred to her. "Don't worry, I'll provide you with food and equipment shortly. But first I need a situation report. What's going on down there?"

Something inside him seemed to come alive. He sat up a little straighter in his chair as his mind wandered through all he'd seen. "Power fluctuations. Emergency power is online in this section, but not in the previous one. And I'm not sure, but there must have been something wrong in this section. The bulkhead door indicated a problem when I first reached it, but the status went back to green."

"Life support didn't register a failure," the lieutenant said softly to herself, gazing at some point off screen. "No signs of a breach, but with as little information as I'm getting from down there..." She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then came to a decision. "We'll equip you with some life support gear, just to be on the safe side. Nothing too bulky, just the basics. You'll have to proceed with caution."

Proceed? he wondered, Proceed where? Not for the first time, he wondered what was going on. He also wondered if he should already know, or if he should ask. She seemed to be awaiting a response so he cleared his throat again. "Yes ma'am." It seemed appropriate, but again there was that uneasy feeling.

She seemed to notice something, then. He could tell by the way her head tilted ever so slightly to one side, and one eyebrow went up just a fraction. "You're still wearing your basic jumpsuit," she noted.

For a moment, he was confused. He'd never seen an opportunity to change into anything else. He briefly wondered if he was supposed to have taken it off for some reason. Come to think of it, he'd never really seen an obvious way of getting out of it. Then he remembered the locker... the one that had been across from the tube that'd spat him out, labeled with the same number. Somehow, admitting he hadn't gotten into that locker seemed just as bad as admitting he had no memories. But she already knew, didn't she? No harm in admitting it now, he thought. And, he suspected, denying it would probably not be a good idea.

"I couldn't get into the locker," he admitted at last. "There was no power to the keypad."

"Oh blast," the lieutenant sighed. "I knew not having somebody there when you came to might be a problem, but I'd hoped you could at least..." she trailed off, once again chewing at her lower lip. "At least your storage unit didn't fail," she muttered. "I might still be able to use you, to some extent." It seemed as if her gaze focussed sharply on him then, more intense even while she seemed not to change her expression at all. "Tell me what you know," she demanded. No... there was something in her tone. It wasn't a demand, it was an order.

He was suddenly very apprehensive, and shifted his weight in the chair. He'd been uneasy before, but now... "I..." he started to speak without his brain issuing any obvious order to do so, and he clamped down on the impulse. He tried weakly to recover. "About what?"

Her eyes narrowed only slightly, but the effect was to somehow transform her demeanor from open and calm to right on the edge of terrifying. "Everything."

There, a little something to keep you from rioting. More coming!

... er, eventually.

Posted 3 years ago #

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MuseMart

MuseMart » The Writing Room

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