Thread: Sunlight Through Water

The first part of this story was in the Writers Workshop for a little bit, but I want to post the whole thing if I can (a little bit at a time). So this is where it starts.





“It’s not supposed to do that," said Serge.

“Yeah, I know it’s not supposed to do that," said Hank. "If it was supposed to do that do you think I would have called you over here?”

“Well you must have done something wrong then," said Serge.

“Done something wrong? When the light comes on I push the button. I push a god-damned button all day long Serge! What the hell could possibly go wrong?” said Hank.

“Hey, I’m not the one that broke the stupid thing," said Serge. "Why did you call me over here if you were just going to bite my head off?”

“You know what?" said Hank. "I don’t even care! All the time I’ve spent staring at this ridiculous piece of junk, and for what? What’s the damn point? Who knows, but does that stop me? No! I just keep right on doing it!”

Emile could vaguely hear the rattling of the button in the background, but he was caught up in his numbers. He had gotten pretty good at blocking out the sound of Serge’s thick Spanish accent and Hanks whining, although the whining had taken him awhile. Emile was so high up in his count that he was hardly aware of much else. Had he ever made it this far before? It was tough to tell. The feeling was vaguely familiar, but time barely seemed to exist down here. It could have been twenty years ago or last week, not that weeks or years meant anything.

“Hey Emile, I think Hank really broke it. Why don’t you come and check it out?” said Serge.

“It’s a button Serge. I think you two can manage,” said Emile, putting his finger on the monitor so he wouldn’t lose his place. As long as he had been counting down here, you’d think he could have held a conversation without losing his place, but he never seemed to get any better at multi-tasking. Anyway, he wasn’t good with numbers.

“Oh for Christ’s sake Emile, your precious numbers aren’t going anywhere,” said Hank.

Emile sighed and started his ritual for memorizing his place in the count. 4 8 1 4 3 0 8 9 6 2 3 2 0. He repeated the sequence ten times in his mind, visualizing the numbers as best he could before he got up. When he walked over to help, Serge was tapping at the light on the console and Hank was bent double, angrily pressing the button. It was funny to see the two of them fiddling with such a simple machine, and Emile tried not to roll his eyes. All it consisted of was a button and a light on a plain metal console. There was no possible way to fix it if something had gone wrong but Emile figured that he would humor them for a minute.

“So what happened right before it stopped?” said Emile.

“What do you think happened? The light went on and I pushed the button.”

Emile wasn’t about to start taking Hanks abuse, so he stood their quietly waiting for Hank to give him a serious answer. After all, it wasn’t Emile’s fault that Hank had the most mind numbing and pointless job of the three of them. Emile sometimes wondered if Hank acted the way he did because of the button, or if he was assigned the button job precisely because of the way he acted. It probably didn’t matter either way and after a few minutes of silent button pressing Hank spoke up.

“There was a quick succession of four flashes from the light right before it broke. I’ve never seen it do that before,” said Hank. “You guys know how it works. One flash at a time. The timing changes but the number of flashes never does.”

“How many times did you hit the button after that sequence?” said Emile.

“What?”

“Did you hit the button four times after it flashed four times?”
Hank stopped pressing the button and looked at the floor, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“One flash at a time…It never changes,” he muttered.

Emile could hear Hanks voice start to break with emotion, and felt ashamed of himself. Could it really matter this much to Hank that he had messed up? Emile tried to remember the last highest count he had done. He couldn’t remember the number but he remembered how it felt when he lost his place. He tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal but he really did feel horrible. He tried to imagine what he would feel like if his monitor went dead, and quickly shook the thought from his mind. Emile’s pulse quickened and he clenched his fists in anger. It made him furious suddenly realizing how dependent they were to these pointless machines. How something as simple as a light not blinking could nearly bring a man like Hank to tears.

Emile looked at Serge and could tell he was feeling just as awkward about the situation. He had been intensely studying that stupid light for the last five minutes, and Emile could see the relief on his face when the phone on his console rang. Serge half jogged back to his seat and picked up the phone. He carefully wrote down the message from the anonymous caller and slipped the piece of paper into the corresponding feeder slot. He’s just as helpless as Hank and I, thought Emile as he watched Serge’s routine.

Emile was watching Serge finish up when he was suddenly blinded by an intense light from Hank’s console. He yelped in surprise and covered his face to protect his eyes. When the bright spots cleared from his vision, Emile looked around. Almost half the room was bathed in a new and beautiful glow. It was so brilliant that even his plain white, collared shirt seemed to have been dyed by its radiance.

“Jesus Christ,” was all he managed to say.

He heard Hank lift his head and gasp.

“What the hell is it doing?” said Hank. He slowly got to his feet and stood next to Emile, squinting at the light.

“My god…. is that blue?” said Serge as he headed back to Hank’s machine.

Emile had a strange sense of déjà vu when he saw the light first come on. The new color seemed so familiar but he just couldn’t put a name to it. When Serge said blue, though, Emile knew that’s what it was called. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he was certain that blue was its name.

“What’s blue?” said Hank.

“I don’t quite know, but I’m pretty sure you’re looking at it,” said Serge.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Hank. His condescending tone was almost eclipsed by the awe in his voice.

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s right,” said Emile.

“Well, should I push the button?” said Hank.

Emile was about to tell him to hold on, but Hank had already pressed it by the time he finished asking. As soon as Hank released the button the light went out, and all three of them staggered backwards from the shock of losing the brilliant blue glow. But before their eyes could even begin to adjust to the drab white light of the room, a rapid burst of vivid colors flashed from the light. Emile didn’t even have time to shield his eyes. He wouldn’t have tried even if he did have time. Every new color felt like it was touching a forgotten memory in his mind. But not even a memory. The feeling was too fragile to be called a memory. More like the vague reflection of a memory.

The flashes only lasted a few seconds, but to Emile it felt like time had stood still. When the light did stop they stood silent and motionless, their backs pressed against the far wall. The flashes were so bright that when they reflected off of the plain white surfaces of everything in the room it seemed to paint them with color. Now that everything was back to its drab, colorless self, the room seemed paper thin, as if a stiff breeze could blow it all away.

“Okay…. something is obviously very wrong here,” said Serge, breaking the silence. He carefully pushed himself from the wall and walked over to the notepad next to the door. “I think we better fill out an incident report and get someone up here to fix this.”

“NO!”

Emile and Hank both shouted at Serge then turned to each other, as shocked at each others response as Serge had been at theirs.

“What do you mean ‘No’? This is definitely not supposed to be happening. Management gave us the forms precisely for this type of incident.”

“Management? Don’t feed us that crap Serge. Don’t pretend like you know the first thing about what Management wants.” Hank swept his arm around the room. “What’s the plan here Serge?”

“I don’t know what the plan is Hank, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with that,” said Serge, pointing at the light on Hank’s console.

“Maybe it does and maybe it doesn’t,” said Hank. “We don’t know what these machines do or what they’re for. This could absolutely be part of their plan, but I hope to god that it’s not. In all the time we’ve been down here, what have we ever gotten from their plan? And now that something interesting is actually happening you want to throw it away?”

“You don’t actually plan to go along with this do you Emile?” said Serge.

Emile hadn’t left the wall opposite Hank’s console. He was trying to pay attention to them but found himself occasionally sneaking glances at the light. The colors were still fresh in his mind.

“Look Serge, it was probably just a glitch. There’s a good chance it’ll work itself out if we just leave it. I don’t think there’s any need to get Management involved. Besides, Hanks right. I really can’t remember the last time anything different happened down here.”

Serge looked like he was going to protest, but instead he threw up his arms in exasperation and shook his head.

“Fine. You guys can play your little mind game with Management. But if heads roll over this I’m letting them know that I had nothing to do with it, and I’m expecting you to back me up on that.”

Hank grunted, waved him off dismissively, and walked back to his console. Seeing Hank eager about anything was almost as strange and out of place as the lights had been. Serge’s phone had been ringing for a few minutes and he finally picked it up, still muttering under his breath about how ridiculous the whole situation was. When Emile went back to his numbers he tried to concentrate as hard as he could, but he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. It was all he could do not to lose his place, and all the while the colors danced around in his head.

* * * *

The shifts seemed to be taking longer lately. Was management increasing their hours? Emile tried to convince himself that was the reason, but deep down he knew it wasn’t. Before the colors showed up, Emile seemed to skim effortlessly across time. His shifts seemed to pass by almost unnoticed. In fact he never really thought of them as shifts until now. A shift was something to be endured, something to struggle through. He never thought counting his numbers was a struggle, and sometimes he almost enjoyed it. But any shred of enjoyment or pleasure that had once existed was gone now, and the flow of time was becoming painfully obvious.

Hank wasn’t making things any easier. Day after day he would sit silently at his console, completely obsessed with whatever game the light was playing with him. For so long Hanks whining complaints had created the ambient background noise for the room that Emile had learned to tune them out. Now that they were gone, Hanks silence was louder than his whining had ever been.

And what really frustrated Emile was that Serge hardly seemed to notice any change at all. Sure, the light on Hank’s console was back to its normal intensity, and was no longer illuminating half the room, but the strange colors were still there. Didn’t that or Hanks newfound silence bother Serge at all? If it did he didn’t show it. He just went on answering his phone and slipping pointless notes like nothing had happened.

Then Emile lost his place. Things were going fine, so to speak. He was struggling to concentrate on the count and block out all of the new distractions when his mind made an unintentional connection. Sky is blue. He had probably said the word sky a million times down here, and he thought he knew what it meant. Nonetheless, a couple neurons must have crossed in his brain and the new color seemed to fit perfectly with the word. He remembered looking up at the ceiling of their room when the whole place was glowing blue. Then he imagined a massive expanse of brilliant blue, zillions of times larger and higher than the ceiling had been. The idea seemed too ridiculous to even contemplate, but it also felt like it had some fundamental truth behind it. By the time the daydream finished and Emile looked back at the blinking insertion point on his monitor, his mind went blank. He couldn’t even remember the amount of digits there had been in the count.

Emile jumped up from his seat, knocking his chair over, and screamed obscenities at the monitor. He punched the side of his console as hard as he could, denting it slightly, and the pain of it shot up his arm. He turned around panting and saw that Serge had gotten up from his chair and had backed away slightly. Even Hank had pulled his eyes from his light to stare at Emile like he was some kind of madman.

“What’s wrong with you, Emile?” said Serge.

Emile looked at him, but didn’t reply. His mouth was full of bitter disgust and if he had said something he would have only regretted it later. Instead he stormed out of the room and into his bunk down the hall.

After that, Emile could hardly focus on the count at all. Anytime he would start, he would notice the dent in the side of the console and be reminded of how pointless it really was. He found himself wandering over to Hank’s console more and more frequently. Earlier he thought that Hank was obsessed with the light, but watching him now, Emile realized it was deeper than that. Hank was utterly absorbed by it. He would sit motionless for hours studying the flashes of color intensely, only moving to tap the button, or leave with them to go to the cafeteria. It almost seemed like Hank was having a conversation with it. At first Emile tried to talk to Hank about it, but after getting only grunts and murmurs in return he gave up. Sometimes Emile felt himself getting mesmerized by the lights. He was sure it was nothing like what Hank felt, but it made Emile feel strangely excited to think about the hints of memories that the colors conjured for him.

At one point Hank threw up his arms and laughed hysterically, scaring Emile half to death, who was standing right behind him. It was so shockingly out of place that even Serge stopped what he was doing and came over to see what the commotion was.

“I knew you would slip up sooner or later you son of a bitch!” said Hank, pointing at the light triumphantly.

Emile and Serge both threw each other bewildered glances. Hank looked up at them, grinning wildly, as if they knew exactly what he had discovered. When he realized that they had no clue, he waved at them dismissively and returned to his usual motionless position and deadpan expression.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell us what that little performance was about?” said Serge. He waited but Hank showed no sign of acknowledgment.

“Hank…?” Nothing.

“What the hell happened Emile, or are you going to give me the silent treatment as well?”

“I have no idea. He was just sitting there, like he is now. I was watching the lights and I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, just the same random flashes of color.”

“Well I guess we can safely assume that Hank has lost it. Case closed.” Serge walked back to his console shaking his head and muttering under his breath.



more coming folks

I thought u did a great job with this piece, I loved how you explained everything just enough to know what was going on. But keep it all a sort of mystery as well to keep it interesting.
For me the most interesting thing was the machines, i really wanted to find out what they were for and i was searching for it up until the end lol, i also liked how you gave the characters so much depth and showed how the colors effected them without just telling us like so many others do.
I thought you did a great job grammatically as well as with spelling. I didn't notice any of your sentences ran on but i might just have missed them.

I think you could probably add a bit more description when they talk, it might have been how i was reading it but i had a hard time telling who was who at first and near the end of the story.
And i think that you could add a bit more description about the room, or is it plain white with just the machines in it? As well what how long do their shifts last? Do they have replacements come in to cover for them while they sleep? And what exactly does the actual complex they live and work in look like?
But thats the only thing i thought you could really improve on, other than that the story was immensely interesting, you didn't just repeat words over and over you used and i thought you got their emotions across so well.

I'm looking forward to reading another chapter or two and hope my review helped

A very interesting subject. . . . it sounds very realistic despite some of its unrealistic elements. You did a nice job with characterization and imagery, and you left me wanting more.

“Hey, I’m not the one that broke the stupid thing. Why did you call me over here if you were just going to bite my head off?” said Serge.

Just a minor suggestion--because you take a while to introduce your speakers, I would introduce Serge earlier in this piece of dialogue, like so:

“Hey, I’m not the one that broke the stupid thing," said Serge. "Why did you call me over here if you were just going to bite my head off?”

Likewise,

“Hey Emile, I think Hank really broke it," said Serge. "Why don’t you come and check it out?”

You might consider adding a few similar tags to your dialogue at the beginning. That segment was a tad confusing to me. Because you had not yet introduced your characters, I had no clue who the speaker was.

Emile could hear Hanks voice start to break with emotion, and felt ashamed of himself. Could it really matter this much to Hank that he had messed up? Emile tried to remember the last highest count he had done. He couldn’t remember the number but he remembered how it felt when he lost his place. He tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal but he really did feel horrible. He tried to imagine what he would feel like if his monitor went dead, and quickly shook the thought from his mind. Emile’s pulse quickened and he clenched his fists in anger. It made him furious suddenly realizing how dependent they were to these pointless machines. How something as simple as a light not blinking could nearly bring a man like Hank to tears.

This paragraph brought Emile to life for the first time. I found myself skimming some of the earlier paragraphs because they were too technical, and because the "count" had no meaning to me. Perhaps this paragraph should come before you detail all the technical stuff.

The flashes only lasted a few seconds, but to Emile it felt like time had stood still. When the light did stop they stood silent and motionless, their backs pressed against the far wall. The flashes were so bright that when they reflected off of the plain white surfaces of everything in the room it seemed to paint them with color. Now that everything was back to its drab, colorless self, the room seemed paper thin, as if a stiff breeze could blow it all away.

Great imagery; I really got a sense of the room from this paragraph.

Then Emile lost his place. Things were going fine, so to speak. He was struggling to concentrate on the count and block out all of the new distractions when his mind made an unintentional connection. Sky is blue. He had probably said the word sky a million times down here, and he thought he knew what it meant. Nonetheless, a couple neurons must have crossed in his brain and the new color seemed to fit perfectly with the word. He remembered looking up at the ceiling of their room when the whole place was glowing blue. Then he imagined a massive expanse of brilliant blue, zillions of times larger and higher than the ceiling had been. The idea seemed too ridiculous to even contemplate, but it also felt like it had some fundamental truth behind it. By the time the daydream finished and Emile looked back at the blinking insertion point on his monitor, his mind went blank. He couldn’t even remember the amount of digits there had been in the count.

This paragraph generates a lot of interest in Emile's world. I want to read further to discover why he struggles to understand the blue sky, and whether he will soon see it again.

A few grammatical pointers regarding your use of semicolons:

He repeated the sequence ten times in his mind; visualizing the numbers as best he could before he got up

should be

He repeated the sequence ten times in his mind, visualizing the numbers as best he could before he got up.

A shift was something to be endured; something to struggle through.

should be

A shift was something to be endured, something to struggle through.

I was watching the lights and I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary; just the same random flashes of color.

should be

I was watching the lights and I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, just the same random flashes of color.

You also omit commas in a few places that I think require them; for example, "When he realized that they had no clue he waved at them dismissively . . ." should probably be "When he realized that they had no clue, he waved at them dismissively . . ."

But this was a very interesting piece, and not a difficult read at all. I look forward to reading the next segment!

Hi Guys,

Thanks for the reading and for the critiques. I'm going to fix the minor stuff now and save the deeper fixes for a full revision later. I really appreciate the feedback. I'm going to post another chapter or so after I finish formatting it for the web.

Later

And the story goes on... Not really in chapters, but more like sections for now. Enjoy and let me know what you think!



Emile pushed through the throngs of people in the cafeteria and picked up his sandwich and bottled water from the conveyor on the far wall. Leaving the crowded lunch line he began his well worn path between the mazes of tables to where he, Serge and Hank ate. The cafeteria’s size and capacity was only surpassed by its absolute mediocrity. It was a virtual sea of humanity, all clothed in identical white collard shirts and black slacks. The air was filled with the dull murmurs of people who insisted on talking despite having nothing to say.

Emile’s table, however, had not been adding much to the subdued cacophony lately. Normally it was Hank that would do most of the talking when they ate. Serge would occasionally dispute him on some point or another, but Hank could usually go the whole meal bouncing his thoughts off of an uninterested audience. Emile never had much to say. He suspected that he was part of the rare group of people who chose not to speak unless they had something worth saying. Down here that didn’t happen much.

Now, ever since his console changed, Hank had hardly said a word in the cafeteria or in their room. Serge had tried to take up some of the conversational slack but after failing miserably he gave up, and Emile certainly didn’t feel like taking his place. All that Hank did now was sit quietly and methodically munch on his sandwich, staring off into space with the same vapid expression he wore at his console.

This was exactly what he was doing when Emile finally reached their table and sat down next to him, so naturally it surprised Emile when Hank carefully put his sandwich down and did speak.

“You know, ever since that console changed on me I haven’t really felt like my self,” said Hank.

“Well look who’s finally decided to rejoin the world of the living.” said Serge.

“It’s funny you should say that, because ever since that light changed I feel like I have rejoined the living.”

“….And we’ve lost him again,” said Serge, chuckling as he bit into his sandwich.

“I’m trying to be serious with you Serge,” said Hank calmly.

“What are you getting at?” said Emile, flashing Serge an irritated glance. He may not care but Emile needed answers.

“I didn’t want to bring it up until I was positive I was right. I’m still not sure I should bring it up, but we all agreed to keep up this experiment--” Serge was about to interject but Hank held out his hand. “-- Even though some of us weren’t as enthusiastic about it as others, I still wouldn’t feel right about keeping them in the dark. I think we all need to hear this.”

Hank looked them both in the eyes. Serge leaned back in his chair with an amused smirk. Emile nodded solemnly.

“When the light first started flashing the new colors I thought they were random and meaningless, not that I cared much. Hell, anything was better than what I was doing before, but after awhile I started noticing some… regularity.”

“Regularity?” said Emile.

“Yeah. Some parts of the color sequences started looking familiar after awhile. I thought this was just a coincidence, but the more I studied it the more parts of the sequences I recognized.

“Something else was happening as well. Every time I pushed the button the light reacted, but not like it used to before the colors appeared. That was just simply matching the flash with a button press. Now when I press it the entire order of the flash sequences is changed. I thought that was random as well, but just a few days ago I realized it wasn’t.”

“Was that when you had your little fit of laughter?” said Serge.

“I’m not sure,” said Hank. “I haven’t really been noticing time lately.”

This struck Emile as amusing, seeing how he was experiencing the exact opposite perception of time as Hank. But the amusement quickly fled as another thought came to Emile. If Hank was only now skimming across time as Emile had done for as long as he could remember, did that mean that before the light changed Hank had been suffering through endless mind-numbing shifts like Emile was doing now?

“So how did you know that the sequence orders weren’t random?” said Emile, forcing the previous thought from his head.

“I noticed that there were a few common sequences that would flash right after I pressed the button in certain ways. When I finally realized the button pattern that brought them up, it all clicked. All of the sequences are divided into sets. Those few common sequences are identifiers letting me know that I’d entered a new set.”

Hank was speaking quickly, and was barely able to contain his excitement. His eyes darted around as if to make sure no one else was listening in.

“So what do you think it means?” said Emile.

“The whole thing is connected! It’s has a recognizable pattern and it’s suggesting a larger organized structure.”

“So what?” said Serge bluntly. “So this new console program has a recognizable pattern to it? Management probably gave it to you because they need you to do different work.”

“I thought about that as well, but that explanation leaves something out,” said Hank.

“I don’t see what it could possibly be missing, but by all means, enlighten us,” said Serge.

Hank suddenly seemed reluctant to continue. He slumped back into his chair and began fiddling with his half eaten sandwich. Emile wasn’t going to let him stop now though.

“What did it leave out Hank?” said Emile. It came out a little more forcefully than he had intended. Hank stared back at Emile for a moment, contemplating his sincerity perhaps, and then spoke.

“Alright, but your going to think I’m some kind of nutcase.”

“We already think you’re a nutcase Hank, so you might as well keep going,” said Serge.

Hank leaned in close and spoke in a hushed tone, making sure no one else could hear.

“The entire time I’ve been working with the lights and deciphering the patterns I’ve been having this constant intense feeling of déjà vu. I shouldn’t even call it déjà vu though, because it’s so much stronger than that. I’m certain that I’ve done this type of work before.”

“You mean working with colored light sequences?” said Emile.

“No, not that specifically,” said Hank. “Patterns and codes, that type of stuff. Like when I’m trying to figure out how a specific pattern of flashes corresponds to another, there are all these little tricks I think of to make it easier. They just pop into my head out of nowhere. I couldn’t have learned those down here. But it’s not just little things like those tricks. I have this overpowering feeling that I did this type of thing for a long time, somewhere else.”

“Like a different room or on another console?” said Serge.

“No,” said Hank. “Not down here. Somewhere far away from this place.”

Hank sat back in his seat and looked at Serge who was gazing back at him skeptically. Emile knew that Serge wasn’t buying any of it, but he honestly couldn’t care less what Serge was willing to believe. All Emile could think about were the colors.

“When the light changed colors that first time I had a similar feeling of déjà vu. It was like the new colors were helping me remember things,” said Emile.

“Really!” said Hank, once again leaning forward in his chair.

“It wasn’t a strong feeling, and I couldn’t remember anything specific, but I’ve never felt anything like it before. I couldn’t clearly see the memories but I knew that they were there, like they were just around the corner and I couldn’t get to them.”

“I knew it!” said Hank. “I knew this was too big to be some kind of coincidence.”

“Now hold on a minute,” said Serge. “Emile, you’re not actually going along with this are you? You both are just getting caught up in some ridiculous delusion. You’re creating this whole thing yourselves.”

“It’s not a delusion Serge. And despite what you may think I’m not insane. This is the most sane I’ve ever felt in my life,” said Hank.

“It’s just déjà vu Hank. You said it yourself. There’s no evidence to back it up.”

“Then how did you know it was blue?” said Emile.

“How did I know what was blue?” said Serge.

“The first time the light changed and lit up the whole room, you called the color blue. I didn’t know what to call it until you said that, but when you did I knew you were right.”

Serge stared back at Emile coldly. Emile could almost hear his mind struggling to find a suitable answer.

“How could you possibly have known to call it blue, Serge? Can you ever remember seeing blue down here before the light changed? Or maybe that was one of your so called delusions,” said Emile.

“That’s enough Emile! You and Hank can do what you wish. I can’t stop you, but I sure as hell won’t let you suck me into this game of yours. I should have never agreed to it in the first place, and from now on you can count me out.”

Serge’s voice had risen and the people sitting around them were starting to notice. Neither Hank nor Emile had ever seen Serge that angry before, and when he stormed out of the cafeteria they both sat in silence for awhile.

“You don’t think he’ll fill out an incident report do you?” said Hank finally.

“He won’t,” said Emile. “He may be angry now but he said he wouldn’t and I believe him. Serge is a man of his word. Spanish honor I guess.”

Hank chuckled half-heartedly at that, and they ate the rest of their sandwiches in silence.

* * * *

When they got back to their room Serge didn’t even bother looking up from his console. Hank looked like he was going to say something but Emile touched his shoulder and shook his head. Nothing he could say would make Serge change his mind if he didn’t want to. Serge may have had honor, but he also had plenty of pride to go along with it. Emile knew that it was best to leave Serge alone for now and let him come around eventually, assuming he ever could.

When Emile reached his console he slumped into his chair and stared blankly at the monitor. The insertion point blinked on and off, patiently waiting for him to start the count. Emile rested his hands on the keypad and began pressing the buttons. One thousand, six hundred and twenty seven. One thousand, six hundred and twenty eight. Even though Emile had lost almost all his passion for counting he still found himself coming out of his daydreams a few thousand numbers deep. It was almost involuntary, like breathing. Emile glanced over his shoulder at Serge who was diligently taking messages and writing down notes. Was that how it was supposed to be? Would Emile’s mind suffocate if he stopped the count entirely, and was this new found excitement he was experiencing just a symptom of that suffocation? Like the euphoria felt before drowning, was this the final warning before his decent into insanity?

Emile found his hand reaching out and caressing the dent in the side of the console. He had been doing it more and more frequently lately. He knew that his own anger had created it, but it almost seemed to be telling him something. Just like Hanks light, it was an imperfection in a cold and sterile environment. Its mere existence seemed to scream to him that change was possible. This wasn’t insanity, the count was insanity. Serge’s messages were insanity. Ever since the light had changed something about that change had felt right to Emile. Knowing what that felt like, and knowing that he had never experienced it before, the count was now meaningless. He did it anyway, but it was just a withdrawal symptom. It was methadone.

It did pass the time though, and it gave him something to do when he was thinking. All this time he thought he couldn’t multi-task, and now he did it almost unconsciously. It wasn’t dangerous anymore because the addiction was broken. He couldn’t go back even if he wanted to, so if his hands insisted on counting he would let them.

“Hijo? Hijo, es que usted?!”

The anguished cry pierced the silence, and Emile nearly fell out of his chair from the shock of it. He wheeled around and saw Serge hunched over, clutching the phone with both hands and screaming into the receiver.

“Háblame Hijo, por favor hábleme!”

Hank jumped out of his seat and ran over to Serge. Seeing Hank in action finally jolted Emile out of his state of shock, and he also got up. Serge was crying hysterically and screaming into the phone. Emile knew the first part had been in Spanish but it was almost incoherent now. Was he being electrocuted? Emile tried to grab the phone but Serge pushed him so hard that he fell over and slid halfway across the room.

“Serge, Can you hear me!?” yelled Hank, shaking him violently.

“Come back to me Son! Vuelto a mí por favor!” Serge punched his consol over and over and the blood from his knuckles splattered across its white surface.

“Emile, help me grab him!” screamed Hank.

Emile quickly got off of the floor and jumped onto Serge’s back. Serge wasn’t any bigger than Emile, but he and Hank had to struggle to pull him from his chair and wrestle the phone from his grasp. When they finally got him to the ground Serge was sobbing uncontrollably.

“It’s okay Serge, it’s over now,” said Hank, attempting to sound reassuring over the shakiness of his own voice. After a moment Serge shrugged off their hands, got up, and stumbled out of the room. They heard the door to his bunk click shut. Emile and Hank sat on the floor speechless, watching the phone swing back and forth from its cord where it hung from the console.

“What the hell was that Emile?” said Hank.

Emile pointed silently at the dangling phone. They looked at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do, then Emile slowly got off the floor, picked up the phone, and sat in Serge’s chair. When he brought it to his ear all he heard was a low frequency hissing noise, like static. It rose and fell in tone rhythmically, and Emile could also hear faint clicking sounds in the background.

“What is it?” said Hank. Emile handed him the phone. After a moment Hank handed it back and Emile hung the receiver back into its cradle.

“All you heard was static right?” said Emile.

“Yeah,” said Hank. “What do you think this means?”

“Well the easy answer is that Serge is insane, but considering recent events I’m a little reluctant to jump to that conclusion.”

“You have to appreciate the irony of it though,” said Hank. He started to chuckle but quickly stopped and coughed awkwardly. Emile saw that he was blushing slightly, and knew he was ashamed for saying it.

“Maybe we should go check on him,” said Emile. Hank nodded and they walked into the hallway to Serge’s bunk. The door was locked and after knocking several times with no response Emile turned to Hank.

“I think he just needs some time alone. He wasn’t ready like we were. I don’t think he wanted things to change.”

“So you believe him?” said Hank.

“I’m not sure what I believe right now, but Serge is the last person that would make this up. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

They walked back into their room and Hank headed over to his own console. The light must be calling to him, thought Emile. Nothing was calling to Emile, least of all his numbers, so he lingered at Serge’s console. He picked the phone up from its cradle and put it to his ear, but hearing only silence, he put it back. He looked at the dried blood crusting on the surface of the console; just another imperfection in their cold and sterile environment.


more coming

Over the next couple of days Serge’s phone rang continuously. Emile had picked it up the first time but after hearing nothing but the same low frequency hissing he didn’t answer it again. The truth was he didn’t want to go near it, and he suspected Hank felt the same. The noise coming from the receiver gave him the creeps. The low rhythmic static seemed to mesmerize him, almost like Hank’s light had, but whereas the light gave Emile a sense of sweet nostalgia, the static left a sickly, terrible feeling in his gut. So they let the phone sit unanswered, and its incessant ringing served as a continuous reminder of Serge’s absence.

His door had remained locked, and Emile hadn’t seen him emerge once. Before he went to bed Emile would press his ear to the door and listen, but he heard only silence. Hank had been leaving sandwiches outside the door for Serge after they got back from the cafeteria, but when they left for their next meal, the sandwich would still be sitting outside the door, untouched. Hank would quietly throw it away and replace it with a fresh one every time. Emile was about to tell him to stop, but when he saw how somber and serious Hank was, he changed his mind. Emile had a feeling that Hank felt responsible for what happened to Serge. After all it was Hank that had upset him, by revealing the truth about the light.

By the third day Emile was starting to get worried. They hadn’t heard a peep from Serge and he still hadn’t eaten anything.

When they got back from breakfast they spent at least five minutes pounding on Serge’s door and begging him to come out, but they finally gave up after hearing no response. Emile followed Hank back to his console and leaned against it as Hank slumped into his chair, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

“He’s going to starve to death if he doesn’t come out of their soon,” said Emile.

“What if something’s really wrong,” said Hank. “We haven’t heard a damn thing out of him for days. Maybe we should try and get some help.” Emile followed Hank’s gaze toward the incident reports hanging next to the door.

“Management will want to know what happened,” said Emile.

“We could tell them we had an argument. They might not even check out the consoles,” said Hank.

“They would have to be pretty careless not to notice Serge’s. Even if we manage to get the blood off of it, there are still all those dents,” Emile didn’t mention the dent on his own console. “And what about the light? Do you have any way of turning it off?”

Hank looked at the light which was steadily blinking blue and shook his head.

“We’ve got to get into that room somehow. Maybe if we take him out to the main corridor we could say he just collapsed or something. If they think it happened outside our room they might not check it out. It’s a long shot but it’s the only way to keep them from finding out about the consoles,” said Emile.

“And if they find out about the consoles now they’re going to want to know why we didn’t tell them about it earlier,” said Hank. Emile nodded gravely.

“I didn’t tell you about this before Emile, but that organized structure that I thought the lights were hinting at… I think it may be Managements computer system.”

“What!?” said Emile.

“What else could it be? We agreed that they couldn’t have assigned it to us. That wouldn’t explain the déjà vu. Besides, the structure is too complex for that. If they didn’t knowingly give me access than it must be part of their system,” said Hank.

“I’m sure they would be real happy about that,” said Emile.

“They can’t find out that I’ve been in their system Emile,” said Hank. He looked genuinely afraid.

“Well we can’t just leave Serge in that room. We have to get in there somehow and find out if something is really wrong with him. If that’s the case, then we can start worrying about Management,” said Emile.

Hank was about to say something but stopped suddenly. Emile also noticed that something had happened, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It seemed like something was missing; like a hush had settled over the room.

“The phone!” said Hank.

They both nearly fell over each other getting around Hank’s console, and when they did they saw Serge standing with the phone to his ear. He looked tired. His cloths were rumpled and his eyes were dull, almost lifeless. It looked like he was mumbling to himself, but then he would stop for a minute and start up again. What was he doing? He couldn’t be talking to someone could he? Emile couldn’t ever remember Serge talking to anyone on that phone. He just listened to the messages, wrote them down, and put them into the feeder slot. That’s how it worked.

Serge nodded and whispered one last time before carefully hanging up the phone. He stood for a long time staring at it without moving. Emile wasn’t sure what to say so he decided to start in the thick of it.

“Was that your son?” he said. He wasn’t sure it was a wise choice, especially the way Hank glared at him, but Serge didn’t even flinch. He calmly turned away from the phone and leveled his gaze at Emile.

“Yes,” said Serge.


Now Hank turned to Serge, mouth agape, but Serge took no notice of Hank’s astonishment.


“What did he say?” said Emile.

“He said he wanted to forgive me for what I had done to him,” said Serge. Tears were welling in his eyes but he quickly wiped them away.

“What did you do?” said Hank.


“I don’t know, but I know it was bad. He said I would remember soon enough. I told him I was sorry and he said he was sorry too. He was sorry for what I was going to have to face,” said Serge. “That doesn’t matter now though because he said I have to work at my console again. He changed it for me. It’s important now,” His expression had changed from sorrow to grim determination.

“Well, what’s so important about it now?” said Emile.

“If I knew that I wouldn’t have to work on anything, would I Emile,” Serge laughed and the tension immediately vanished from the room.

“You know you scared the hell out of us, pulling that little disappearing act,” said Hank. “You do that again and I really will give you something to sulk about.” Hank pushed Serge playfully.

“I’m sorry I did that, but there was a lot for me to come to terms with. I realized that you were right Hank. Whatever’s happening involves all of us and we have to stick together or we’ll never figure it out.”


Emile was happy that Serge was alright and he laughed and joked with him and Hank, but something Serge said stuck in Emile’s mind. It was bothering him more and more by the minute and he had to pursue it.

“You said your son told you he was sorry for what you were going to have to face. What do you think he meant by that?” said Emile. The way they both quieted down told him he wasn’t the only one thinking of it.


“I thought a lot about that when I was in my room,” said Serge. “We’re heading towards something big you guys. I think you both already knew it, and I was trying to hide from it but I’m done with that now. I feel like I just woke up for the first time in my life. Something is coming and I’m not sure if we’re walking towards it or if it’s pulling us in. All I know is that what I had before wasn’t a life. If figuring out what’s going on gets me closer to what life really is, then I’m willing to take my chances.”

“And what if what were doing is taking us farther away from that life?” said Emile.
“I don’t think you believe that,” said Serge, smiling slightly. “But even if you’re right and we are just digging ourselves deeper, I’d rather destroy myself trying than go back to what I had before.”


Emile thought about going back to how it was before, and found that he could barely recall what it had been like. The memory of his entire life before the light appeared was blurring together, and why shouldn’t it? Life, he realized now, was made up of events, high points and low points, and all of them were significant. There had been nothing significant about his life before, so there was nothing to remember. His memory had atrophied in a life that had no need for it, and now that it was needed, any memories he had of life before the light were dwarfed by events in this new life.


Maybe I should start splitting my life into BL and AL; before-light and after-light. It was a funny thought, thinking about his life as spanning two separate eras. Before-light was like prehistory, back when there was nothing for his memory to retain. His only record from that era was the emptiness that he felt when he tried to think about it. He knew that he didn’t feel that emptiness at the time, but looking back he could see how relative it all was. After all, you had to wake up to know that you had been dreaming.


Serge was right, and even though Emile couldn’t remember much about his previous life, the feeling of emptiness was enough for him to know that he didn’t want to go back. That realization wasn’t enough to quench the gnawing anxiety in the pit of his stomach though. They were either walking proudly and courageously towards the shining light of their destiny, or they were being drawn blindly into its gaping jaws. Whichever it happened to be, that was the only road available, and as fearful as he may have been, they were taking it.

After Serge accepted and embraced his new role, he threw himself into his work with an obsession that rivaled Hanks. Emile had to practically drag them away from their consoles at mealtime. They may have wanted to stay but Emile knew that it was important for them continue with their normal routines. What they were doing was dangerous. The last thing they needed was to be discovered by Management because of something as stupid as missing dinner. Aside from that Emile didn’t have much else to do. He felt envious when Serge’s console first changed, but now he had resigned himself to the fact that he would just be tagging along on their adventure. The most he could do was try to keep them out of trouble while Serge and Hank fulfilled their great tasks.

Hank was discovering more and more about the structure of the computer system. His skill at decoding it seemed almost superhuman, and Emile would watch him and try to understand as best he could without bothering Hank to much. Actually Emile learned the most when Hank was stuck. He would start muttering curses under his breath and Emile would head over to see what was up. That’s when Hank would explain the problem in depth to Emile, complaining the whole time about how stupid the whole system was. Emile would ask questions when he could but mostly he would just let Hank bounce ideas off of him, and a lot of the time it would work. Emile suspected that Hank just needed to get his ideas out of his head once in awhile and hear them out loud before he could fully understand them. Sometimes it was even Emile’s questions that led Hank to a solution. At least he was occasionally good for something.

From all of the trouble shooting sessions Emile learned that Hank was narrowing down the system into smaller and smaller groups of organized sequences, almost like he was learning a foreign language backwards. Emile imagined that it was like studying Spanish by reading Don Quixote and distilling it down to learn the meanings of words and sentences. In other words, damn near impossible for any normal person, but Hank was managing to do it somehow. It did seem like a kind of language to Emile though, and he often wondered if that was how Hank saw it, but he never bothered to ask.

There was a bigger problem that Hank hinted at once or twice. The more he learned about the structure and syntax of the system, the more he realized how little control he had over it. Now that he almost fully understood the pattern-codes in which to press his button, Hank could move anywhere in the system without obstruction. He had complete access. But although he could see everything, he could change nothing. He seemed to be doomed to eternal observation without interaction. When Emile would try to ask him about this, Hank would dismiss it and focus on understanding the rest of the structure. Emile had a feeling that Hank knew just how important this was, and was only putting it off because he couldn’t think of any way to solve it, but Emile didn’t want to bug him about it. At least Hank was working on something, unlike Emile.

Serge’s console was much more bizarre. Emile would watch him occasionally but Serge would hardly even move, much less talk while he was working and Emile didn’t want to break his intense concentration. It was tough too, because there were so many questions he wanted to ask.

The feeder slot in Serge’s consol seemed to be disabled now but Serge continued to write his notes, only they were different from before. All Serge did before was listen to the artificial voice on the phone tell him a number, write it down, and slip it into its corresponding feeder slot. Now he kept the phone to his ear constantly and filled card after card with intricate script, letting them pile up all over his console. In fact the pile had gotten so large that they were beginning to fall onto the floor. At one point Emile picked up a fallen card to examine it closer. Not only were both sides of the card completely crammed with Serge’s handwriting, but it was written entirely in Spanish. Emile placed the card back on the heap and walked to his console more confused than ever.

Eventually Emile’s curiosity got the better of him and he waited until he saw Serge put down the phone to stretch before walking quickly over to his console.

“So I take it your still hearing voices in that thing?” said Emile. Serge was about to pick up the phone again before Emile spoke, and he seemed a little irritated at being interrupted.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Is that so unbelievable Emile?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t doubt you. I’m just curious about the change,” said Emile.

“What do you want to know?” said Serge.

“Well… Is it still your son?”

Serge sighed, and got a distant look in his eyes.

“Not anymore,” he said. “I’m not sure who it is now. It’s just a bunch of random voices speaking nonsense. I’m just trying to write down all I hear and hoping that I’ll eventually figure out what it means, but it doesn’t look promising.”

“Why are you writing it in Spanish?” said Emile, holding up one of the many note cards.

“Because that’s how they talk. They’re speaking to quickly for me to translate it before I write it.”

Emile must have looked confused because Serge held the phone out to him.

“Do you want to listen?”

Emile hesitated, remembering the hollow eeriness of the static when he had listened before. He didn’t really want to explain all that to Serge though, so he took the phone and put it to his ear. He immediately felt a cold chill run down his spine. The monotonous static and faint clicking began to mesmerize him and cloud his thoughts. It felt like he was peering into a vacuum; like the phone was sucking his soul into a void. His face must have given away what he was feeling because Serge noticed something was amiss.

“What’s the matter Emile?” said Serge.

“Serge, I don’t hear any voices in that phone. It’s just static.”

“What? That’s impossible, they never stop!” Serge practically snatched the phone from Emile and held it up to his ear. He seemed relieved at first when he heard the voices but as Emile watched him, Serge’s face darkened.

“I’m not crazy Emile,” he said finally, hanging up the phone.

“I know you aren’t,” said Emile.

“I’m not crazy,” he said again.

“I didn’t say you were crazy Serge. Just because I can’t hear them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

Serge relaxed a little when he realized Emile was serious.

“It doesn’t make any sense. Why would they stop when you listen? They couldn’t possibly know that you were holding the phone and not me,” said Serge.

“Maybe they didn’t stop,” said Emile.

Serge scratched his head and looked at the phone sitting in its cradle. He picked it again and stood next to Emile.

“Let’s find out if you’re right,” said Serge. He held up the phone and beckoned for Emile to listen. They both put their heads close to the receiver and listened quietly.

“Can you hear it Emile? Veinte cinco, seis de treinta, ocho cien y dieciséis. Coche, Parque, barco. Seis árboles en el boulevard al atardecer,” Serge looked at Emile, but Emile could hear only static and shook his head. Serge’s disappointment was palpable and he sunk back into his chair and hung up the phone.

“What did it mean?” said Emile.

“Twenty five, thirty six, eight hundred and sixteen. Car, park, boat. Six trees in the boulevard at sunset,” said Serge.

“What? Are you sure you translated it right?” said Emile.

“That’s how it always is,” said Serge. “I told you, they just speak nonsense. Numbers mixed in with ridiculous phrases. Maybe it’s not even supposed to make sense.”

They both lapsed into silence. Serge was fiddling with his note cards absentmindedly and Emile shuffled them around as well. He didn’t speak much Spanish but he could still make out most of the numbers and a few of the words on the cards.

“Why do you believe me?” said Serge, suddenly looking up from his notes. Emile paused for a second. He hadn’t really thought about why.

“If you’re insane then that means that Hank and I are also insane. That means that everything that’s happening is just a delusion. Remember when you said that at dinner? That all of this was a delusion that Hank and I were creating?”

Serge nodded.

“Well now you’re a part of it. Does it feel like a delusion to you?”

“This feels more real than what I felt when I said that,” said Serge.

“Well there you go,” said Emile.

Serge sat back in his chair and grinned.

“Well you just cleared that right up, didn’t you?” he said.

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Emile. He smiled and leaned against Serge’s console. He picked up one of the note cards and flipped it at Serge. “Now you just have to clear this up.”

“Yeah I guess I do,” said Serge. “I still don’t understand why I’m the only one who can hear the voices though.”

“Can you discover an entire computer system in one blinking colored light?” said Emile, pointing towards Hank’s console. They both laughed at that.

“This is your part,” said Emile. “You can ask why until your face turns blue, but what’s that going to accomplish? We can’t expect answers to fall into our laps. We have to work for them.”

With that, Emile turned and headed back to his console. He wasn’t sure if he was right about finding answers. Maybe there were no answers to find. Maybe there was no great truth behind the veil of their ignorance.

“What’s your part in this Emile?” said Serge. Emile stopped and turned around. He smiled and shrugged dramatically.

“If you happen to find out, let me know, will you,” he said.

“You’ll be the first,” said Serge.

Emile knew that Serge was joking but it still stung a little. It was embarrassing to be recognized as useless. It was like Serge had read Emile’s mind and threw all of his feelings of worthlessness back at him. It was hard enough for Emile to sit around and watch all of these magnificent changes and know that he wasn’t a part of them. Now he had to worry about Serge and Hank resenting him for it. Sure, it wasn’t like that now, but Emile wasn’t naïve. He knew how these things could change. They would start out pitying him, reassuring him that he was helpful, but that wouldn’t last. With nothing to contribute Emile would start to get in the way. They would start getting annoyed with him, and pretty soon he would stop trying to help, for fear of distracting them. He would move to the periphery; completely excluded from everything important. He would become a living ghost.

Emile imagined that they were on a river, barreling down the rapids in a small wooden canoe. Hank and Serge sat in the front and back, paddling furiously with their oars, trying desperately to keep a true course. The river was all that existed in their minds. Emile was a leaf caught in the current behind them, carried along through the churning water, utterly powerless to alter the fate chosen for him. Eventually he would be caught in a sweeper or driven to the bottom, and the canoe would continue on its journey, without a second thought for the battered leaf that was trying desperately to keep up.

Emile still wandered over to Hank and Serge’s consoles occasionally, but not with the frequency that he had before. He began to feel weird when he stood watching them, like he was intruding on something sacred. Instead he spent more and more time sitting quietly at his console, fiddling with the buttons and thinking about everything in general, and nothing in particular. They still weren’t talking much at meal times. It seemed paradoxical to Emile that with all the strange things happening to them, there really wasn’t much to say. Hank and Serge were chugging through there isolated tasks, and Emile wasn’t doing much of anything.

Rather than trying to fill the void with meaningless chatter, Emile spent his time in the cafeteria staring at the people around him. He had never really looked at them before. They looked human enough at first glance, shuffling around purposefully and munching on their sandwiches. They regarded each other casually and their mouths flapped up and down, every sentence reeking of banality. But the closer Emile studied them, the more he realized that they were not as normal as they seemed on the surface. Their eyes were always dull, and their expressions never changed. Emile couldn’t find one smile or flash of anger no matter how hard he looked. The tone and volume of their voices remained constant. They seemed so one-dimensional, like cardboard cutouts of human shapes drifting across one another. Had Emile really been one of them?

Yes, he thought, he had been one of them, and now he was peering in at them through a window of clarity and revelation. He was living in reality and they were still stuck inside a bubble of ignorance, and although he was free from that ignorance his burden wasn’t any lighter. They were inside of the bubble together, and he was outside of it alone. The truth didn’t make things any easier.

This is a great story! Very interesting. It sounds like some of the other members have given you some good advice. Someone may have already mention this... I didn't read through all of the reviews. The main suggestion I'd have for you is to avoid using the phrase:
said Serge,
said Emile,
said whomever,

in each bit of dialogue. It gets really redundant. Sometimes your characters are asserting, some times they're questioning, sometimes they're answering... they're not always "saying", so you shouldn't have them always "saying". And when it's obvious who's speaking, you don't always have to point out that they said, answered, exclaimed, etc.

Other than that, I think it's great!

Wow! I can't wait for the next part. I agree with greggb, maybe less "saids" but you are keeping me in total suspense. I love how you allude to this dungeon, this gray meaningless existence that no one feels is meaningless.
I would watch for things that are confusing. For example, you say none of these guys know "blue" until Serge says it, but they all know he's right - but later, from Emile's perspective, you say something about Serge being blue in the face...so they do know blue, or at least the concept of it...hmmm.
You also mention that Emile feels like they are barreling down a river. Does he know what a river is? How does he know how it feels to barrel down one? Maybe you should think of a different metaphor, like hurtling through a black hole or a tunnel, something that gives us a little insight into where these guys are and what they're doing there...
just some things to keep in view...
thanks for the great read!

Sweet, new replies! Thanks for the input guys, I really appreciate it.

in each bit of dialogue. It gets really redundant

I stressed about this for awhile. I finally decided to settle on 'said' as opposed to other descriptors because it was the most spartan and I was hoping that it would eventually just blend into the background. Also I didn't want to get the dialogue confused between the characters because it interchanges so much. I'm going to leave it for now simply because I don't want to go through the whole draft and change each one individually but I will definitely look into it when revision time comes.

so they do know blue, or at least the concept of it

The reason that I had him use blue as a descriptor here is because they had sort of established it's existence already. It's tough though, hard to work with things like that when they can't remember anything

The river is a metaphor that repeats quite a lot and it's significance in Emile's life comes to play later in the story.

Thanks so much for reading and commenting guys! Makes me feel all fuzzy inside.

Hank was running out of things to do. He had been working tirelessly and Emile was sure that he had uncovered every dark and dusty corner of the computer system. It seemed like that should have been a good thing, but Emile knew better, and Hanks edginess confirmed it. Hank’s self imposed distractions were over and now he had to face the real problem; the one which had been looming for weeks. Why couldn’t he manipulate the system?

Hank had always complained about his console, but lately there had been a steady and relentless stream of curses coming from his corner of the room. He had started borrowing note cards from Serge and filling them with calculations and diagrams. In fact his desk top had almost overtaken Serge’s as the dirtiest in the room. Emile had tried to help, but when Hank got upset he would vent his frustration on the nearest human target, and Emile learned quickly to take himself out of the crosshairs.

Emile would have offered his help to Serge instead, but Serge wasn’t doing much better than Hank. He continued to write his translations down but hadn’t discovered anything new since Emile had last listened to his phone. In fact, the tired and bitter expression on Serge’s face was enough to keep anyone away. He was the polar opposite of Hank. When Hank was upset everyone in the room would hear about it, but when Serge was in a bad mood he would lock down tight, bottling up his emotions and refusing to speak.

It was frustrating for Emile as well. He wanted to help, and he probably could have if they would just let him, but their stubbornness was blocking any progress that might have been possible. All of this was adding to the overall sense of hopelessness that hung over them these days. It had rolled into their little room like a storm, darkening all of their moods and extinguishing the hope and excitement they once felt. The memories the light had first brought had almost entirely faded from Emile’s mind, and he was able to bear each day only by holding onto that last little bit.

The loud crash of a fist striking metal startled Emile from his bored stupor. He wheeled around to see what had happened, and saw Hank raging at his console.

“You stupid god-damn machine!” yelled Hank, staring furiously at the light. “I’m so sick of this crap!” He crumpled up a stack of note cards and threw them to the floor.

Emile was about to shake his head and turn back to his console when he heard the phone slam down onto its cradle.

“Would you just shut up?! Every day I have to listen to you complain about that damn computer system and I’m sick of it. You’re not the only one who has something to concentrate on around here,” said Serge. His face was bright red as he yelled angrily at Hank. It was about the last thing Emile expected from the normally quiet and subdued Serge.

“Excuse me?” said Hank, getting up from his seat. “I’m so sorry I broke your precious concentration Serge. I can see your putting it to valuable use over there.”

“Well maybe I’d accomplish more if you could shut your mouth for five minutes,” said Serge, also getting out of his chair. Here we go, thought Emile.

“Oh you’d accomplish more, would you? I accomplish more scratching my ass in the morning than you do sitting at your console all day. In fact I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who has accomplished anything around here, so don’t snap at me for making a little noise,” said Hank.

“Okay Hank, let’s list off all of your wonderful accomplishments. You found a pretty little pattern of blinking lights. You have absolutely no idea what it does or what it’s for, and it’s about as useful to us as a wet fart, but aside from that it’s miraculous. The only other accomplishment I can think of is the fact that you’ve managed to piss me off every day for weeks on end,” said Serge.

“At least I have some understanding of what I’m dealing with. What do you have Serge? All I see is a bunch of voices in a phone that no one else seems to hear and a desk full of useless Spanish scribbles. How exactly is that supposed to help us?”

Emile needed to put a stop to this before they started throwing punches at each other. Couldn’t they just admit that they were both idiots and be done with it? He brought his knuckles down hard on his console and the sharp rapping cut through Hank and Serge’s argument like a knife. When Emile was satisfied that he had their attention he walked over and stood between them.

“So is this how it’s going to be from now on? Are you two going to keep destroying each others confidence until we lose our will to continue?” said Emile, looking at each of them in turn.

“I wasn’t undermining anything,” said Hank. “I was just stating the facts.”

“I was just stating a fact as well. The fact that your constant complaining is the one thing that’s keeping us from moving on,” said Serge.

“Both of you stop it!” said Emile, forcefully enough to silence them both. “Have you ever looked at the people out there in the cafeteria since things started changing? Their like zombies: completely useless sacks of meat that wander around mindlessly. We were just like them before all of this happened. Do you realize how close we are to returning to that? If we lose focus at all, were one more step closer to giving up, and if that happens things will be exactly like they used to.”

“Well I don’t see you helping out much,” said Serge. Emile turned and stared at him coldly. It was a low blow, and Emile could tell by the way Serge blushed and looked at the floor that he regretted saying it as soon as it left his lips.

“You may think that I’m oblivious to everything that’s happening, sitting in my corner like some kind of idiot, but I’m not. I have just as much at stake as both of you, and I’m not going to let this slip out of our hands over some stupid argument. This isn’t a joke. I don’t think either of you realize just how fragile this whole thing is,” said Emile.

They were silent, looking at their shoes and squirming under Emile’s gaze.

“I think you should go back to your consoles, cool down, and get back to work, unless you want to stay down here and return to your old jobs,” said Emile.

They both headed quickly back to their consoles, eager to get out from under Emile’s steely gaze. Emile stood there for moment longer, and when he was satisfied that everything had settled down he walked silently out of the room and headed for his bunk. When he got there he sat on his bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked at his hands and was surprised to find that they were trembling. His whole body tingled with a kind of giddy nervousness. ‘Where did that come from?’ he thought to himself.

He could never remember himself snapping like that before, but when he thought back on what he had said, he knew he was right. He really did feel like they were hanging onto to their new reality by a thread. The fear, frustration, and hopelessness that he felt over the past weeks seemed to be sucking him into the same pit of ignorance and apathy he had struggled so hard to escape from. Then it hit him. They really were addicted to that old reality, and all the pain and sorrow that they felt now were the consequences of breaking that addiction. They were withdrawal symptoms. It seemed so clear now, and although it was terrible to think of his life before, when the drug of that old reality had rendered him practically comatose, there was some good in the realization. Now he knew the cause of these feelings, at least partially, and he would not let himself relapse.

He got up from his bed and strode back into their room. Hank was picking up the note cards that he had scattered carelessly across the floor, and the silence from the argument still hung heavy in the air. Emile bent down and helped him pick up the last of the cards. When they were done, Hank mumbled a thank you and sat back in his seat.

“I think you should let me know what the problem with the system is,” said Emile, casually leaning against the console.

“Why? You’re not going to be able to solve it. I’ve been trying for weeks and I’ve found nothing but dead ends,” said Hank.

“Just tell me Hank. It’ll be good for you to get it out into the open. I might even be able to help you find an answer. It happened once before, didn’t it?” said Emile. Hank smiled at that and nodded in consent.

“I guess you did help me out a few times,” said Hank. He tapped the button in rapid succession, almost like he was sending morris code into his console. Emile was once again baffled at how deftly Hank had managed to tune into the strange computer system.

Hank stopped suddenly and pointed. At first Emile only saw a random sequence, but he had spent plenty of time looking into Hank’s light, and it wasn’t long before he noticed that the seemingly random sequence was actually one relatively short pattern repeating over and over again.

“It’s a repeating sequence,” said Emile. “It begins with two red flashes and runs over and over.”

Hank looked up from his notes with a startled expression on his face.

“How did you know that?” he asked.

“I didn’t spend all that time at your console just to watch the pretty colors. Although I have to admit they are nice,” said Emile.

Hank looked at him skeptically for a moment more then shook it off and sat back in his chair, looking up at the sequence.

“I’ve exhausted almost every possibility I can think of to break into this system, but nothing has worked. I’ve had my eye on this sequence for a couple of days now. Those two red flashes that you noticed are the identifiers of the sub-group that it belongs to. I picked this sequence because it’s the shortest one in its group. I figured that because it’s so short it might be easier to find the access code for it, but once again I was wrong,” said Hank.

“How have you been trying to find the access codes?” said Emile.

“It’s little more than guess work,” said Hank. “I’ve been starting with the tapping pattern that I use to view this set, and then modifying it with elements from the sequence itself, but none of it has worked so far.”

Emile noticed the note card Hank was holding. It had a list of numbers and below that a list of colors written on it.

“Is that the sequence?” said Emile. Hank nodded and handed Emile the card.

Emile studied it closely, looking first at the colors. It started off with two reds just like he saw in the light, and then a seemingly random list of colors followed. Emile figured that they all probably identified smaller and smaller groups, but only Hank knew that. He turned his attention to the list of numbers above the colors, which he thought must be the tapping pattern to view the sequence. As he studied each digit carefully he felt a faint glimmer of recognition. Had he seen this sequence at his own console? Emile realized that with the amount of numbers he had counted he most certainly had come across this sequence a few times in the past, but he felt he had seen it more recently, and he hadn’t been this high in his count since the light changed.

“Any breakthroughs?” said Hank, an amused smile on his lips.

“Do you mind if I keep this?” said Emile, holding out the card.

“Sure,” said Hank. “I’ve got that damned sequence memorized from back to front.”

“Thanks,” said Emile. He turned back to his console with his eyes still fixed on the card.

“Emile?” said Hank. Emile turned around and Hank was leaning forward in his chair.

“Does it really bother you guys that I talk so much while I work?” he said in a hushed voice. Emile walked back and crouched in front of Hank. Hank obviously didn’t want Serge to hear them.

“It doesn’t really bother me that much,” said Emile. “I kind of learned to block it out after awhile. You seem to be doing it a lot more though. It’s just been really tense around here lately. I think something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I don’t mean to be annoying,” said Hank. “To be honest, I didn’t even know I was doing it so much.”

Hank was silent for a moment, studying the floor.

“Do you really think that we might go back to the way we used to be, if we’re not careful,” he said finally.

“I absolutely believe that,” said Emile, gazing steadily into Hank’s eyes. “I think some part of our mind actually wants to go back, and when we bicker and fight with each other we’re giving that part the opportunity to take over. We can’t let that happen.”

Emile got up and walked back to his console. He gently set the note card against his monitor and let his eyes wander over the numbers, studying each digit like a painter would study a landscape. There was a secret in there, locked inside the sequence, begging to be freed. Emile knew that the key to that secret lay buried somewhere deep within his mind. All he had to do now was start digging.

It had taken the better part of two days before Emile finally realized how ignorant he had been. Hour after hour he stared at that silly note card, running laps through his mind trying to find the lost memory of the sequence. His eyes were red and puffy, and his head hurt from focusing so hard but still he sat there, gazing at the sequence expecting that the answer would just come to him if he waited long enough. Well it hadn’t come to him, and he was on the verge of giving up when he heard a stack of note cards slide off of Serge’s console and flutter to the ground. As he watched Serge put the cards back on his console, Emile’s fatigued mind finally grasped something. He hadn’t seen the sequence at his console, and if the answer was in the system itself, Hank would have surely found it by now. The only other place Emile could have possibly seen a number sequence was in Serge’s notes. He cursed himself silently, baffled at how careless he had been.

Serge hadn’t spoken since the argument and Emile could see that he was still upset. He couldn’t really blame him either. Hank had said some very hurtful things, and although he probably didn’t mean them, there was no way for Serge to know that. Emile was just glad that he’d shut Hank up before he said something that couldn’t be so easily forgiven. Emile watched Serge, hunched over his console, gripping the phone tensely, and knew that he needed a couple more days to wind down. But when Emile thought about the possibility of the sequence hiding somewhere in those note cards, waiting seemed out of the question.

Emile grabbed his card and walked over to Serge’s console. Serge didn’t hear him approach, and when Emile cleared his throat it startled him slightly.

“Oh… hey Emile,” said Serge, hanging up the phone gently.

“You’ve been awfully quiet over here lately. Is everything alright?” said Emile.

“Yeah I’m fine. Just busy working,” said Serge.

“Look, I hope you’re not too upset by what Hank said to you. He didn’t really mean it. You know how he is. He’s always talking faster than he can think. Sometimes I think the filter between his brain and his mouth is broken.”

Serge looked up at him strangely, and shook his head.

“I’m not bothered by what Hank said, Emile. I actually think he was right. He works his ass off and has a lot more to show for it than I do.”

“Then what’s the matter?” said Emile.

Serge hesitated, quietly studying the lines in the palms of his hands like they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen.

“I was wrong to talk down to you,” he said finally. “You’ve helped me out more than you could know, and I treated you like you were useless. I’m the worthless one. It’s been two days and I couldn’t even get up the courage to come to you and apologize. I had to wait for you to be the bigger man and come over here. I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for saying what I did.”

Emile was taken aback. He had hardly given a second thought to what Serge had said to him. To be honest, he could barely remember what it was. Emile was so caught up in trying to find the lost sequence that he’d thought of little else in the past two days, but this was obviously a big deal to Serge.

“It’s all right Serge. I wasn’t getting too hung up over it,” said Emile. Serge looked up at him skeptically, searching for some hidden bitterness in Emile’s face.

“Seriously Serge, don’t worry about it. I know you didn’t mean it. We’ve all been under so much pressure lately that I’m surprised we didn’t start throwing punches around. All in all I think it went pretty well,” said Emile.

Serge looked perplexed for just a moment, and then cracked up laughing.

“You’re something else, you know that Emile?” he said, trying desperately to catch his breath. Emile patted him on the back as Serge wiped a tear from his eye.

“Just remember something Serge,” said Emile, after he had settled down. “You’re not worthless.”

“Well, maybe just a little bit,” said Serge.

“Yeah, I guess we’re all a little bit worthless once in awhile,” said Emile. “But no matter how bad things may get, we always bring something to the table. We’re never completely useless.”

Serge nodded and sat back in his chair. Emile leaned against the console, expecting to bump into Serge’s bulging pile of notes, but when he looked down he noticed several neat stacks of cards laid out in an organized grid.

“It looks like you’ve been doing some house keeping over here,” said Emile.

“Yeah I guess I have. I was just sorting out my notes into groups of phrases. That pile was getting way too big to handle,” said Serge.

“You mean there’s a pattern behind the calls?” said Emile, suddenly alert.

“I’m not sure if it’s a pattern. I just noticed that a lot of the phrases and numbers were repeating. I figured I might as well sort them out rather than junk up my desk any more than necessary.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about it?” said Emile, feeling slightly frustrated and trying to keep it out of his voice.

“You guy’s never asked about it. I didn’t even think it was a big deal,” said Serge.

Emile watched Serge nonchalantly sort out the remaining note cards and shook his head. Typical, he thought. If the world were coming to an end and Serge was the one person with advance warning, he would probably just sit at home and wait. When everyone else eventually discovered their impending doom they would ask Serge why he hadn’t told them. ‘I figured you would find out eventually’, Serge would most likely reply. There was no use in getting upset with him about it. That’s just who he was.

“Is that one of mine?” asked Serge, pointing at the card in Emile’s hand. Emile looked at it, momentarily forgetting why he had come over in the first place.

“Oh yeah, I was going to ask you about this. It’s one of the sequences that Hank’s been having trouble with. I know I’ve seen it before and I was hoping it might be buried in your notes somewhere. You don’t recognize it do you?”

Emile passed the card to Serge. He studied it for a moment and shook his head, handing it back.

“No, it doesn’t look familiar to me, but that’s not saying much. I’m looking at thousands of numbers a day and I doubt if I would even remember the last one I saw,” said Serge.

“Do you mind if I check through your cards?” said Emile.

“You want to look through all of those to find one group of numbers?” Serge stared at him like he was insane.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” said Emile.

“All right,” said Serge. “Try not to mess my stacks up too much. I just got them the way I like them.”

They were nice too. Emile started his search at the topmost stack and when he would finally finish one he would move onto the next. Losing his place wasn’t even an issue, and more than once he silently thanked Serge for sorting them out. Just the thought of going through a chaotic and unorganized heap of cards one by one drained the color from his face. Emile couldn’t believe that Serge hadn’t mentioned something to Hank about it when he was being accused of laziness. It had obviously taken Serge a hell of a lot of work to sort through the cards, and either he didn’t think of it at the time, or he had more restraint than Emile gave him credit for.

It was still an incredibly slow process though, and Emile worked at it tirelessly, stopping only to eat and sleep. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been working. The days blurred together into an undistinguishable haze, and soon his progress through the stacks became his only real measure of time. He felt like his brain was turning to mush, and it worried him when he thought that this could be just another mindless task sucking him in, no different than the count. But when that thought came to him he quickly shook it from his head. This was something that had to be done, and no matter how boring it was, the emptiness he felt when he counted at his monitor was not present.

Emile was about two-thirds of the way through the stacks when he picked up an unassuming note card, covered with Serge’s sloppy handwriting. If he found a card that missed any of the numbers on Hank’s sequence he would put it back immediately, and he had long since gotten over the excitement of finding cards that matched almost all of the digits. That’s why he didn’t pay much attention to this card, as he matched number after number with the sequence. When he reached the last digit and matched it as well, he just sat there staring blankly at the two identical cards. He checked them again, and then a third time, and gradually his exhausted mind cast aside its skepticism and wrapped itself around his discovery.

“I found it,” said Emile, barely above a whisper.

“What?” said Serge, putting down his phone.

“I found the sequence,” said Emile.

“You’re messing with me, right?” said Serge.

Emile held out both of the cards for Serge to examine.

“You actually found them,” said Serge, staring wide eyed at the two cards. “I thought you were completely nuts to dig through all of those cards. Hank! I think you better come over here!”

“Can’t you see that I’m busy!” yelled Hank from across the room.

Serge got up from his chair, walked casually over to Hank’s console, and tossed the cards in front of him. Emile heard Hank’s chair hit the floor when he jumped from his seat.

“Where did you find this?” said Hank, his voice breaking with excitement.

“Emile dug it out of my stack of notes,” said Serge. “I must have heard it in the phone ages ago.”

Emile reached Hank’s console and saw him hunched over both cards examining them carefully. Hank’s hands were trembling and sweat was beginning to bead on his brow.

“That’s the sequence all right! Could this actually be the access code?” said Hank, pointing at the second group of numbers on the card. “What the hell does ‘tres patos en un estanque’ mean?”

Hank was looking at the Spanish phrase between the two sets of numbers.

“Three ducks on a pond,” said Serge. Hank looked up at him like he was some kind of lunatic.

“That’s what it means,” said Serge. “It’s the name of that group of cards.”

“The name of the group…” said Hank, his voice an awed hush. Now it was Serge’s turn to look confused.

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” said Hank. He picked up the card and began rapidly tapping patterns with the button. Emile looked at the light and recognized the two red flashes that identified the familiar sequence. Hank drew in a deep breath and fired away with more tapping. When he finally stopped, they all waited breathlessly for what seemed like an eternity, but nothing happened. Hank finally sunk back in his chair and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” said Hank. “Every time you get your hopes up something--”

And then Hank was gone. Not only Hank, but the entire room as well. Everything had disappeared into a blinding white void, and Emile staggered backwards covering his aching eyes in a vain attempt to shield them. He hit the wall and sank down to the floor, involuntarily curling into a fetal position. He was about to cry out, but as quickly as it had materialized, the white void was gone, and was replaced by an impenetrable shroud of inky blackness, darker than anything Emile had ever experienced. He opened his eyes and blinked but he could see nothing at all.

“I think I’m blind!” yelled Serge who was somewhere near him.

“Just stay put!” said Hank. “I think the power went out.”

As Emile rubbed his eyes and continued to blink, he realized that they were both wrong. The room was gradually coming back into focus. Muted grays and blacks at first, but getting brighter by the second. He looked around and saw Hank staggering clumsily across the room, flailing his outstretched arms in an attempt to find his chair. Serge was groping his way up the wall next to Emile.

“What the hell was that?” said Serge. “I feel like my brain just got flash fried.”

“I guess it worked,” said Emile. He was still too disoriented to stand so he just sat there, slumped against the wall like a sack of potatoes.

“Quite the subtle observation,” said Hank, leaning against his chair to steady himself. “Now we just have to figure out what ‘worked’ means.”

Hank sat back into his chair and looked at the light, which was now blinking steadily as if nothing had happened. He tapped on the button several times before stopping and scratching his head.

“It’s gone,” he said.

“What’s gone?” said Serge.

“The sequence,” said Hank. “It popped me back out into the sub-group, and now the short sequence is gone. Every other sequence in the sub-group is where it should be except that one.” Hank sat there for a moment looking like a lost child, and then he suddenly perked up.

“Serge, go get me another card quick,” he said. Serge jumped up and darted to his console, coming back with a fresh card in his hand.

“Perfect!” said Hank, recognizing the pattern immediately. He quickly tapped his button and then looked at Emile and Serge.

“I think you guys should face the wall and cover your eyes. We don’t know what this thing is going do,” Hank studied the access code briefly and then buried his face into his arm. Emile turned to the wall, but he was too curious to cover his face. He wanted to see if it flashed again, and he didn’t think the reflection off the wall would blind him like before.

“Ready?” said Hank.

Emile and Serge both consented and a chorus of tapping filled the silent room. When it stopped Emile watched the wall intently. He saw a faint white flash reflected from the light, but he knew it could be nowhere near the intensity of the first one.

“Yep, this one’s gone as well,” said Hank. He was back up and furiously tapping away at the button.

“What do you think is happening to them?” said Emile.

“Well, either we’re accessing the system or we’re destroying it,” said Hank. He paused for a moment. “I don’t even care if we are destroying it. At least it’s something. Maybe were even supposed to.”

Hank reclined in his chair and stroked his chin, deeply lost in thought. He rapped his fingers on the console and tapped his shoe on the floor, creating a chaotic rhythm. He abruptly jumped out of his chair and pointed at Serge.

“Alright Serge, you have to tell me everything you know about your notes. If there’s an answer to this, it has to be somewhere in that phone of yours.”

Serge was about to say something but Hank was already at his console, picking his way through the stacks of notes.

“Be careful with those! I just got them organized and I don’t want you messing them up,” said Serge. He walked briskly toward Hank and Emile joined him.

“I can’t believe it,” said Hank, shuffling through the stacks. “They’re all here. Every single sequence along with its access code, and all this time they were right under my nose.”

Serge gently picked up a medium sized stack and handed it to Hank.

“The sequences that you just accessed came from this group,” said Serge. Hank flipped through the stack slowly.

“Tres patos en un estanque,” he muttered. “Three ducks in a pond, the name of the group. I can’t believe it.” His voice was full of wonder.

“Here, I’ll show you the rest,” said Serge. He went through each stack giving its Spanish name and its English translation while Hank listened intently. When Serge finished Hank told him how the groups were arranged in the system, and they rearranged the stacks accordingly. They were both utterly engrossed in their task and Emile watched for awhile, but when he realized that he was no longer needed he quietly headed back to his console.

From the moment he first picked the sequence card out of Serge’s stack, Emile had felt a strange disconnect from the events that followed. It was almost like he had been floating outside of his own body, watching things transpire from a distance. Only now was he beginning to return to reality.

The whole time he had been searching through Serge’s stacks, he never thought for a second that the two consoles could be connected. It seemed so obvious now, and Emile cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. How many wasted weeks, months even, had they sat there ignorant to the fact that the solution was right in front of their faces? How long had he stared blankly at his console waiting for an answer to magically pop into his head when all he had to do was turn around? It was like he had traveled fifty miles to bypass a stream, only to find a bridge at the starting point.

Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anyway, thought Emile. Either way I’m right back where I started, sitting in front of this stupid monitor with nothing to do. Even when I do find something useful, it doesn’t last for long, and I never get any recognition for it anyway so why bother.

He pulled the sequence card out of his pocket and typed the numbers over and over into his keypad. When he finally stopped he stared at the columns of digits on the screen and after awhile they disappeared, replaced by a single flashing insertion point.

I don’t know why I bother at all, thought Emile, looking back at Serge and Hank. When he faced his monitor again the insertion point was blinking next to a small line of text. He leaned close to read it.

< -) That certainly was clever of you, Emile. >

Emile pressed the delete button absentmindedly wiping the text from the monitor. Clever got me this far, he thought, and chuckled to himself as he leaned back in his chair.

What?!? So close to figuring things out...who's talking through the console, what do the group names mean, what are the access codes? Oh, I know I'm not supposed to know yet, but I just wanted to tell you that your suspense technique is working wonders. I feel like I know what's going on without having the slightest idea of what's going on. And your characters are very tangible. I like that you're letting us learn about them without giving us a biography of each person

It took several minutes for Emile to register the significance of what he had just seen. The thought had fit so seamlessly into his own stream of consciousness that he simply mistook it for his own. When it finally did click he slowly opened his eyes and looked at the monitor. The insertion point was blinking next to another small line of text. Emile sat up in his chair and moved in closer.

< -) Would you like to talk, or are you too busy feeling sorry for yourself? >

This wasn’t happening. Emile’s heart began to pound and the blood in his temples pulsated rapidly. He was staring into the face of his own madness. Emile stood up and walked quietly out of the room, trying not to draw the attention of Serge and Hank. When he reached his bunk he sat down and held his head in his hands. There was a throbbing pressure behind his eyes that would not cease. He had strained his mind searching for that silly sequence. Perhaps he had broken it. Why had he focused so hard? Why had he searched so relentlessly? Confusion and anxiety were beginning to flood his senses. Was this what insanity felt like?

Hank and Serge could not find out. Emile couldn’t possibly spring this on them so soon after their discovery. But how could he conceal this? Was he just supposed to sit at his console, quietly staring at a hallucination, and attempt to keep himself from a complete breakdown? That charade could not be acted out forever, and sooner or later they would realize that something was wrong. If he was going insane it had happened at the worst possible time, and the irony of it drew Emile’s lips into a bitter smile.

Emile heard a noise from the console room and shot up from his bunk. How long had he been sitting there? If he wanted to avoid suspicion he had to act normal and sitting in his bunk all day certainly wasn’t normal. He walked quickly to the console room and sat down in his chair. When he looked over his shoulder Hank and Serge were busy and hadn’t noticed him enter. He turned toward his monitor and was greeted by a blank screen and the steadily blinking insertion point. Was the delusion over? Emile tapped the keypad, entering a random string of numbers. He paused for a moment before pressing the enter key and the numbers disappeared. He sat tensely on the edge of his seat but nothing happened. He began to relax slightly. Maybe it was over, he thought, but as he continued to stare at the monitor a line of text materialized from nothing and his heart sank.

< -) I’m growing tired of this game, Emile. >

Emile gazed at the monitor, contemplating his options. He didn’t have many. He could ignore it and pray that it would eventually leave him be, or he could play along. After what seemed like an eternity Emile placed his fingers on the keypad and typed.

[Who are you?] Emile pressed the enter key and his message disappeared. The insertion point idled for a moment then jumped into action, racing across the screen in front of a stream of text.

< -) I’m someone who has developed an interest in your recent activities. >

When Emile finished reading a sickening thought came to him. He typed his reply and held his breath.

[Are you with Management?]

< -) No I’m not, Emile. My goals and the goals of what you call ‘Management’ are quite different. >

This brought only temporary relief to Emile.

[Then I am insane. If you’re not with Management then you must be a delusion.]

< -) Is that so? I’m sorry you feel that way. >

Emile almost laughed out loud at the ironically straightforward response the specter had given him. It seemed so calm and rational. Is this how all hallucinations behaved, he wondered?

[Well if you’re not a delusion then what are you?]

< -) I already told you, I’m someone who has noticed what you are doing and I’ve developed an interest in it. I’m here to help you. >

[Is that all the explanation you’re going to give me?]

< -) I’m afraid that’s all the explanation I have to give. >

[Well maybe I should call Hank and Serge over here to verify my theory.]

< -) I would have no problem with that. Unfortunately they won’t be able to see me the way you do. >

Emile’s skepticism immediately rose as he read this last entry. That meant that there was no way to prove that this was real. Without proof what did he have? Emile remembered when Serge first heard the voices in his phone. There had been no proof then either but Serge seemed so certain that it was real. Emile just didn’t feel that certainty. Even when he had listened to the eerie static in Serge’s phone, he felt that there was a presence beyond what he perceived. That was a kind of proof for Emile and it probably helped him accept the change in Serge’s console. But if he didn’t trust his own senses how could he expect the others to trust him? How could he trust himself?

[So what you’re asking me for is blind faith?]

< -) Blind faith is foolish, Emile. I’m asking you to have faith in yourself. Do you truly believe that you’re insane and that I’m no more than a hallucination? >

[I did, but I’m not so sure anymore.]

< -) I contacted you because I wanted to help you and I believe that I can help, but if you refuse to trust yourself then there’s nothing I can do for you. If you want me to leave tell me now, and you’ll never have to speak to me again. >

The message vanished from the monitor and Emile sat back in his chair. The insertion point blinked steadily in the upper left-hand corner, awaiting his reply, but Emile didn’t know what to say. He was trapped. There was no reason for him to trust this new entity, but the longer he talked to it the more he felt his skepticism subside. He wanted to trust it, and it was making a lot of sense. The panic he felt earlier had subsided and he was thinking more clearly now. When Serge’s console changed they had no way of knowing whether it was a delusion or not, but they cast aside their doubt and kept pushing forward. Hank’s console was obviously no delusion but it could have just as easily been some new game sent by management to distract them, and maybe it was, but they moved on anyway. Was this any different? Was there anything to lose if he did push forward?

[I don’t want you to go. Not yet anyway. I think you probably are real, but it still bothers me that you could just as easily be working for Management, stringing us along on another game however intricate it may be.]

There was no answer for a moment and Emile wondered if he had offended it in some way. That was assuming that it was even capable of feeling offended. He ignored the thought though, and soon the insertion point jumped to life again, trailing text across the screen.

< -) If you ever suspect that, just ask me to leave and I’ll go. >

[And what if you don’t go away?]

< -) Then you’ll know I lied to you and you can disregard me anyway. >

Emile smiled at his new friend’s blunt manner. Of course he had trapped Emile once again but the statement seemed too honest to be a lie. There was no way to verify the story without losing this entity’s help, and he knew it. Why would it so openly offer to disappear if it wasn’t telling the truth? The only other answer was that Management was so confident of Emile’s compliance that they would risk their entire experiment on his whim. This was entirely possible, and might even be a great plan, but the same question still arose in Emile’s mind: Was there anything to lose if he did comply?

[Okay, I’ve decided to trust you. I figure it’s about time for my leap of faith.]

< -) I’m glad to hear that. >

[So how were you planning on helping me?]

< -) We can discuss that later. First I would like to hear about your discovery today. >

[I think you mean Hank and Serge’s discovery. You’d probably be better off talking to them about it.] Emile waited for a reply but none came. In fact, he began to feel slightly foolish for saying it. After a few awkward moments he continued typing.

[I damn near melted my brain trying to find that sequence. I don’t even know how long I was looking for it. That’s why I thought you were a hallucination. Hank tipped me off and luckily I remembered seeing it in Serge’s notes. It turns out that the consoles are, and always have been, connected. We were just too dense to realize it.]

< -) Why are they connected? >

[Serge’s console is providing the access codes for Hank’s console. He could only observe the system before, and now he can manipulate it. We’re not sure what he’s changing, but he’s certainly changing something.]

< -) No Emile, you’re telling me how they are connected. I’m asking you why they are connected. >

Emile paused after he read it. The more he thought about the question the sillier it seemed. How could he possibly know why? Did the sailor ask ‘why?’ when a rogue wave capsized his ship in rough seas? If he did he was a fool, and Emile could see no difference in his situation. For all he knew it was a force of nature that caused the consoles to be connected. ‘Why’ was irrelevant.

< -) You must have questioned the reasons behind an event this bizarre. >

[I didn’t have much time to question it. You showed up right after we discovered the connection.]

< -) Well now you have time. Start questioning. >

[I don’t see the point of asking why. We need to press forward. If there is an answer won’t we stumble upon it eventually?]

< -) So you’re content to stumble? That’s good because if you decide to continue on with a deliberate lack of knowledge and curiosity, you certainly will stumble. Like a leaf on a river you will be dragged along by the current and harshly subjected to all the hazards of which you remain so willfully ignorant. >

The words read like a cold, hard slap in the face. Emile could see himself on that river so vividly and with such familiarity that he felt he must have thought of it previously. In any case he had certainly felt that feeling of helplessness and it was not something he wanted to feel again.

[I’m not even sure where to start. There’s so much we don’t know.]

< -) But there’s also so much that you’ve learned. Think carefully about what you do know rather than what you don’t know. >

[Well, we know a lot about Hank’s lights. Its management’s computer system and he knows it inside and out. Serge’s console is a little trickier. We always knew that it was some sort of communication device, and now we know it’s spitting out access codes for the system. Their connected but ‘why’ is still a mystery.] Emile stopped and drifted into deep thought. He typed absentmindedly as random musings came to him.

[You could argue that all of this is just more pointless console games from Management, but we’ve seemed to disregard that possibility. It could still be true but it wouldn’t matter if it was, and thinking about it won’t get us anywhere so we’ve thrown it out. If they are legitimate systems then that means they must be intrinsically connected for a purpose.]

< -) Interesting… but what could that purpose be? >

[That’s the million dollar question, but I just had another thought. We know that the computer system belongs to Management, and we know that the phone is providing the access codes as well as the names of the groups. If it’s providing something that critical and that complete to the system, could it actually be a part of the system? Could it also be under the control of Management?]

< -) Go on. >

Emile was starting to get excited now. It felt like all the pieces were dropping into place.

[We felt so helpless before we had the codes. Hank was stuck observing the system and was impotent when it came to manipulating it. When we discovered the connection between the consoles it was like looking back stage. It was like we had found the missing half of a puzzle. I think we may have finally discovered the whole system!]

< -) It appears you know more about Management than you previously thought. >

[Yeah I guess so. I still have no idea what the point of the system is though.]

< -) Don’t worry Emile. You’ve done well. However, there is an aspect of Management that you have known about all along. >

[What’s that?]

< -) Tell me what you hear when you listen to the phone. >

Emile shuddered.

[It’s a kind of static with some clicking in the background, but that doesn’t do it justice. When I hear it I feel like there’s something on the other end. Something big. It’s like the air is being sucked from my lungs, and the static is moving out of the phone and into my head. I guess that sounds kind of crazy.]

< -) What you heard was the voice of Management. Not the pure voice, but a variation. It can be quite unpleasant. >

Emile was too stunned to reply. It didn’t make any sense to him. As eerie as the static was, it was just a signal. It couldn’t actually be the voice of the Management. His new friend must have been confused.

[That’s impossible. Even if it were the voice of Management, Serge is the only one that can really hear it.]

< -) It’s not only possible Emile, it’s the truth, and believe it or not your perception of the voice is much more accurate than Serge’s. >

[I don’t understand. He’s the only one who actually hears a voice. All I hear is distortion.]

< -) Your right. Serge fluently understands the messages that Management is sending but that’s precisely why he can never hear its true voice. He hears the messages in his native language. It’s the same with Hank. He can see the computer system fluently but he will never have the same appreciation for the colors that you have. He doesn’t see them in that way. This even applies to you Emile. The others will never be able to see me like you do, and you will never be able to see me like they do. Only they can see my true form. >

[If only they can see your true form, why did you choose me to talk to?]

< -) Only you and Hank can hear the true voice of Management through Serge’s phone. Would either of you like to take over his job? >

Emile saw at once how futile that would be.

< -) My true form is of little use to you. >

[So was it your idea or Managements idea to make it this way?]

< -) Neither of us chose this. >

[Well then why is it like this?]

< -) Why do your feet stay on the floor when you get out of bed in the morning? Why does air fill your lungs when you inhale? These are the rules, Emile. Neither I nor Management can break them. >

[Can I break them?]

< -) I don’t know. >

The conversation was turning excessively cryptic. All of the oddities, riddles, and half answers were beginning to wear on Emile. It was too much to take in at once, and he could feel his tired mind smothering any attempt at understanding.

[I think your losing me.]

< -) I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have sprung that on you just yet. Oh well, at least you’ll have a lot to think about. >

[You’ve given me a lifetime supply of thinking material, but I’ll try my best.]

< -) You did extremely well today Emile. Not just with me, but with everything. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating your value. Now get some rest. >

Emile beamed with pride when he read the last entry. It was the first time he could remember feeling good about himself. He was about to switch off the monitor when he remembered something important. He keyed in a message quickly and hoped that his friend hadn’t left.

[What is your name?] It took a moment for his friend to reply.

< -) That’s a good question. I hadn’t really thought about it, but now that you mention it there is a name you’ve already given me that I find quite appropriate for a number of reasons. >

Emile had no clue.

< -) Call me Monitor. >

The screen went blank and Emile reached over and turned off the power. The sudden awareness of his surroundings was quite shocking, and he blinked his eyes against the bright, sterile light of the console room. He heard soft murmurs from across the room and when he turned he saw that Hank and Serge were still immersed in the stacks of cards. Emile had no clue how long he had been conversing with his console for, and part of him suspected that there was no definite answer. Maybe the insignificance of time in this place was one of the rules that Monitor had referred to.

He watched them silently for a moment before he turned and headed to his bunk. As he walked out of the room and down the short hallway, he trailed his fingers along the smooth white walls. His brain was already shutting down. When he reached his room he shut the door behind him and turned out the light. He was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

Thanks for reading Fossil!