Goddard
The Sun is doing that thing it does at the end of the day, where its angle highlights the side of my face, and the burning in my eyes is somehow bearable enough for me not to move.
I take a deep breath.
And then I hear it.
Nothing.
Not the whisper of wind in the trees, not the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore. No chirping or buzzing, or the murmur of voices that lulled me to my nap in the first place.
I open my eyes to a blanket of blue, dark and not at all like the many varied hues of my own sky. This blue looks almost artificial--it’s the plastic color of blue raspberry candy.
I sit up, and then I start to panic.
I am not where I was when I was asleep.
I am lying on the ground. The sun, indifferent to my panic, retains its tranquil light, fading now as it descends.
All around me is blank nothingness. A desert of dull, brown sand and rocks that look as though they’ll break into dust at any second. A few scraggling gray structures jut out from the landscape, like stalagmites.
But that’s not what has my heart racing, my breathing shallow.
I climb to my feet and take a hesitant breath in, wondering whether I have already inhaled poison just by being here.
Here, where twin moons rise in the sky.
Here, the planet of Goddard, recently discovered, and millions of light years away from Earth.
The planet with an unforgiving landscape, teeming with wildlife that grows fangs and spits poison.
The planet whose very air is a slow poison.
The planet that emits strong waves of nuclear radiation, to the detriment of every adventure expedition.
If I am here, without a suit or any kind of protection, I am already dead.
How did I even get here?
“Hello?” I shout, but my voice echoes across the desert, drawing attention to how vulnerable I am out here in the open, how it’s a miracle one of Them hasn’t come across me yet.
I start walking, hoping to find some shelter, a command post. Hoping I can at least tell my family goodbye, however many years too late.
I hope for last words.
Even though the nuclear radiation would kill anyone who steps out here unprotected, most of that first expedition didn’t live long enough to even notice it.
I run my sweaty hands across my jeans, and that’s when I feel it in my back pocket.
I pull out the square, metallic object, and I almost weep with relief. A communicator.
If I can get a signal, ping off one of the satellite towers we’ve installed here, maybe I can get someone to rescue me.
A part of me whispers that it’s already too late, that it takes over two years to complete the journey, that whoever dropped me here probably isn’t interested in picking me up any time soon.
But I have to try. Even if I end up quarantined, dying a slow death due to radiation poisoning, at least I have tried.
I flip the switch and the communicator dings on. Before I can do anything, a voice says, “Hello, Doctor Vesuvius.”
I hold the communicator up to my ear. “Who the Hell is this? How did I get here?”
“I am a representative of the CIA’s new Planetary Defense Task Force. And I am here to tell you that your application has been enthusiastically accepted.” The voice is chipper, generic. It could be any robot in the entire universe.
“What the Hell are you talking about? I never sent an application--”
“The CIA has been monitoring your interplanetary research for quite some time. We believe that you are an excellent candidate for the Defenders Project.”
“What?”
“Your training begins in the next few days, after a...vetting period....”
“Are you insane? The radiation on this planet will kill me! If not, then the Others--”
“Please do not interrupt this--”
“What the Hell is going on? You can’t do this!”
There’s a crackle of static, and a deep, male voice goes over the line. One that is instantly familiar.
“What’s up, Cass?”
“Damien. I thought I told you to fuck off.”
“You cannot stop the inexorable flood of progress, Cass. Nor can you reason with the CIA. Especially when we have tranquilizer darts.”
I remember a tiny prick at the back of my neck when I’d laid out by the pool. I thought it had been a mosquito.
“You...kidnapped me?”
“Kidnapping is a strong word. Especially since, technically, we killed you.”
“What?”
“Aneurysms can happen to anyone, at any time. At least it was quick.”
My hands shake. “You can’t do this.”
“We already have, sweetheart. You’ve been dead for three years.”
“I--” Images of that day flash through my head. Laughter, singing, the celebration of a year well-done. “I had friends, a life.” My mom’s face flashes into my head. “A family.”
“Your funeral was very well attended. You should be pleased.”
I scream.
He’s silent for a moment. Then: “I know you’re upset. But think of the service you’ll be doing to your country. To the entire galaxy.”
“I told you. I’m a scientist. I don’t fuck with war.”
“Your genetic code says differently, Cassandra Vesuvius. You’re one of only ten people who are able to go through what you’re going to go through, and survive. You’re a warrior.”
“I won’t--”
“ So you’re either going to play ball, or I’ll leave you out here to die.”
I laugh harshly. “Too late. The radiation--”
“Is not as lethal as you think. It’s more...transformative.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, that in order for you to qualify for the Defense Task Force, you have to attain certain...qualities. Qualities that can only come as a result of exposure to the type of radiation present on Goddard. Qualities your genes predispose you toward.”
I stop.
Yesterday, or three years ago, I suppose, I had sat in a lecture while someone outlined the principles of genetic mutation, how it had been an evolutionary leaping point that linked one species to another.
“We’ve known about mutation for decades, but what we’re trying to perfect is a way to control that mutation. To have someone develop certain traits or abilities because we manage to alter that genetic code.” Dr. Paulson had said, eyes lighting up with the possibility. He’d been trying to replicate the process for years, trying to create genetically modified organisms with traits never before seen in their species, but all his attempts had failed.
Of course, it had all been speculation when it came to humans. No way anyone was going to let him experiment on people, or even begin to discuss that concept.
At least, that was what I had thought.
“You’re going to turn me into a mutant.”
“We prefer the term ‘enhanced individual.’
I want to crush the communicator in my hands. “How do you know the radiation won’t just kill me?”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t.”
“We regret the risk involved in this experiment. However, you should take solace in the fact that your sacrifice will aid in keeping America safe.”
“Safe from what?”
He ignores this. “If you walk a mile in the direction you’re going, you’ll find sanctuary. A structure with food, water, even defense systems you can employ against any...encroachment.”
“Nice way to put it,” I mutter.
“After a few days, long enough for the full transformative powers of the mutation to take effect, we’ll send an extraction team.”
“You’ll be sending a coroner, and you know it.”
“Don’t be so disagreeable, Cass. It’s unbecoming.”
“I don’t care what it is. You’re going to get me killed.”
“Stop looking at the glass half empty.”
“Ugh.”I smash the end button and take off running, the harsh sound of my breathing the only sound on the entire planet.
The silence still presses, hostile and charged with impending doom, like the air before a thunderstorm, or the sudden silence before a predator strikes. I feel the adrenaline kicking in, hardwired survival instincts in my brain warning me that something is very wrong.
Not like I need it.
I won’t make it to the shelter before they find me.
And once they find you--I’ve seen footage from the first landfall. I know the radiation wasn’t what killed the astronauts.
There’s a whirring, clicking noise, like the sound of a clock being wound up, and I put on a burst of speed, ducking my head instinctively.
My legs scream with the effort, not used to movement after so long in Repose.
And the Other whooshes over my head, a clawed hand narrowly missing my scalp.
I sprint past it as it skids on the ground, and I feel hot breath on my ear before a burst of searing, blinding pain down the side of my face.
I fall to the ground, my shoulder scraping across the dirt. There’s a wetness on my scalp, and it’s dripping into my eyes, but I ignore it, running blindly.
The only thing I can hope to do is run.
I leap over the rocks in my way, veering from side to side in hopes it will throw off their pursuit.
They seem to slow; when I glance behind me, wiping sweat from my eyes, I see only two, their blue scales glinting in the sun, one of them with my blood dripping from its long, black fingernails.
It splays its arm wide, a mockery of a ‘stop’ gesture, and the movement is peculiarly human, sophisticated. It scares me more than anything that has happened.
It takes a single step forward.
I break and run again, my legs protesting with every step. My breath comes out in harsh gasps, and I know I’m not going to make it a mile at this pace.
I reach for one of the rocklike structures, but while it’s hard and sturdy, it is rooted to the ground like a tree. The royal blue sky is a dome encasing me on this brutal planet, and shelter is nowhere in sight.
I won’t give up. Not yet, at least. I am Doctor Cassandra Vesuvius, and nothing has come to me without a fight.
Death will not take me until I am ready.
I pull out the comm and press the call button.
“You rang?” his voice is slow and composed, as always.
“If you don’t help me right now, I’m going to die.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Well,let’s see, I’ve got two of the Others on my tail, and I’m bleeding from the head, so I’d say probably--”
“I don’t see anything behind you.”
“What?” I turn around, expecting to see two seven-foot figures, gaining on me with their odd leaping strides.
I expect to turn into the face of Death.
But there is nothing behind me.
And the planet is dead silent again, as though nothing happened.
I touch my hand to my head, but I feel only sticky, dried blood. There is no deep gash, no cut to indicate where any of the blood came from.
“I--”
“It’s already happening. Excellent.”
“What--where did they go?”
I can hear the grin in his voice. The smug triumph that warned me about him the minute he walked into my freshman lecture hall. “They’ll be back in a little while. And I suspect your encounter will go quite differently.”
“Damien, what the Hell did you do? What is this place?”
“It’s the planet Goddard, as you condescendingly reminded me. It has high levels of radiation and a rather--hostile--native population. You seem to be adjusting quite nicely.”
“I--”
“You’d better get to shelter.”
“Damien, you little--”
Beep. The communicator goes silent.
I smash the ‘call’ button again, but nothing happens. I try to press the other buttons, hoping my signal will ping on a satellite and tell someone on Earth what’s going on, but the communicator is dead.
I don’t see anything behind you.
He’s watching me. Which means he can probably hear me.
“Hey, asshole! I just want you to know that if I survive this, you’re dead.”
The planet remains silent, but I can swear I can hear him laughing.
I walk on, as the twin moons start to glow in the sky
The stars that emerge around them don’t look anything like the ones I’m used to seeing on Earth. I was never much of an astronomer, but something about the setting of the lights in the sky feels fundamentally wrong. It’s like someone walked into my apartment and deliberately moved everything a few inches to the left.
After a few hours, what looks like a clawed hand, reaching upwards for air, juts out of the landscape.
It must be the shelter Damien mentioned. No other object on this planet is half as large.
By the time I get there, the brightness of the moons has increased, lighting my way almost as effectively as if the Sun had been out.
The structure glows the same blue color the sky held before the Sun went down, and I look around cautiously before approaching. The shadows stretching along the ground would be the perfect camouflage for one of the Others.
On the palm, a blue screen glows next to a large metal door. When I approach, a cool, computer -automated voice says, “Welcome, Doctor Vesuvius.” And the door slides open.
A wall of white greets me, and I squint against the harshness of the light. From here, I can tell the whole room sparkles, and I am suddenly conscious of my bloody, dusty appearance when the murmur of voices swirls out of the door like sand carried by the wind.
I scuff my boots as best as I can on the doorway and step inside, trying not to touch anything.
Everything is white. White walls, white floor, white chairs. The chandeliers twinkle and glow, and it all ads a stark contrast to the flashes of blue about the room.
The clawed hands of the Others sip glasses of champagne through delicate mouths.
Their wide, black eyes, awake with a terrifying intelligence, examine me as though I am a specimen laid out on display.
Before I can do anything, the whiteness swells around me like a tidal wave, erasing everything around it, then engulfing me, enveloping me in a cocoon.
I try to scream, but I can’t make a sound, and the whiteness is a fog in my lungs, in my throat. It crowds into my brain.
Just when I think my heart will burst into shreds from the panic, everything goes darkest, deepest black.
And the music begins.
Like the whiteness from before, the music goes into me in waves, swelling around me and pulling me into something haunting and tragic and utterly..beautiful. It goes through my ears and deep into my chest, where it pulls out images like snapshots in a slideshow.
My mother is leaning over me, ten feet tall, and showing me how to put slides on my first microscope.
I am picking a book off the playground where someone has thrown it, after telling me to go play with my dolls, and I am confused and sad, and growing an anger that will stay with me forever, a cancer that encases my heart.
I am leaning in to kiss a boy with curling blonde hair, and I slide my hands into it, an explorer discovering a new planet. We are glowing in the dark.
I am standing in front of a huge crowd as a man with a walrus mustache presses a degree into my hand, and my heart is full of this crazy joy, like it’s afraid to be too happy because this happiness has always come with something that might ruin it.
The feeling builds inside me, mingled wonder and panic, and now my life is moving faster, flashing every moment before me, everything I can remember that made my heart beat faster--ecstasy, grief, despair, pain, envy--all blaring through me, all at once, and I can’t feel anything but my heartbeat, pulsing in my ears.
Then the music stops.
I open my eyes. I face the same room, but the Others are gone. Only the remnants of the party remain--empty champagne glasses, appetizers dropped on the floor or discarded in napkins. The grand piano in the corner has the stool pushed out from behind it, as though whoever was playing only stepped out a moment ago.
The world is cast in shades of blue, like a tint has gone over my vision. I blink to clear it, but the tint remains.
I bring my hands up to my face and wipe at it, but nothing occurs. I succeed only in scraping my nails across my skin.
“You’re not seeing things,” a voice says, smug and satisfied.
“Damien.” I whirl in a circle, but I can’t see him. “Where are you?”
“Congratulations. You survived your journey through the wilderness. Your forty days, as it were.”
“What are you talking about?” I’m breathing fast, from the adrenaline and the emotions that coursed through me only a moment ago, and I sway on my feet, looking at him.
“You seem to have adjusted perfectly, exactly as we hoped.”
“Damien--”
“I know, I’m being annoying.” He flashes that grin again. “But honestly, Cass, what would you expect? I’m making history. I’m bound to be a little giddy.”
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE.” I rush toward him, not knowing what I’m going to do, an anger rising up inside me like I’ve never felt before. I’m a volcano about to explode. I open my mouth, and a hiss comes out.
I close it quickly, but it’s too late. His hand reaches for mine and pulls it up to my face.
“Look.”
My skin is blue, scaly, reflective. My nails, dark black and long, long enough to gash someone’s head in.
“What--” I can hear a new tone in my voice, a growl, a rumble in my chest that is nothing like how I used to sound.
I want to cry, but no tears fall from my eyes. I close my hands and feel my nails bite into my palms, drawing blood.
Dark blue blood.
He reaches in his back pocket and holds up a mirror. “You are the first full success. Look. You are a masterpiece.”
My eyes are black, and there is nothing human in them. I am looking into the face of a monster. I am looking into my face.
“Oh God, oh God.”
“Oh, Dr. Vesuvius. You well know God has nothing to do with the miracles of the universe.”
I grab the mirror and smash it on the floor, and Damien jumps back, surprise flashing across his features.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?”
The surprise changes to anger in an instant, and I shrink back from him, as he brushes his hands across his immaculate suit, dusting off the mirror fragments.
One has pierced his lip, and he licks it away.
I stare at the red smear, envious.
“You will serve your country. Proudly. The way you have always wanted.”
“NO.” I reach for his face with my clawed hand, wanting to rip, tear, shred. Wanting him to feel a fraction of the horror coursing through my.
I stumble and fall, my hand catching on nothing, only empty air.
“I thought you might say that.” Damien says, everywhere and nowhere. “But you will change your mind, with time.”
“NO.” I sink to my knees, willing the tears to come, but there is only the rage, eating me alive. “No.” I say into my scaled hands. “I am not a monster.”
I am not a monster. I am not a monster.
“You are not.” He agrees. “But you will be.”
I feel that rage, coiled like a sleeping dragon. Waiting for an opportunity. Hungry.
And I know he is right.
Tags: fiction, space, science fiction, aliens, goddard, monsters, writing, writing sample,
You are here.
The end of the world happens when you leave. It's your own tiny apocalypse, a cataclysm from which you cannot return, a ripping that tears through the center of the Earth, a gulf too wide for you to ever go back. The you that existed in that place is not the same as the you who is leaving, who will not be the same as the you who is arriving at wherever you're going, the you who lives there, the you who moves on again--
Never is life's constant state of evolution more apparent than when it leaps forward, when you let voices tumble to dust, let your past slip through your fingers, feel that surge of grief as the waves of time wash your experiences out to see, leaving the shore as empty as if you'd never been there. You wish to hold on, want to stay, try to touch his face one last time, one more kiss, one more time to see him laugh. You don't want to hurt him, or hurt you. You want to stay here and safe and steady. You don't want to change.
But you have to leave, you have to end the world, watch your empires tumble to the ground, because stationary is a sickness, because stagnant stands in front of you, the ultimate adversary, the monotony of routine, the fear that one day you will be so rooted to the ground that you are an unchanging feature of the landscape, impossible to shift. One who withstands everything and experiences nothing as a result.
So you say goodbye, hugs and kisses and rearview mirrors, letters you promised him to open once you were already gone, a cell phone thrown out the window into the river that rushes below the bridge, because you are no longer the girl who was here, you are new and better, born again on the open road, the wind whistling in your ears and another poem curling at the edges of your mind, the wreckage you caused and the path you forged, all a memory, welcome to fade with the passage of time, you are alive again, and you drive.
And you are here.
You are here.
The end of the world happens when you leave. It's your own tiny apocalypse, a cataclysm from which you cannot return, a ripping that tears through the center of the Earth, a gulf too wide for you to ever go back. The you that existed in that place is not the same as the you who is leaving, who will not be the same as the you who is arriving at wherever you're going, the you who lives there, the you who moves on again--
Never is life's constant state of evolution more apparent than when it leaps forward, when you let voices tumble to dust, let your past slip through your fingers, feel that surge of grief as the waves of time wash your experiences out to see, leaving the shore as empty as if you'd never been there. You wish to hold on, want to stay, try to touch his face one last time, one more kiss, one more time to see him laugh. You don't want to hurt him, or hurt you. You want to stay here and safe and steady. You don't want to change.
But you have to leave, you have to end the world, watch your empires tumble to the ground, because stationary is a sickness, because stagnant stands in front of you, the ultimate adversary, the monotony of routine, the fear that one day you will be so rooted to the ground that you are an unchanging feature of the landscape, impossible to shift. One who withstands everything and experiences nothing as a result.
So you say goodbye, hugs and kisses and rearview mirrors, letters you promised him to open once you were already gone, a cell phone thrown out the window into the river that rushes below the bridge, because you are no longer the girl who was here, you are new and different, born again on the open road, the wind whistling in your ears and a new poem curling at the edges of your mind, the wreckage you caused and the path you forged, all a memory, welcome to fade with the passage of time, you are alive again, and you drive.
And you are here.