Seclusion

Copyright by Demented Thinking Productions 1998
Seclusion

Space is blandly empty, bleak and devout of time and understanding. Time escapes the normal bound in space, and emptiness configures the reality of stars rushing past a portal window in the deep black void of nothingness. But, Space is not without faults of it's own. The blackness which encases those who dare to unleash it's brutal powers always call to the unaware and the young at heart. For Steve Donovan, a self proclaimed human arms dealer operating within the confines of the Gamma Sector galaxies away from his home planet of earth, misunderstandings and emptiness plague his every day life with their inconsistencies. No doubt humans are the weaker life form in the offset Gamma Sector where most humans, if they are smart, take heed and stay away from the thousands of alien races waiting to rage their vengeance upon humanoid heads, but Steve preferred his seclusion and privacy. The Gamma Sector, for Steve, provided all the privacy he needed and dared to hunger for. Space was the only place he could think straight. The enormous glowing stars guided his travels and he was as happy as any arms dealer would be while constantly looking over his shoulder. His life was a dangerous one, but a profitable one as well. Steve made friends just as easily as he made enemies. He was a loner and liked it that way. But, for Steve Donovan perhaps the biggest scare of his mortal life happened along unexpectedly about 8 months ago.

Donovan sailed the Gamma Sector every day of his adult life. He choose the area because it was the most profitable. Alien races would not be accustomed to seeing eye to eye and pulling together as a whole, therefore they fought like cats and dogs, and Steve capitalized on their shortcomings. For years Steve sold weapons to both sides of the track without as so much of a hint of being caught. His customers were happy with their purchases. The guns worked and solved the problems, that was all they cared about.

Steve knew every hole, space rift, and anomaly like the back of his hand and he usually traveled alone because it was cheaper in two respects. One, he did not have to pay an extra crewman to do the work he could do on his own and two, he never had to worry about a disgruntled employee selling him out to the opposition. In Steve's opinion, bringing along an extra mouth to feed was bad business. Eight months ago Steve navigated the outer regions of the Signauch Cluster which was a cluster of ten warring planets nestled deep within the northernmost hemisphere of the Gamma Sector. Tired from flying for three days straight on nothing but high quantities of caffeine and a little miracle drug called the "little yellow missiles," which if you took enough of them they "shot" you into space, Steve decided to lay over at a small little known planet named Syberius 4 just hidden  in the back of the cluster. He usually found the outermost remote planet to grab some rest and relaxation, so he could peacefully shake off the weariness of his travels without worrying about time constraints, over populated crowds, and the usual unwelcoming attitudes toward newcomers and foreign traders. Steve left his small barely runnable ship at the space dock in the city of Cacus deep within the depths of  Syberius 4 and found himself guided to a small pub known as, The Garden Lily, coined after the 21st century pubs which graced England's countryside’s on Earth. As Steve plopped his aching bones on a bar stool at the far end of the bar he ordered the house specialty entitled, Lily's Secret. What exactly the secret was, Steve was unsure and did not really care, but he assumed the secret was the drink tasted horrible until the forth or fifth swallow and by that time you were drunk and did not care what it tasted like. By the sixth or seventh sip, you became a dilapidated, run-down drunk who knew it all and should be put to rest. Steve was working on his sixth slurp and on knowing every little mystery the universe held in the palms of its hands.

If  Steve blew off a little steam it didn't make any difference. He had a 4 day lay over in Cacus while he waited for the Border Wars to cease with the signing of the peace agreement between the Syberiums and the Denauchians. Both chancellors from their perspective sides would sign the treaty tomorrow morning at 0900 hours and all would be rosy between the two warring peoples. Steve wanted to relax and think about what he would do now and who he would sell his highly regarded weapons to. In the next four days his precious cargo would be loaded and he would be on his way out of this sector entirely looking for new clients to wage arms on.

As he sipped nonchalantly on his secretive drink which was beginning to taste pretty good by now, Steve watched a dart game in the corner of the bar between a Syberium named Forghe and a Denauchian named Methus. It was an apparent friendly game and Steve watched with some detached, bemused curiosity as Forghe accused Methus of stepping over the line on his winning dart tagging the center bull dead on, and taking the pile of monetary Sulker Chips the two adversaries promptly bet. Both Forgthe, a biochemical engineer, and Methus, a strong Denauchian warrior, stood toe to toe for at least ten full minutes arguing over the point as if neither had any other forms of money left in the vast universe. Steve, like a few other passive admirers watched thoughtfully as the two aliens called each other and certain members of their families everything in the book. Steve waited until the argument seemed to be getting out of hand and interjected in a soft spoken voice while staring at his emptying glass, "He wasn't over the line. You're upset, Forgthe, because he's a Denauchian and on top of being a better dart player than you, he's beat you fair and square."

The tiny, homely bar fell to a dead silence as both aliens regarded Steve with distrust and contempt. No one moved for what seemed like years as both aliens glared at Steve in anger. Figuring he had opened up one hell of a can of worms, Steve decided to finish it and spoke quietly again, "Why don't you throw the turn over, shake hands and kiss and make up?" Forgthe and Methus eyed each other seemingly contemplating Steve's advice. Slowly turning their attention back to Steve Methus rasped, "And what do you know of darts, human?" Methus drug out the word human like it was foul and disgusting. Steve shuddered, "Here we go," he muttered to himself under his breath. Forgthe sauntered over to Steve's bar stool, grabbed the back of the chair firmly and whipped Steve around to face him in a split second. Claiming in a loud boisterous voice Forgthe announced, "The human will now demonstrate the correct way to play darts!" Again the word human was spit upon and Steve began to see his folly wishing he would just silently slip out of the chair and disappear somewhere away from this confrontation. His heart sped up and his brain worked quickly trying to figure a way out of this craziness.

The bar was still and silent and Steve knew a fight was unavoidable at this point. Steve never backed down from a fight even when he was stupid and drunk like he was now, and he certainly wasn't going to slip away just when things got hot and interesting. Forgthe's nose just about touched the tip of  Steve's and his breath smelled like rotten eggs baked all day out on the heat of Mars' dusty surface. Steve could physically see Forgthe's skin oozing a light green secretion from his pores signifying his rage and anger. The stench was unbearable and Steve had to get away from the Syberium. He was choking on the alien's scent and the more Forgthe eyed Steve the madder he seemed to get. Steve noted this and replied, "Oh, are we a little mad, Forgthe? You need a human to tell you how to play?" That was it. Steve sailed over the bar counter and by the time he hit the glass shredded floor he realized Forgthe was stronger than he gave him credit for, not to mention he was glad to be away from the foul smelling alien before he puked in his face.

Brushing himself off while calculating the best plight of defense, Steve looked about the dimly lit room for a weapon within reach. Finding none and, for the moment in his drunken stupor, forgetting about his knife he always carried just for these unexpected occasions, Steve leaped over the bar and put up his fists ready for the blow, but not knowing from which direction it would come. Just as he planted his feet firmly on the ground and took his first swing at Forgthe the blow came from behind. Methus clocked him a good one, right up side the head. As he slipped into the abysmal darkness sure to come Steve kicked himself for not knowing where Methus was. As the lights went totally out Steve heard Methus say, "Let's get this human scum out of our bar!"

Six long hours later, Steve Donovan awoke in his own cramped quarters aboard his little ship, Fresca, and rubbed his eyes slowly. His head hurt from the knockout blow and everything else ached from the hangover he was working on. He wiped his brow and  massaged his temples as he fumbled for his cigarettes. His cabin was eerily dark with the exception of the small headboard light securely fastened to the top of his bed. The insignificant light blinded him and he blinked as he searched the most obscure corners of the quaint little chamber. Everything was in its rightful place. Nothing was missing.

The pictures of his family hung on the left-hand wall right where he'd tacked them. All of his books were piled in an organized mess atop his hardwood desk he had picked up in the Delta Sector while running guns for a Moscian investor. But, something was amiss. He didn't know what yet, but something was definitely not right with this picture. Steve sat up quickly and as always hit his head on the overhead light reminding him of the forming headache from the crack to the back of the head he took from Methus. His head spun, and the evenings events swam to and fro within his muddled brain fraying his balance. Waiting for the excruciating pain to cease and his thoughts to clear enough for him to figure out what exactly happened to him, Steve touched the lump on the back of his head and let out a little yelp. Trying his hand at standing, Steve slumped back into the bed like melted butter. "Oh, my head," Steve moaned as he got his bearings. Steve leaned against the headboard waiting for the wave of nausea and dizziness to subside. No matter what he did he could not get comfortable and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew there was something he should of figured out by now.

Staring out the small port hole in his cabin, one of the only windows on the tiny ship, it came to him. He wasn't in space dock any longer. Somehow, Steve was adrift out in the vast wasteland of space or worse someone else was aboard his ship piloting it to God knows where. A fleeting thought practically brandished Steve right between the eyes. What if my shipment has been tarnished or somehow compromised? Steve hopped up a little too quickly and as he physically shook off the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him again, he headed for the automatic cabin door walking in a zig zag pattern with some certainty. As he approached the door it swished open and another horrible thought occurred to him. What if he was lost in a unforgiving region of space he had not yet chartered? Quickly dismissing this thought, a chill ran up and down his spine acknowledging his terror.

Shaking the cobwebs from his muddled mind, Steve proceeded out the cabin door carefully drawing his old fashioned hunting knife and crept down the Fresca's empty corridors he had felt comfortably alone in until this very moment. Right now, he wished like hell he had picked up the 16 year old boy passenger running away from home on Terinauch. At least he'd have some one to share this insanity with and to talk to. He'd settle for anyone at this point and if it was a 16 year old kid, then so be it.

As Steve Donovan slowly made his way down the darkened hallways to the well equipped bridge he took careful consideration of the most innate possibilities that undeniably sought him ahead. The corridors cried out in loneliness and they became hauntingly quiet. Steve shivered, checked his watch and kept a steady pace to his target. The cool, gray walls closed in around him and panic welled deep within the furthest regions of his aching mind. Steve closed his eyes willing the fear to subside and took a deep breath letting it out slowly as if he was participating in a Lamaze class. Steve kept moving none the less feeling his way along the hall and knowing his own ship's schematics by heart. The tiny hairs at the nape of his neck prickled and frigid chills ran up his spine.

Fighting to overcome his horror, Steve typed in his six digit numerical code with shaky persistence into the command box just adjacent to bridge door. Holding his breath, he hoped the door would gladly obey and rush open as it slowly slid away to reveal the tiny bridge. It was completely empty. No one piloted Fresca through any kind of space, it was flying all on it's own. The bridge controls blinked and beeped as Fresca drifted on what seemed to be autopilot.

Donovan quickly seated himself at the captains console and examined the controls carefully. Everything seemed to be in perfect working order and running smoothly, purring like a kitten. Fresca was logged in on a course, what course he wasn't exactly sure, but all the settings appeared to be correct. The ship's safety buffers were in place and all the systems functioned properly. Steve checked them and then double checked them. Sure that Fresca was working up to specs, Steve decided with some apprehension to leave the bridge for now and investigate the rest of the little ship. Upon exiting the bridge, the door swished shut behind him and he entered his six digit code again locking the door just in case he wasn't the only being roaming about the Fresca. Slowly wandering down the corridors taking in every little tick like a sponge, Steve thoroughly examined every room as he made his way to the engineering room. Fresca was as he had left it, lonely and completely empty.

As he entered main engineering, Steve cast a quick look all over the compartment. Just like all the others aboard the ship, this room boasted it's emptiness. Steve sighed in relief, finally able to breathe normally. He began to concentrate on the controls before him when he heard a noise. It was a familiar sound, but he could not quite place it. Sure he had heard it before, Steve stopped and listened hard to decipher its whereabouts. The sound increased just enough to peak his interest and he could almost make it out. He listened again, this time a little more intently. Steve gasped when realized what the noise was. It was voices. Whispering voices. Some were human, some alien, but it was all voices whispering and reaching out to him just beyond his sight from the dark depths of the corners in the small room. "Oh man, now I'm going insane. I'm hearing voices, next thing I know I'll be seeing things too," Steve mumbled to himself softly. He shook his head violently to block out the noise which seemed to grow louder by the second.

Gazing down at the engineering console again, Steve thought he caught a slight movement in the corner, but he quickly dismissed it as he peered at the brightly displayed controls. Trying to concentrate as best as he could, Steve carefully measured each reading twice to ensure everything coincided with the readings from the bridge. Again a movement just beyond the brilliant light of the control panel. Steve lifted the phaser from the cabinet under the engineering console and silently stepped out from behind the counter to investigate. With his phaser drawn and his heart pumping faster than it ever had in his short 35 years,

Steve narrowed his way into the corner where the movement originated. It came again. Steve froze with his finger on the trigger poised and ready, "Hello?" He said sounding a bit like a wounded child. His voice echoed off the gray walls as it sounded smaller than he'd originally intended. "Oh, thank God it's you!" A relieved voice said from the inky blackness. "Debbie?" Steve inquired. "Yes, it's me, in the flesh!" Debbie threw her arms around Steve's neck and kissed him before he had a chance to think about refusing her. "I'm so happy to see you. What have you been doing with yourself?" Debbie bounced from side to side like a cheerleader at tryouts and hugged Steve again.

Steve, in obvious shock, stuttered a curt hello and yanked Debbie's leach-like grip from around his neck. He could not believe his eyes. He wished for someone to share this insanity with, but Debbie Hurst was the furthest person from his mind, and she was definitely not on the, "want to be stranded on a ship alone with," picks of the century list. Steve hadn't thought of Debbie since he left her stranded in a hotel room alone on Cytel 9. Debbie was really popular there. Steve spent two fun-filled weeks with her, paid her, and went on his merry way. His head was reeling. Trying to stay on top of this, Steve grasped his head and thought hard. Why would she be here right now of all times? Was he dreaming this? Did he unconsciously want to have another fling with Debbie? The dizziness became apparent once again and Steve plopped down on the floor desperately trying to control his stomach from emptying all its sour contents on the floor in front of him.

Steve surveyed Debbie suspiciously and finally said, "What the hell are you doing here? I left you light years away from this place. How did you get here and why are you on my ship without my permission?" The hurt in Debbie's eyes was quite apparent as she countered, "I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"Well,...uh,...I am. I am happy to see you. I just don't understand why your here now and how you got here." Debbie appeared to mull this over in her mind as if she was waiting for someone else to gladly give the answers to her before she finally said, "Well, I happened to be visiting Syberius 4 when I heard you'd been hurt by some aliens. I came to help you if I could. After all, what are friends for if they can't help each other from time to time."

Steve looked at Debbie in utter disbelief. He knew she was lying. What possible reason and motive did she really have for being there? And as far as her being a friend of Steve's that was completely ridiculous. They weren't friends. They did not keep in touch. They never sent sub space messages back and forth, they never called one another to say, hey how's life treating you?

Knowing Debbie's answer was a farce but at a loss to describe what was happening to him, Steve accepted this lame excuse for the moment and restored the controls on the computer panel in front of him. Debbie peeked over his shoulder as he made the final preparations. That irritated him. Debbie irritated him, but he choose to ignore it for the time being. "Are you coming?" Steve shot over his shoulder as he was leaving."Yeah, sure!" Debbie hopped along side and immediately started gibbering about nonsensical things Steve cared nothing about.

As they rounded the first corner Debbie stopped talking a mile a minute like a Ducaurian Hyenna. At first Steve took no notice of the silence which transpired between the both of them. He kept walking along unaware, lost in his own thoughts. Steve stopped dead in his tracks. "Debbie?" She was no where to be found. It was almost like she completely disappeared and was never there in the first place.

Steve rushed back to engineering looking everywhere for her. Not that he really craved her company, he just wanted to make sure he wasn't losing what little mind he had left. She was no where in sight. Debbie was gone into the night as quickly as she had appeared. Panic set in and the whispering voices manifested themselves again surrounding him until he was paralyzed with fear. Steve grabbed both sides of his head with his trembling hands and screamed, "Get out of my head!" He raced down the hallway to what he thought was the bridge and punched in his six digit code on the command panel. Nothing. He tried it again. It would not open. "Damn!" He muttered.

Taking a deep breath he cleared the panel and carefully put the code in again. The door swished open and Steve stood there dumbfounded. It was not the bridge. He was in his quarters again. Blinking he looked again as if the actual motion of doing so would change what he saw. In the end it did not.

Steve ran down the corridors until he broke out into a cold sweat. The voices became louder and his legs grew tired. He ran for what seemed like days before he collapsed against the wall in exhaustion. In a frenzied state of terrifying reality, Steve realized he no longer felt at home on his cozy little ship, Fresca. It wasn't his ship at all. It belonged to the voices. The voices in the shadows that reached out from the depths of a man's muddled mind and grasped his remaining coils of sanity ripping them from their sockets. He was lost on his own ship and had no clue where he was going. Thrashing from left to right, Steve kicked the pristine white sheets off of his sweaty, naked body and awoke screaming in prettified horror. The scream died on his lips when he saw Methus and Forgthe standing at the foot of his hospital bed with their arms folded. "Well, well, Mr. Donovan. Seems you've got a nasty knot on your head and possibly a few bad, violent dreams as well," Forgthe said plainly like a doctor speaking to an uncontrollable patient. "What's going on?" Steve asked meekly. "Mr. Donovan, we've been tracking you for months. Your a hard man to hold down," Methus offered. "We are customs officers," Forgthe chimed in, "On the Syberium border. We knew you were smuggling guns into our sector, but had no proof. Thanks to your involvement in our little dart tiff, we now have the much needed proof we desired."

Steve sat up on the side of his bed in shock with his mouth agape. Methus patted his shoulder in a friendly gesture and confided, "We implanted a special device into your nervous system. It's a nerve conductor which allows us to gain correct readings about your brain patterns. This handy little device also allows access to your thought process deriving the truth from the lies you may tell us."

Steve couldn't believe his ears. Were they telling him they knew everything about him? As if to answer his question, Forgthe began reciting Steve's rights and smacked handcuffs on his wrists.

Steve heard none of it. He drifted off into his own world thinking all along to himself. This can't be real, it can't be happening. "How do you plead?" Methus shook him, "How do you plead, Mr. Donovan?" Steve's eyes cleared and he countered, "Not guilty! D,...Do,...Do I get a trail?" Both aliens laughed uproariously, "There's already been one, Mr. Donovan!" Forgthe yelled. "Guilty!" Methus yelled back. "Sentencing will commence!" Methus and Forgthe laughed together again and Steve stared in disbelief. Steve kicked off the covers and found himself nestled neatly atop his own bed in his cabin within the confines of Fresca. He shook out the blankets vigorously and peered about the dimly lit room with uncharacteristic dismay. Swinging his feet to the side of the bed, he quickly took a peek underneath before putting his feet on the floor like a child checking under the bed for monsters. Exhaling a deep breath, Steve relaxed a little, "It was just a bad dream, all of it a bad dream." As Steve shook off the last residuals of sleep one phrase stuck in his feeble mind. "The sentence is life!" It kept repeating over and over again until the voices chimed in with it. Steve shivered as he glanced out the portal window and the familiar whispering voices got louder. He wasn't in space dock and Fresca was on auto pilot floating aimlessly through voids of uncharted space he'd never dared to capture within all his travels.

Realizing he was reliving earlier events, Steve screamed in sheer terror. Steve Donovan, a broken man with broken dreams now lives out his final days and is in seclusion within his life sentence.