Whispers of Mars [Chapter 16]

Cecil suited up again to head out across the dusty slopes of the crater. The art of pulling the tight underclothing over one’s body was a series of practiced movements for many of the crew. After a night of restless sleep, broken up by vague and cryptic dreams and followed by a breakfast of reconstituted eggs, Cecil felt strong enough to go through the process himself. He had just pulled the exterior suit off the hook when he heard the voice.

“You’re here early.”

Cecil glanced back at the dark man who had entered into the suit storage with him. “Thank you for taking care of me. Hopefully I haven’t pulled you away from anything important.”

“You can always count on me, Cecil.” The man said. Cecil turned back once more and tried to examine him, blinking his eyes fruitlessly. “I should be used to this by now. It’s Markus.”

Markus was the black man with the southern accent and the gruff reactions, the one who had accompanied him and Agrippa down on the original expedition. “I’m… sorry,” Cecil muttered, shifting his focus away.

The dark man shook his head. “You do you. I can’t blame you for that. I’m actually glad you’re early. More time to get back and have the rover charging back up while there’s still sun.”

Cecil shook the worry from his head and began stepping into the legs of the environmental suit. The zipper slid effortlessly up the front and was sealed up with a thick layer of Velcro on an exterior flap. Finally, the ends of the neck brace snapped together in a perfect ring. By the time he was done, Markus was not far off from completing the same task.

The dark man also took down a helmet before Cecil could, and waved after him. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

The airlock was next. Markus waved to another technician who double-checked the sensors nearby. The dark man affixed his own helmet and examined Cecil as he did his own. The first set of doors sealed beyond them.

Markus leaned forward and tugged at the collar of Cecil’s suit and jostled the seal around his neck. Cecil caught a flash of his smiling teeth beyond the reflective surface of the visor. The dark man pulled at his arm next, initiating the radio system inside the helmet.

“Do you copy now, Cecil?”

“Yeah— yes.” He nodded clumsily through the stiff suit.

Markus turned back and flashed a thumbs-up to the technician outside the lock. The cycle completed effortlessly, allowing them to the outside. The sand on the ground that had been deposited by the storm was yet to be blown elsewhere, or cleaned away purposefully by the workers. Their feet pressed into the loose material as they approached the vehicle shelter.

“I’ll be in good spirits once we have that power generation system down there,” Markus commented without warning.

Cecil jumped into the side seat of the rover as Markus started the engine and tapped in a rough set of coordinates to the guidance system. “I… can imagine it will do us a lot of good.”

“You don’t know the beginning of it,” Markus boasted as he began to urge the vehicle forward and up the incline. “The solar array has lost a good deal of its efficiency. I don’t know how much longer they would have been viable. With the geothermal— possibly even pumping that water about to serve as a battery— we can expand a whole lot. If we were to get hit by any more big sandstorms like we just had without the extra power, we may be in trouble.”

Cecil nodded. “There isn’t a sandstorm season here, is there?” he attempted to joke.

“Shucks, I dunno. Remember, I’ve been here as long as you. If there were such a season, Agrippa would be the one to know about it.”

Cecil huffed, loud enough to be picked on over the radio.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Cecil paused. “If there is anything I could do, it’s to keep away from him.”

Markus shook his head the best he could under the helmet. “Come to think of it, this is the first time I’ve seen you without him sticking at your side. It’s no surprise he was getting on your nerves. But I know he means well.”

“Let him put that energy into his work.”

“Cecil…” Markus spoke up, then paused, finding the words. “I don’t know if it was clear to you, but Agrippa… seems to blame himself for the accident down there.”

Cecil looked down at his feet. “Still calling it… an accident.”

“Whatever it was, Agrippa was in charge that day. He blames himself for allowing you to wander off and get yourself hurt.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Maybe if I wasn’t being a smart-ass, he would have been less distracted, hah,” the driver joked. “Listen, I don’t know why he decided to lean into you, but I know he meant well.”

Cecil went quiet. He found peace in watching the crags pass by and the rim of the crater seem to loom over them as they ascended the slope. The navigation panel of the rover blinked as they approached the destination. Markus fiddled with the controls and darkened the sensor screen as the meager structure above the cave system came into view.

“Here we are, Secundus. Though, you’ve seen it before, haven’t you? Maybe you’ll see me again when you guys next need your loads of supplies.”

“Maybe,” Cecil hummed, preparing for the rover to stop.

“One last thing,” Markus said, creeping to a halt. “At risk of sounding like the old man… keep a hold of yourself.”

After disrobing and storing the environment suit at the top level, Cecil descended, listening for the sounds of anyone else. The lights were illuminated the way he remembered, and any sound he made was soaked up by the dense, hardened foam deposited in irregular layers. “Martinez?” Cecil called out. His voice disappeared into the tunnel systems which led into darkness.

Cecil glared at the pool just beyond the platform and its ladders. The glassy sheen was there as always, reflecting the lights above. Also in its reflection was his form, dressed in the tight underclothing remaining on him. He couldn’t tell if it were the distortion of reflection, but his body seemed to be more fine and bony than he remembered.

“Cecil?”

The hair stood on his neck. He jerked his head up and looked for the source of the voice. One inhabitant of the tunnels was making his way through the main chamber, passing from one area to another.

“You’re back.”

Cecil nodded. “I was able to make the arrangements.”

The man nodded slowly, eyes seeming to judge him. “And the old guy from geo?”

Cecil shook his head. “He didn’t need to come this time.”

“Ah… At least Martinez will be happy to see you back. You should check in with him,” the man said, jutting his head in the direction of the deeper tunnel.

The tubes for transporting the Oxy Foam still ran down the path, silent and still on their hooks that hung them above the pathway. Bits of old component had dried within them, weighing down the sections and causing them to sag in their long, corrugated sections.

There was a mumbling and huffing of workers deeper inside. The additional work lights made the tunnels glow in a blinding paleness. Some sections of the wall had been outfitted with pipes and valves and dials and mounting plates to hold them down and parallel to one another.

Cecil eventually reached the congregation of workers, about six men. The section in which they were working was surrounded by bare rock, seeming to be roughly carved out of the side of the tunnel. The work was at a pause, and his arrival there was immediately apparent to all of them.

“Ruiz—“ The division lead spoke up to him first. “Strangely good timing.” Martinez separated himself from the group, glancing back at the others. “Give us five minutes.”

Cecil studied the Argentinean man’s face. “I’m reporting for duty, sir.”

“Walk with me,” Martinez took Cecil by the shoulder and turned him back to begin down the tunnel. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Agrippa is somewhere?”

Cecil shook his head. “No. He had… other duties. He isn’t needed here, anyways.”

“Yes, that’s right. You’re a capable person, Ruiz. No sense in having someone to babysit you. That Tulia woman got a message to me through command, though. She said they wanted me to keep an eye on you. Obviously, I can’t do that, viste. But I know you will stick to your work, yes?”

Cecil stopped in place, just before entering the main chamber. “I want to put my all into it. But…”

Martinez rolled his head. “But, it seems you made no progress on it before. You were taken away from it for a long time— maybe you forgot?”

“Forgot…” Cecil repeated.

Martinez stepped out in front of Cecil. “Its completion has been your duty alone from the beginning. But I am not afraid to pass it off to someone else. I need progress on it, viste. Else… we’re close to hitting a bottleneck on our work. I’m sure you understand where we stand energy-wise?”

“Yes…”

Martinez patted Cecil heavily on the shoulder. “The necessary tools are all up that way, same as you left them. And maybe change into the proper uniform. Systems would be upset if you ruined the underdressings. Look around some of the bigger crates, we likely have one your size.”

“Understood.”

The man from earlier made his way their direction, nodding to Martinez. “Kobe, all set?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Ruiz, I wish you luck.”

After changing and carefully hanging up the under-clothes in the corner with the others, Cecil planted himself before the gearbox. It was draped in a stained work cloth, but its form was clear. Cecil felt his hands across the rough material and caressed the edges of the machine below. Finding the hem of the material, he pulled the covering away, revealing the still unfinished mechanism with the removed housing panels left in the same place Cecil had set them before.

In the cold, polished metal of the housing, he could see his own blurry reflection, gnarled by the swirling of the polished finish under the pale string lights ahead. Cecil closed his eyes.

He remembered the aftermath of the injury, the one suffered way back when he was just a child. His father had been drinking that night. His mother was complaining about that fact. Cecil was never able to escape back then, stuck in the cramped little apartment that only had enough room for the three of them to squeeze into. The voices got heated that night, much like many other nights, but the brown, foamy bottles ran low quicker than normal. The last of which ended up making contact with the back of Cecil’s head.

Cecil stayed conscious, feeling the throbbing and cold blood at the back of his head. The clinic doctor’s face was blurry, but Cecil could only focus on the pain at the back of his head. Then came the piercing strain of the stitches pulling at the edges of his scalp.

His father didn’t yell anymore that night. The next day, his classmates asked about the bandages around his head openly. The teacher asked about them in private. Cecil hadn’t been able to answer, as the faceless woman stared him down, hoping to seek out the answer that wouldn’t come.

Late at night when his father came home — face equally distorted— Cecil wouldn’t… or couldn’t… answer when asked about his day at school. Over the next few days the same pattern of question and answer played out, his father growing more upset each time, more distorted and distant each time. Eventually, his father stopped asking, then stopped coming home altogether. Just like Cecil, his mother was also void of answers.

His mother’s face was never as blurry, distorted as anyone else’s, even when she began to come home in the evening after working late into the evenings.

Cecil remembered suddenly his mother’s face. She had olive skin, dark hair with a slight wave, brown eyes, thin lips, crooked and ground-down teeth, and an old straight scar beside her left eye. It was not far from his own visage he caught in certain reflections.

Cecil had been in the same spot for so long that the foam underneath him had been matted slightly. He held the reflective piece of detached housing in his hands, the image of himself still shining back at him. He heard the voices, loud at first, then quieting as they came within sight range.

He hasn’t touched it.

If he doesn’t get on that, I’ll work on it myself.

Let him take his time.

Is he alright?

I’m too tired to worry about it.

What has he been doing here all this time?

Cecil glanced back and met eyes with the others. Their mouths were shut, nodding at him as they passed.

Martinez waddled his way. “Ruiz, let’s call it a day. Tomorrow we’ll have a huddle before we get to work. Maybe switch around the task list a bit. Come and pick out a ration before all the good ones get snatched up.”

The others joked openly about the food. “Why not just open all the crates? Nobody likes the vomlet anyways.”

Martinez returned back among the others. “Gotta finish one before opening the others, that’s regulation, viste. No waste. Ro-Sham-Bo for it again.”

<– Previous Chapter | Next Chapter –>

Whispers of Mars [Chapter 14]

The rover Agrippa had parked at the surface entrance of Secundus two days previous was in the same place, but the shifting sands from the storm had rendered the area different enough for Cecil to notice. The fine red-orange powder had gathered up along one side of the outpost, on the side that faced the rim of the crater. The seats and frame and instruments of the vehicle had been covered in a dusting as well, but luckily the rigorous design made them impervious to such elements.

Agrippa wiped down the driver seat and dials while Cecil looked on, tracing the old ridge of the crater hanging above them. The older man settled into the seat and spoke up over the radio while Cecil found his way to the seat.

“By planetary standards, the Altum Crater here is quite young. It, and the rest of the landscape around here, is still being shaped constantly by the winds and other erosive forces. The simulation I’ve been running will likely show us what this part of the land may have looked like before the decades, centuries even, of storms. There is evidence that a big enough meteor strike can deform the land that it causes a surge in volcanic activity in the area.”

Cecil climbed into the back seat of the rover, shifting the sand underneath his feet. He held his arms taught to the handrails, nodding his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling again,” Agrippa said, engaging the starter. The engines hummed and took to life, allowing them forward.

The ride down into the deeper stretches of the crater was easier than the way up. The main sections of the station were built slightly up on the side of the crater where there remained an old shelf of stable, hearty stone.

In total there were five permanent structures; the command center, the crew quarters and storage, the cafeteria and growing area, the power and engineering bay, and the processing outbuilding. All were connected with each other by the long flexible catwalks and various conduits and ducts. The shine of the old photovoltaic cells caught Cecil’s eye as they descended within visual range of the area. The systems workers were out in pairs, wiping the sand deposits off the panels.

If the sandstorm had gone on much longer, he imagined, the batteries would have dwindled down to emergency power levels, when the biogenerators were needed to run. It had happened only one time in the months he had been there— the sound and vibration from them were obnoxious, and the recycling of their fumes turned the air a certain unplaceable yet intrusive smell, despite all attempts to filter out the undesirable particulates.

If it weren’t for the generators running at times like those, though, it would be the batteries losing their effectiveness for each hour that they drew power below a certain level of their capacity. Something like that meant eventually more would have to be sent their way, to the tune of somewhere between one-hundred-thousand and several million dollars.

Agrippa parked the rover under the shelter and waived at Cecil to pay attention. The airlock on the processing outbuilding was one of two active on the station, the other being at the rear of the engineering bay. Stepping inside of the chamber, a glassed-in area big enough for five people, they were exposed to the jets of air to clear any stray sand off them, followed by repressurization, allowing them to remove their helmets.

Agrippa’s eyes were locked on Cecil as he removed his visor, a slight look of distaste in his eyes. “You weren’t just choosing not to listen to me, I assume?”

Cecil looked at the ground and shook his head. “I… disabled the comms on the way here. The radio hum was… too much for me.”

“I hope that is the only case,” Agrippa nodded, glancing back as the main door opened for them.

Cecil held tight to the edge of the helmet. He noticed the black man, one wearing the tan systems uniform, walking towards them. “Taking it easy?” he recognized the voice as Markus’.

Agrippa worked at the flaps at the front of the environment suit, digging to find the zipper and its teeth underneath. “We’re… making progress. Isn’t that right, Cecil?”

Cecil gazed at his feet. “If you say so.”

Markus tapped the edges of his fists together. “Nothing worth doing is done easily. I’ll help you get these suits stowed.”

The older man undressed first, leaving him standing in the tight suit that was worn underneath. Cecil undressed more slowly, the weight of the material on his shoulders more than he expected. The action was practiced from tasks in the past that had taken him to the exterior of the station before. The specific jobs undertaken, though, were absent in his mind.

Agrippa helped him to step out of the suit after it had made its way down to his shins. “Cecil, you should go get changed. Maybe get a shower in.”

Markus spoke from the storage room where the suits were hung. “Still hot down there in the tunnels?”

“Certainly more than here, even with the foam they’ve sprayed down there. It isn’t unmanageable, though,” Agrippa answered. Cecil noticed him wiping his brow with the back of his hand, the skin shiny with sweat. Cecil confirmed that his own scalp had perspired, despite the sensation of heat not being something he could recall.

“I’ll go and take that shower, I guess,” Cecil murmured.

“I need to see you after, as well. You know where my quarters are? End of the command block, by the catwalk.”

“I know,” Cecil spoke curtly, setting off for the neighboring unit of the station.

The cold water chilled Cecil to the bone. He glanced at the knob to turn it hot, but his hands told him no. The shampoo was fine and slick between his hands. He scrubbed at his face and scalp to bring feeling back to it. The suds washed down his back and dribbled on the floor to be soaked down the drain. By the time the water shut off, Cecil’s skin was covered in goosebumps.

He desired to hear the voice again, the words that were distant and yet so familiar. The cold water of the shower wasn’t enough to bring back the feeling of the words in his ears, in his brain. It was only down there he was able to clearly hear them, besides the pool. He had heard it back then as well, during his first contact with it. The final drops fell loudly from the head of the shower, splashing in the remaining water on the floor as it drained away.

Cecil was dressed properly in the coveralls when he arrived before Agrippa’s door. The cold still clung to him beneath the clothes, but he held his teeth to stop them from rattling. He tempted a knock on the door, the one with the older man’s name tag.

“Cecil, you’re here.” The voice was from behind him. “Good, fast as usual. I guess a quick shower is to be expected from someone with your background, though, huh?”

Agrippa made his way down the hall, and behind him the spindly woman.

“Go ahead inside. Tulia… and I… wish to follow up on your previous evaluation.”

Cecil looked away, his face nearly against the wall. Agrippa leaned past him and tugged on the handle to the private room.

The room illuminated automatically. Inside was a single bed with boxes for storage underneath, a computer terminal on a desk with a chair, and a small rack and shelf for clothes and spare boots. Agrippa leaned in close behind his back as if urging him to enter.

Cecil took a seat on the bed, made nicely but not perfectly. Tulia squeezed in last, and Agrippa closed the door with a click. “Mr. Ruiz, I hope I find you well, especially after enjoying some breathing room. Tell me about the things you’ve experienced. Down in Secundus, specifically.”

The hair stood on Cecil’s neck. “It’s… quiet down there. It’s preferable to this place.”

Agrippa pulled the stool out from under the desk and sat, knees nearly against Cecil’s. “Despite his continued challenges with his memory, especially regarding the machinery assigned to him and his expertise, I can attest that there is a certain calmness about him. But, as I said, there’s more to that. Cecil, let us in on the things you’re not telling us. There is no need to be wary of us or our questions.”

Tulia clicked her tongue. “If I had to guess, it is a result of his prosopagnosia. To trust, he requires a familiarity, but such a thing is not so easily formed in his case.”

Agrippa nodded, eyes traveling back to Cecil. “I see. Do you trust me, Cecil?’

Cecil’s hands grasped the blankets, disturbing their neat tuck along the edge of the mattress. “I don’t know!” he growled suddenly, his voice echoing about the cramped room.

Tulia leaned back and folded her arms. “Trust in our power to help you, then.”

Cecil placed his face in his hand, fingernails dragging across his hairline. “If I could…”

“You would,” Agrippa finished.

Tulia nodded her head thoughtfully. “Let us ask you some simple questions, then. Cecil, Agrippa spoke to me about your lack of sleep. Perhaps it has been sleepwalking, likely restlessness. You find yourself beside the reservoir of water down there. If my original diagnosis of PTSD were correct, I would believe your desire to approach the original source of the trauma would be… uncharacteristic.”

“It’s called to you… before,” Agrippa added.

Cecil’s neck tensed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The older man shook his head. “It took a hold of you, captivated you. Isn’t that what happened? Markus was there, he can explain the same strange reaction we saw out of you that day. You went to it, as if… in a trance. You weren’t thinking straight, else the thought of removing your helmet never would have come to you.”

Cecil’s lips twitched. “I can’t explain it.”

Agrippa leaned on his knees. “Would it be… something you hear, rather? Something… in your mind, calling out to you?”

Cecil shot up, catching the older man’s narrow glare in his direction. “What—“

“A hallucination, perhaps?” Tulia asked.

“You told me that you weren’t spiritual, Cecil. But the sound of your voice, sucked up into the cracks of the foam, its hard to ignore that. Who— or what— are you speaking to? What do you imagine when you speak those words, late at night when you believe that it’s only you?”

Cecil shook his head. “Nothing that would make sense to you.”

“Help us make sense of it,” Agrippa said sternly.

Tulia held an arm against the older man’s chest. “Hold it, Agrippa. Ruiz, sleeplessness for long periods of time is prone to cause hallucinations like you seem to be experiencing. What about before the expedition, before the accident? How were you sleeping then?”

Cecil folded his arms and shook his head. “This… is real.”

“The danger of hallucinations and the like is that they do seem real.” The spindly woman spoke slowly.

“I know what I’m hearing!” Cecil battered his knees.

Agrippa sat back. “And what exactly is that? A voice? A sound? Some old music?”

Tulia nodded. “Something that seems to pronounce itself down there better, in the deeper silence?”

Cecil nodded, choosing whether to speak or not. “My… mother. I hear her voice.”

Tulia and Agrippa exchanged glances. “Cecil… from what I heard from Markus, you said to him that… you couldn’t recall anything about your mother. Not her voice, and certainly not her face. What makes you believe now that it is… was her?”

Cecil shook his head.

Tulia huffed slowly. “Ruiz, listen to what I’m about to say. Whether you believe so or not, what is going on may be your… grieving for her. You are now going through the process of coming to terms of her… being passed on.”

Cecil breathed in sharply. “No… no, no.” He hissed, his breath heavy. The air exited his lungs, but would not enter. He felt a weight upon his body, pulling him down. Leaning on his knees, it was as if he had been punched in the gut. Agrippa held onto his arm and back.

Tulia leaned forward and felt at Cecil’s wrist, seeking out his racing pulse. Cecil attempted to breathe in once more, but he was met with blackness instead.

<– Previous Chapter | Next Chapter –>

Whisper of Mars [Chapter 13]

When Cecil awoke, most of the others had already departed for their tasks, including Martinez. Cecil sat up and held his breath, looking around for anyone else. A white, crinkling wrapper shot towards him and landed in his lap with a light tap.

“Breakfast,” Agrippa said, moving about between the cots.

Cecil’s hands found their way to the nutrition bar, unmarked in the simple wrapper. “Thank… you,” he said, finding the seam to tear it open from.

“Did you sleep well?” The older man asked, sitting on the makeshift bed across from Cecil.

“I… did,” he said, taking his teeth to the corner of the packaging.

Agrippa nodded before leaning down on his legs. “Well, we were supposed to be headed out today, but it seems we’re out of luck. I hope you’re fine with that,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“For what reason?” He sunk his teeth into the corner of the chewy substance.

Agrippa rolled his head back. “A storm is brewing, going to travel across here and down about the station. Command is upset with me for not looking ahead far enough at the weather conditions. But… we should be clear tomorrow, able to head back.”

Cecil took another bite of the bar and chewed it slowly, deciding to nod halfway through.

“Did… anything come to you last night? As in, with the machine back there?”

Cecil ceased his chewing. He remembered suddenly the voice, seeming to talk to him, but never answering his words directly. To distract himself, he gazed back up the tunnel where the dull metal of the machine sat, seeming to taunt him.

“If I look at it again… maybe,” he decided on the words.

Agrippa stood and looked down at him. “I understand the pressure you must feel on yourself right now. But your health and well-being is the most important thing. I’m going to go out and see if I can’t make contact over the radio while the storm isn’t so bad.”

Cecil nodded and awaited Agrippa’s exit. After his muted footsteps trailed off over the tense foam ground, there was barely a sound that remained. Somewhere in the distance was the low hiss of the sandstorm brewing somewhere above, or perhaps it was the sound of more foam being deposited on the remaining bare rock walls.

In the upper section of that tunnel was likely a seal or plug, separating the inhabitable and uninhabitable sections of their meager, stuffy sanctum down there. It was the very same tunnel that he, Markus, and Agrippa had descended those several weeks ago.

Down in the opposite direction was the wide chamber where the pool was located. He had heard the voice, not just that previous night, but when the location had first been explored by the three of them. He was then sure that it was after hearing the voice, the sound of it calling his name, was when he had felt and acted on the urge to remove his helmet.

Cecil returned to his surroundings with the remaining half of the nutrition bar crumpled in his fist. He threw it into the empty crate holding the rest of the garbage of old wrappers that was growing in the corner.

The machine spoke to him, if not in a different way. Under the panels and bolts and rivets was a framework holding the mechanism that ran off the rising gas being extruded from the ground. The drive shaft held a multitude of turbine wheels, and each wheel held innumerable blades to catch the movement of the fumes. The gearbox turned that rotary motion into something more powerful, a force to run the electrical generator, as close to indefinitely as the mechanisms would allow. Somewhere deep inside, though, was a key component to said mechanism that was destined to fail.

Once built, though, the gearbox was never meant to be disassembled. Such was the result of the compact but efficient parts built on Earth to strict specifications and tolerances so that their weight would not exceed the safety limit on the unmanned craft that took the million-mile journey to deliver it to them.

The machine was still naked as he had left it the previous day, with no other progress made. Cecil rubbed at his eyes, but the bleariness would not subside. At any other time, Cecil would have been able to tell immediately if there were stray tool markings, or what size socket was meant for any bolt, but the perception that Cecil once held was no longer within his capabilities.

Cecil didn’t know how much time passed staring at the tools, and his lap, and the countless fasteners and bearings and gear teeth protruding from the machine frame. The ache in his head began to eat away at his consciousness once again. Holding his eyes, he stood and went back to land upon the cot once more

When he awoke, there were others around. Before opening his eyes fully, he listened for the sound of the familiar voices. “There can’t be anyone else who can help him?”

“I can put him to work on something else, but who knows if he’s even going to be useful there. I really hope he comes back to his senses sooner than later.”

“His senses? That’s one thing, but I think there are other things going on here.”

“Don’t talk like you know Ruiz better than anyone here,” Martinez huffed, his words trailing off as Agrippa held his tongue in frustration.

The cot beside Cecil creaked a few short moments after. He rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. “Agrippa?”

Agrippa was the man with the shiny forehead and the smile that always found its way back upon his face “Taking a break? Which is fine, of course. Any progress so far?”

Cecil forced himself up, the headache still beating at the back of his head. “You should be able to see.”

Agrippa leaned down on his legs. “Maybe you just need to brute force it,” he seemed to joke, a grin creeping across his face, and disappearing once more. “It’s just my guess, but maybe all this time, you’ve been trying your best to analyze the thing as a whole, while instead you just need to break it down into its simplest bits. Then the part you’re looking to replace should reveal itself, right?”

“It isn’t that easy, Agrippa.”

“Is it not? Do you remember the core sample we took here, Cecil? Or at least, hoped to get when we originally arrived here?”

“Barely…”

“It’s only a small sample out of what is a greater section of the planet’s crust here, but with only that we can learn about the composition of the substrate— the ground— here. Even if this rock here seems so alien to us, it is made up of the same minerals that we have on earth. You mentioned that your machine only goes together one way? So do the minerals that make up the rocks we tread upon, no matter what planet.”

Cecil shook his head. “I… can’t make sense of what you’re saying.”

“The point is, Cecil… well, obviously, I’m just talking out my ass. But staring at something will not cause it to magically figure itself out.”

Cecil hunched his head down and held at the back of his neck. “Not… now. I have a headache.”

Agrippa nodded, slowly at first, then more quickly as he stood. “I’ll get you some water. I’ll see if there are any medical supplies with some pain killer, too. And… don’t worry about Martinez. He can wait. We all can wait.”

Cecil looked up and watched Agrippa’s back as he moved away. “We all… can wait,” he repeated to himself, only his lips moving.

The minutes and hours of the day passed, one after another like waves of pain through Cecil’s head, with no measure of how many had been experienced. The workers returned from the tunnels to eat and turn in for sleep once their energy and motivation had been drained. Agrippa offered Cecil a packet of the food but he rejected it, remaining tied to his bed. The others spoke in low voices while they were near him, and by the time the lights lowered, none of them had come close to him.

It took longer for the others, especially Agrippa, to fall asleep, drifting off to a state of regular breathing. Cecil rolled himself off the cot as quietly as possible and stood. He shuffled off to the main chamber, its lights glinting dimly.

Cecil breathed in the cold air. The metal structure above the ground creaked and crackled with the sandstorm still raging above. Cecil sat, eyes locked to the pool, surface like a mirror.

He waited for minutes, then ten, and before long he had lost track of time,

Cecil

“What… are you—“ his voice was loud at first, then quieted down.

Cecil

I feel you.

“I… feel you too.” He said, cognizant of the incorporeal sensation. It was the tenseness in his back and joints, and the heaviness in his every step. It was a warmth in his core and the coldness that seemed to pull heat away from his extremities. He had felt it, the first time, down there when he had come there with the others.

You feel me.

“I do. What… do I call you?”

You said something.

“I can’t remember.”

Mother

“Your voice… it’s… hers,” Cecil said, tears beginning to find their way into his eyes. He rocked back and forth. “I… couldn’t say goodbye.”

You are here. I feel you.

“I don’t want to let you go.”

There is no letting go.

“How… I don’t understand.”

I need you.

“What do you need? Anything.”

I am suffocating.

“How can I help you? I am… I can’t even help myself. I can’t help the people here. Agrippa… Agrippa said that they can all wait. There are people on Earth. They can’t wait. The Earth is… suffering.”

I am suffering.

“I know!” Cecil spoke up. “I don’t know how to help you.”

Listen

“I am listening.”

It is painful.

“What is painful?”

Cecil

“Cecil?”

“What?”

“Cecil, who are you talking to?”

It was Agrippa’s voice. The sandstorm pelted the structure high above with fine particles, creating a fuzz in the air. The older man came into view down the second tunnel, his head shining in the low light. “Cecil?”

Cecil held his head between his legs. “Nobody.”

“I heard your voice,” the older man said, sauntering forward carefully.

“It’s nothing.”

“There’s… nothing wrong with talking to yourself.”

Cecil continued to look down at the ground between his legs, allowing his eyes to dry. Agrippa spoke up again. “Are you not sleeping because you can’t, or because you don’t want to?”

“I don’t know…”

“When we speak to Tulia, we should determine how to get your sleep schedule back in order. She did recommend a sleep study. The polysomnography test.”

Cecil glanced up and over to Agrippa. “You should sleep,” he said with a slight hint of forcefulness in his voice.

“So that you can have the space to talk to yourself in?”

“You said there was nothing wrong with it.”

Agrippa shrugged. “I did. You said you weren’t spiritual. It can’t hurt though, thinking of your mother, no matter what you believe in. But you shouldn’t be off filling your mind with ‘what ifs’ if you want to properly allow yourself to sleep and rest.”

“I slept already today.” Cecil huffed. “Too much.”

Agrippa nodded quietly. Above them, the force of the storm ebbed and flowed. “I thought this place would be better for you. The quiet, the separation from the others. Maybe it was too much to ask you to get back to work right away. Especially with something so mentally taxing as that generator thing.”

“It needs to get done. Let me stay.”

“It does need to get done. But you also need to get to a place where you’re better. Come on— even if you can’t sleep, I feel more comfortable when you’re able to be seen.”

Cecil forced himself up partway. Agrippa latched onto his arm and pulled him up the rest of the way, straining his arm.

Cecil followed the glow ahead, but the older man paused and looked out across the pool. Cecil’s eyes followed, catching the tiniest of ripples disturbing the usually glassy surface.

“Keep going,” Agrippa spoke up and continued just behind him.

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