Choronzon

CHORONZON: INTO THE VAST

THE DREAMING HUMAN SUN

- fragment three -

They seem so blissful in their sleep. Their pupils large under barely closed eyelids. Their skin pale, yet healthy looking. A sun of bodies, heads inward, carefully laid out on the huge round control table, on top of charts, maps and diagrams. Their limbs rays. Each with a pen in their left hand. A serene circle of Pytheacon’s crew.

“No video or audio record. All logs are blank,” Shell confirms.

“… coma,” Draco looks up at Harvest and the rest of us after flashing his light into the iris of the last person.

“Coma? Everyone? And no records? Some sort of mass suicide attempt maybe?” Harvest replies, perplexed.

“I’ve seen some studies about the impact of space on behavior nexuses in the brain and the psyche. They might have been… well, overwhelmed, sort of. Overwhelmed by their position and inferiority in this vast place,” Robin suggests.

Some hours ago we reached the drifting Pytheacon to check up on them, due to their lack of response, and to get some parts and tools that might repair the minor damages the Choronzon attained through the wormhole. Since they did not reply and were drifting with no fuel usage, we expected they’d damaged their communications hub. We expected some fault with their fuel cores or engines. We didn’t expect this.

“Lousy attempt for a mass suicide, I can tell you. They’re all sleeping. Each and every one, in deep sleep,” Draco flicks his tiny flashlight on and off repeatedly.

“It’s some kind of ritual,” I say what everyone is really thinking.

“You’ve seen anything like this before, Dusk?” Evelyn glances at me before looking at the table with the human sun again.

“No. Never, but it must be. I mean; the shape, the pens. Everything is carefully planned. This isn’t an after party gone wrong.”

Draco and Shell chuckle. Shell’s over by the many control panels up front in the Pit. She clears her throat, not to be disrespectful.

“I’d agree with Dusk. But there’s nothing to predict anything like this in the crew profiles. None of them were of any strong religious beliefs, nor dabbling with spiritism, occultism or other esoteric practice. No previous injuries, diseases or traumas. They were an Ikaros pioneer crew. No abnormalities, social, physical or mentally what so ever, of course. A ‘pure to the bone’-crew,” Shell looks over at us, shrugging.

“Could it be the worm?” Harvest suggests.

“I doubt it. We haven’t noticed any changes in ourselves. But I wouldn’t rule it out. Might be a good idea to look for signs anyway, for our part, you know,” Draco looks at Harvest and Robin. He raises a sleeping person’s hand and lets it fall lifeless down on the table again.

“Yeah…”

Harvest rubs his unshaven chin.

“The formation… what if they didn’t do…” Evelyn’s cut off as Art and Mira come back with their gear. Evelyn seems lost in thought, but doesn’t speak them.

“Document the scene well, okay?” Harvest steps back to give the photographers some elbow room.

“Spaced…” Mira whispers while snapping shots.

The room fills with flashes and Harvest and Evelyn consult each other and hand out orders for the rest of us.

I adjust the temperature in the section as Draco and Harvest lay the last body down on the white blanket and tuck it in, like a sleeping child. The circle of bodies on the table now a row in our cargo hold. Evelyn is searching a young woman for any signs or clues to explain the strange event. She moves the hair away from the woman’s face after the search, sighing heavily.

“It should be warm enough after a while,” I say, more to myself than the others as I glance at what looks like a tranquil aftermath of a murder scene. Evelyn caresses the woman, stroking her milky white cheek, instinctively protecting the frailness. Draco is talking about examining the patients with Harvest, but I don’t pick up on the words as I stare at Evelyn and the woman. She reaches for the woman’s hand, holds it tight and slips a ring off the woman’s finger and onto her own, not trying to hide it. I just watch, not wanting to stir the situation. Nine sleeping strangers and a woman who I can’t seem to figure out. Is it pity I’m feeling?

“Dusk?”

Hearing my name shakes me out of this frozen state. Harvest looks over his shoulder as he and Draco are heading out of the cargo hold.

“Yeah?”

“The repairs can wait. Get some rest, but make sure you’ve got every part you need from the Pytheacon. Me and Draco will tie it up to Choronzon after we get a bite of food, and haul that bulk home,” Harvest informs and heads after Draco up the corridor.

“Aight,” I give him the thumbs up before he disappears.

“Make sure it’s warm, Dusk. The metal floor is freezing,” Evelyn looks up.

“It’ll take an hour to heat up. It’ll be alright,” I approach her and sit down on my knees.

“Art and Mira seemed bummed out, ‘cus the turn of events. Us going back instead of checking out the cloud,” I just small talk, not sure what to say.

“Mhm,” Evelyn nods. She didn’t hear me.

“Do you think she is dreaming?” she asks softly.

“I don’t know. Depends on what kind of coma it is, I guess,” I answer and touch the young woman’s hand, squeezing it, waiting for a response I know isn’t coming.

Evelyn suddenly turns and embraces me tightly. I’m taken back and hesitate before closing my arms around her.

“Hold me tight. Maybe the nightmares won’t come,” she whispers with a weak voice. Her warm breath on my ear.

We sit there, huddled together among the sleeping crew of the Pytheacon, for several minutes, not saying anything. I am the first to shatter the silence:

“Why did you take the ring?”

Again, the format isn't right, but I hope you like the story so far. Part IV up soon. Stay tuned!