posted on Nov, 23 2009 @ 03:58 PM
Part One: A remarkable presence
My name is Alan Donald Arnold Manning. I was born on the very ship to which I was bound to in the multi-dimensional wasteland of the universe for the
duration of my life- until now of course. Twenty four years ago, in the room wherein I slept and woke, the event of my birth took place. Adults came
and went with time, barely getting to know us, so I never knew what it was to be unconditionally loved; although, as our growing lives lacked that
which we did so painfully crave, my friends and I grew closer than any family- or so I thought.
It is, as I believe I have mentioned, about a week back, maybe two, where my story must begin.
Five of us were seated in the cafeteria, surrounded by tables, the surfaces of which were caked in an odious mixture of soap and grease that had
congealed with time, and we were devouring the bland remnants of old meals; all of which had been consumed by us and the rest of the population three
times prior. I, as usual, found myself sitting between two childhood friends: Lubin Hayes, the tallest of us, his broad shoulders helping to
distinguish him from any other crew member, as did his unusually high check bones and always dewy eyes; and Martin Fitzgerald, not a vertical
behemoth, but exceptionally wide and well rounded, with the darkest skin I have ever seen. Jonathan Quinn had also resumed his usual position next to
a fixation of mine, Evelyn Applegate, and he sat hunched over his food, his retracted shoulders were as close to his neck as possible and his stringy
silver hair soaked into the more liquid parts of the meal before him. Eve on the other hand couldn’t have looked more graceful; her flaming red hair
caught the emanations from every light in the room and shimmered like a blood-red sun, the freckles on her cheeks reflected the beauty of the ruby
encrusted strands of inescapable seduction and revolved around the two blue eyes, each fragmented with yellow and red streaks and surrounded by
centimetre long red eyelashes, like a psychedelic pattern, dowsing me in steaming ice and soft lunar rays.
“It’s been a while since we got out of this place, eh Alan?” My concentration couldn’t have been further away from the happenings of this
particular mealtime as my attentions clung to Eve harder than the unsightly globular substance held onto the surface of the table around which we were
“Oh, no- yes, I think it’s about time we, uh, we found somewhere to visit.” Martin asked me if I was alright and I just laughed and adjusted my
self a bit before continuing to eat.
“You know,” began Martin, “if we are successful one day, we will be responsible for the continuation of our species.” His voice literally
shook with optimism.
“Martin, Martin if nine generations couldn’t do it, what makes you think we will?” asked Lubin, apparently bored with his food and the serenity
of the conversation.
“It has to happen some time, doesn’t it?” Martin replied, the optimism fast turning to excitement.
“Not necessarily,” I began, “there might not be a place in existence that could support us through means of terraforming. Also it wouldn’t
take long for us to adapt to that environment, after a few generations we’d probably become a totally different species. And I’ll bet you anything
that if we do find somewhere, it’ll already be inhabited. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy wiping out a planet’s worth of life.” My
comment wasn’t agreed with as I had hoped and I decided to keep quiet for the time being.
“Well, I personally believe that we have the right to continue on living. Alan I couldn’t care less about anything else.”
“Edgar, you’ve been on edge since you went colour blind. However I do agree with you.” Said Lubin. I shook my head and, out of frustration,
stabbed the gelatinous mass in my bowl with the fork. I couldn’t win this, I was the only one at the table with my thoughts and that was that.
Little did I know at that point how right Martin was to be so excited about being the first to find that which our species craved.
I can remember it well, the seven of us surrounded a television screen and stared as the ship approached a distant sphere. I can’t describe it, but
somehow we all shared the same feeling: that this may be IT. The orb hovered there, almost calling to us, luring us to it’s menacing potential. As
always a select few individuals would study the externality of the suspended sphere, and another would have to physically examine it; that would be
the seven of us.
From the outset the place looked as baron and uninteresting as anywhere else we had visited; but once we had passed that chalky brown smog in our
little craft, we abandoned any preconceptions that we had of what waited for us. The seven of us, I especially, marvelled at the colourful terrain;
though we may as well have been colour blind like Edgar as these tones were unknown to us. I feared Martin had gone insane at the mere sight of these
colours (I use the word ‘colour’ sparingly: I don’t feel I have the right to name something I know not a name for) as his eyes darted from one
point to the next, and they bulged so wide I couldn’t tell whether they were in his head or out.
“Look at the colours…” he breathed, “What are they?”
“Martin, it might be best if you dont stare at them like that.” Jonathan said, his voice firm with concern, “Things like that have been known to
send people mad, or physically debilitate them somehow.” Edgar shook his head, several frowns traversing the plane of his ageing brow as he did
“Like how?” he asked Jonathan.
“Well, he might go colour blind. I mean our eyes aren’t used to picking up what’s out there, and to put our eyes through such a strain might
permanently damage them.”
“It doesn’t bother me, I can’t see these ‘colours’ you speak of anyway.” The conversation died and we all stared at the television screen,
taking in the wondrous sights outside.