FAR SENTINEL
Is anybody there?
It's been ten days since the crew disappeared, and I was left all alone on this ship, hurtling through space. I was never meant to be here. I should have died in my life pod, my body eventually consumed in a star somewhere. But my life was saved by the people now gone, frozen in time.
I'm not awake, it seems. I've been dreaming for a while, and in my dream I've examined the hull around me, probing it for flaws with dream-fingers. Here in this dreamworld, I've found a place where my thoughts seem to go through. Maybe they're being fed into a black hole somewhere out in space, or materializing on a screen, or being spoken in a whisper by another sleeper in another world.
Whichever way, this is a comfort. Even though I know I probably won't remember this dream, I trust it will be a subconscious reminder of hope to my waking self.
The forest I grew up in was a giant one, now lost. Yet somehow, the very solitude of this ship seems to have a sylvan peace to it. Katherine showed me her favorite books in the ship's library, and it was as if she had guided me to a glade known only to her, where sunbeams illuminated a rare plant just coming into bloom.
I moved into the glade, and in the petals of that plant found Shakespeare, Tennyson, long novels nearly forgotten. I sit now on the bed of leaves, and read the flowers around me, and here within my dream, I dream once more. I dream the dreams that Katherine dreamed before she vanished.
Who knows--maybe she still dreams, caught between two moments in time, in a deeper sleep than I will ever know!
My waking self is Phillip Stack, and I am alone, with plenty of company.
Is anybody there?
It's been ten days since the crew disappeared, and I was left all alone on this ship, hurtling through space. I was never meant to be here. I should have died in my life pod, my body eventually consumed in a star somewhere. But my life was saved by the people now gone, frozen in time.
I'm not awake, it seems. I've been dreaming for a while, and in my dream I've examined the hull around me, probing it for flaws with dream-fingers. Here in this dreamworld, I've found a place where my thoughts seem to go through. Maybe they're being fed into a black hole somewhere out in space, or materializing on a screen, or being spoken in a whisper by another sleeper in another world.
Whichever way, this is a comfort. Even though I know I probably won't remember this dream, I trust it will be a subconscious reminder of hope to my waking self.
The forest I grew up in was a giant one, now lost. Yet somehow, the very solitude of this ship seems to have a sylvan peace to it. Katherine showed me her favorite books in the ship's library, and it was as if she had guided me to a glade known only to her, where sunbeams illuminated a rare plant just coming into bloom.
I moved into the glade, and in the petals of that plant found Shakespeare, Tennyson, long novels nearly forgotten. I sit now on the bed of leaves, and read the flowers around me, and here within my dream, I dream once more. I dream the dreams that Katherine dreamed before she vanished.
Who knows--maybe she still dreams, caught between two moments in time, in a deeper sleep than I will ever know!
My waking self is Phillip Stack, and I am alone, with plenty of company.
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