First: Sorry for taking so long to update! I've been busy.
Second: This chapter probably isn't what you're expecting… Basically, two months ago I had a weird idea, and this is the result of that idea, and now I should probably just be quiet and let you read it.
EDIT 04/2016: So I finally re-read this, and although it has some nice moments, I need to do some editing to tighten it up and make it more... thematic. I don't know. It'll take a bit of work, but hopefully that'll happen soon.
The Past
Warm, rubbery skin. Black alien eyes. And… the crash of thunder.
Joe blinked. It was like he's been somewhere else for a second – a flash of lightning and a dark house. An old memory. But no, he was still in the cavern, dangling metres above the ground. He didn't move and just let himself hang limply, trusting the creature, pleading for it to understand. It hadn't killed him. Yet. It was just... staring. Alice and Cary were still huddling in the cave below. You can still live.
Thunder, louder.
The house rattled.
Joe blinked again, confused. The cave reappeared. And suddenly—
A rush. A waterfall of thoughts and emotions and indescribably alien sensations, flowing around and into his brain, digging through, swirling like a flood through a forest. Memories, merging, leaping through time. Alien eyes. His skin buzzed. He was still in the cave, but far away at the same time. Distant, far away, and together with it—
The crash of thunder.
It was loud. So loud that it seemed almost infinite, rattling the windows, shaking the house to its bones. Joe curled up in his bed and stuck his fingers in his ears. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the storm… but you couldn't. Not when you were eight years old, and still a little afraid of the dark.
Lightning flashed, harsh and bright, silhouetting the wintry skeletons of trees in the garden outside. Joe twitched and started counting. One, two—
BOOOOM!
The storm was right overhead; heavy rain drummed on the roof and poured from overflowing gutters. The power was out too. Joe risked a peek over his blankets and couldn't see anything – just pitch black darkness. Logically, he knew that he was still in his room, safe in his bed, and that there weren't any monsters hiding in the gloom. He knew that he was too old for monsters.
But logic always fled once the sun went down. He lay back down again, heart beating fast. You're not gonna go running to mom and dad like a crybaby. You're not a little kid anymore. You're brave.
Lightning.
One, t—
BOOOOM!
Something fell from a shelf in the kitchen and hit the tiles with a sharp crack. Joe jumped. He couldn't go to sleep now, not when the night was so dark - so he lay there, staring at the ceiling, clutching the sheets with sweaty fingers. Right at that moment, it seemed like a particularly bad idea to have borrowed that horror movie magazine from Charles.
Lightning.
Rain.
Shadows.
He lay there for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, a slit of yellow light appeared under his bedroom door. Joe turned towards it; heard footsteps creaking on the floorboards outside. The doorhandle started turning—
He quickly rolled over and pretended to be asleep.
The door opened quietly. A shadowy presence picked its way across the carpet and stopped beside his bed, dim torch in hand. Joe could see its faint red glow behind his eyelids.
"You don't have to pretend, Joe," his mother said softly. "It's all right."
When Joe opened his eyes, he saw her standing over him. She looked like an angel in her crumpled nightgown – smiling tiredly, long black hair lying messily around her shoulders. "How long have you been up?"
"Just a little while…" he answered quietly. "Is dad awake?"
"Yes, he's awake. Just like you."
Lightning. Thunder. The sky roiled and rumbled, on and on and on, and just when it felt like it would never end – the thunder faded away into the night.
"It's loud, huh?" his mom said, pointing at the ceiling.
Joe nodded, embarrassed. "Yeah."
"It's okay to be scared. Don't worry."
"I wasn't scared."
"Sure you weren't." Elizabeth smiled again as wind howled across the hills. She laid the torch down on his desk, a warm, safe glow; then knelt down on the ground before him, looking straight into his eyes. Her gaze was comforting. "You know what else is loud?" she asked.
Joe shook his head.
"Fireworks!"
"That's… that's different."
"No it isn't - not really." His mother turned away for a moment, searching for an old memory. "Thunder… it's caused by the shock the lightning makes in the air. The electricity heats everything up, like an explosion. Like fireworks do. You know Mrs. Easton at school?"
"She was my grade three teacher."
"Oh! She was, wasn't she. Well, she taught me that, many years ago."
"She's really old."
"Ha. She certainly is." Elizabeth leant in close, and Joe realised that he'd nearly forgotten all about the thunder and the darkness. "And fireworks – they make us happy, don't they? They're bright, and colourful. Red. Yellow. Green. On New Year's Eve, or Fourth of July, when all the family's together, celebrating…"
He nodded.
"So what's so scary about thunder? It's just the same. It's just a sound."
Rain thrummed on the windows as Joe tried to think. His mother watched him, smiling gently. The torch flickered.
"It's not the sound that's scary," he said eventually, almost too soft to hear.
"Hm?"
"It's... it's the lightning."
"Why?"
Joe opened his mouth to say something - but then just shook his head. His mom frowned.
"Hey, you can tell me. I'm sure it's a very good reason. And if it isn't - then you won't have to be scared anymore."
As if on cue, the sky flashed angrily. Bright white streaks tore through the midnight clouds, splitting the storm in half. Joe shivered with anticipation. One, two, three—
CRASH!
The floor of the ship slewed wildly to the left. The inner walls failed for a moment, flickering and dissolving from shining silver into a sea of rough white cubes as the ship's systems tried to deal with the sudden impact. Sharp flares of blue plasma strobed from the ceiling and filled the pilot's chamber with light.
/Impact read on portside nacelle spaceborne debris impact systems damaged systems recalibrating
The ship was star-shaped, curved and silver, with five engines flaring blue at the end of long, tapered fingers. From the outside, you would've seen a faint metallic blur unexpectedly rip into its hull – tearing a hole several metres wide, bursting out the other side an instant later at 15,000 kilometres an hour. Silver splinters exploded into space, twinkling in the distant sunlight… twinkling against the blue-green planet that spun far below.
/The Starfarer is damaged the Starfarer requests direction
There was only one thing alive on the silvery ship – a huge, dark grey figure that lay in the central chamber. White and purple tendrils of light connected its body to the cavernous walls. They were faint, nearly insubstantial, and flickers of energy ran up and down them furiously fast.
/The Starfarer must reconfigure. The Starfarer must repair. Quickly quickly the atmosphere is close (background) disappointment this race does not keep their spacelanes clear of debris they must be primitives stupid primitives
The pilot had a name, of sorts. It wasn't a human name; you couldn't really translate it without connecting to a thousand years of alien knowledge and ancestry and emotion.
But, roughly, it sounded a bit like 'Cooper.'
CRASH! Another piece of debris speared into the ship's midsection, jolting it violently sideways. (Years later, someone would eventually figure out that it had been the remnants of an old Russian satellite.) One of the engine spires was torn clean off and fell away, melting into a cloud of white cubes. Air and fire screamed from the opening. The ship rolled again. Hard black eyes flicked open for a second, briefly panicked.
/Why did sensors not warn of impact (question) damaged must be damaged
/Relief disappointment fear. Pilgrimage; the pilgrimage will be unfulfilled. Surface approaches fast (immediate) too fast uncontrolled
The ship suddenly entered the planet's outer atmosphere. This was dangerous; pieces of its hull were still whizzing around outside, trying to rearrange themselves, close the holes, repair vital systems. It wasn't happening in time. The two impacts had been too big, too fast and the ship was speeding up as it was drawn into the planet's gravity well. Re-entry fire began to bloom around its nose.
/The pilgrimage will be unfulfilled (thoughts) (course of action) (important) the Homesphere must be notified. Must must must try and control descent
/Notify first
The alien leapt up from his position in the pilot's chamber and lumbered across to a spinning circular ring on the far wall. The ship shuddered wildly. Soundless alarms screamed from every corner. He reached for the ring and light glowed around his fingers and the ring span, faster and faster and even faster and Cooper pulled every bit of data he could from the ship's remaining sensors and compressed it into a tiny, hardened package. Then he sealed the package with his memories and sent it flying across the stars.
The Homesphere was very far away. But the package would get there, in time.
/Notify done (very important) now must control descent
The ship was flying incredibly fast. Parts of it were beginning to crack and splinter off, its silvery exterior becoming warped and damaged and grey. Shields were struggling to hold together and the engines were unresponsive. The surface of the planet was bare kilometres away. Cooper would have considered it was quite beautiful – hazy and blue, dusted with clouds, dotted with green forests and wrinkled, jagged mountains – had he not been so busy trying to stay alive.
This was not a situation he'd found himself in before.
/Secondary thrusters operational (correction) somewhat operational (question?) perhaps can try to skim atmosphere
/Skim
/Skim
/No, too fast, power lacking
From ground level barely kilometres below, you would've seen a silver sapphire-shaped blur zoom through the upper atmosphere, quicker than a lightning bolt. Pinpricks of light flared on its surface as it tried to propel itself upward.
/The Starfarer can jump away if all repairs are focused on core. Can jump away, far away to gas giant planet will be safe there and able to think/wait/repair
/No jump is too dangerous
/Cannot risk. Disruption to planet's gravity well may affect/destroy indigenous species (moral consideration) unfortunate
/Other options?
All around the ship, thousands of white cubes stopped in mid-air for a moment, frozen with indecision. Deep within, impact protection systems began to come to life (the ones that still worked anyway). To Cooper's question there was unfortunately no answer; but this was expected, as he was the only member of his species within several hundred light years.
/No options
/The pilgrimage will be unfulfilled
/I am… alone
His eyes flashed open in the smoke-filled chamber as the realisation nearly crushed him. He was alone, really alone - away from the comforting buzz of the spheres, ready to die on a distant, backwards planet far, far away. Too far away. His breath was cold.
…
/No, WRONG
/Alone but survival not impossible
/Perhaps if we survive will not be alone (IMPORTANT)
Cooper scrambled back to the pilot's station. Perhaps he could reconfigure the shape, jettison mass to form a shield and if he could manoeuvre just enough and keep the fields from failing just a little longer - just a little longer - but the surface of the planet was approaching fast, too fast, he didn't have time to do all that, although every little bit would help and suddenly, brilliantly he had an idea—
Then many things happened at once and there was an incredible sound and a huge concussion and a burst of blue and white and PAIN—
Pain. Joe felt it keenly as he stared at the long, red slice in his finger. Blood trickled down his pale white skin and dripped onto the grass. It hurt.
But at the same time, it didn't. The pain was distant, something you could ignore. He turned his finger over and watched it bleed curiously.
"Oh my gosh! Joe, what happened?" On the other side of the garden, his mom dropped her half-filled washing basket in the grass, shocked. She ran quickly to his side.
"I cut it on the fence."
"Where?"
Joe pointed at a dark red splotch on the metal. One of the panels in the fence had rusted, exposing a sharp edge. Elizabeth took his hand in hers and looked closely at the cut. "Does it hurt?"
"A bit. Not really." Joe tried to put on a brave face, like 9-year-old boys do, but actually his sliced finger was starting to hurt quite a lot. "Ow!"
"Oops, sorry. Just – don't move, okay darling, I'll get a bandage from inside. Where's dad?"
"He's getting the ball from across the road!" Joe called out… but Elizabeth was already disappearing up the steps around the front of the house.
It was a hot summer's day in central Ohio, without a hint of a breeze in the muggy air as the sun beat down from above. The whole town was green, but it was a dry sort of green – the kind you get when it hasn't rained for nearly a week. Grass crackled sharply underfoot, insects chirped, trees provided thankful patches of shade. The air smelt of apple blossoms and freshly-dug dirt. All in all, it was a good day to be out, so Joe and his dad were playing baseball in the garden.
Or they had been, at least - until his dad had smacked the ball over the road, over the next house, and into the lane on the other side. (Joe wasn't very good at baseball. He wasn't even sure if he liked it, actually… but it was fun sometimes, and Jack said he should practice if he wanted to get on the school team.)
Blood dripped onto the grass.
Soon, his mom came running back out, a small bandage and a bottle in her hands. She was wearing a simple green dress patterned with flowers - a detail he'd always remember. "I'm going to put some of this on your finger," she said quickly. "It might hurt a bit, okay?"
Joe nodded and looked away. Elizabeth took his hand, wiped the blood off, then rubbed something foul-smelling into the cut. It stung sharply. He winced.
"That's it. Be brave," she said softly. She cleaned the wound again and the bandage went on next, thin and white, wrapping around his finger half-a-dozen times until she cut the cloth with scissors and stuck it down tight. It pressed into his skin with a dull, throbbing ache. Elizabeth stood up and peered at her handiwork. "How is it?"
Joe flexed his finger experimentally. "Better."
"Good. Although next time when you decide to climb a fence, you might want to, you know – check it for edges first." She smiled a sort of playful, warning smile, the same one she used whenever there were ~lessons~ to be ~learned~. "Actually… can I have another look at that bandage?"
"Why?"
"I just want to make sure it'll stick."
Joe held out his hand cautiously as the sun glared down on both of them. Suddenly, Elizabeth grabbed it and planted a big wet kiss on his finger.
"Hey!" Joe pulled away and jumped back, embarrassed. He looked over his shoulder to check if any of the neighbours were watching.
"What's the matter? Scared of a little kiss?"
"I'm not scared!"
"You are too."
"I'm not!"
"Then you won't mind, my dear little Lamb if I just lean over and—"
His mother reached out to grab him and instantly he turned and sprinted away. She just laughed and chased after, running in her green summer dress. Joe looked over his shoulder and saw her closing the gap. He sped up, leading her around the big pine tree, under the old swingset, past the flowerbeds and her discarded washing basket. "I'm catching up!" She was still laughing wildly and suddenly Joe found himself laughing too, panting, gasping for breath and the sound of their happiness rang out over the town, beautiful and clear and pure.
"…Have I missed something?"
Jack Lamb was standing on the sidewalk, gazing at them both with a wry grin on his face. Joe whirled around skidded to a stop so fast he almost slammed into the side of the house. Elizabeth stopped a few metres behind, breathing hard. "I was just teaching Joe the value of… a kiss," she said mysteriously.
"Well, I certainly know the value of those," his father replied, even more mysteriously.
"Jack! You can't say-"
"What?"
"Oh, never mind."
"I won't," Jack said. "Now, if I recall correctly, Joe and I were exploring the finer points of batting before you lunatics started runnin' around. Joe, you wanna keep playing?"
Joe shrugged. "Sure." His finger wasn't hurting too much.
"Great, 'cause I think you're finally getting the hang of it too. If you take the ball again—"
"Hey!" Elizabeth interrupted, putting put her hands on her hips. "Wait a second. What about me?"
Jack frowned. "What about you?"
"What if I want to play?"
Joe grinned. "Yeah. What if mom wants to play?"
"Well, if mom wants to play then she's welcome to – if she can stand up to the bat of old Deputy Jack."
Elizabeth walked straight up to her husband and snatched the baseball from his open palm. Jack shook his head, smiling to himself and picked the bat from the grass. He took up position at the far end of the yard, Elizabeth standing opposite. Joe smiled up at the sky and smelled the air, and at that moment the day felt perfect.
"Joe, you ready to catch this one?" his mom asked.
"I'm ready to catch anything," Joe shot back.
"Good. Because here it comes!"
His mother threw the baseball and it was a surprisingly good pitch. The ball was fast, low and straight, but his dad was ready and watching and with a whoosh the bat swung forwards—
Thwack!
The ball shot up and Joe watched it soar into the air, into the deep blue sky. It was incredible. No clouds, just a vast sapphire ocean. And the air was so blue—
Blue. That was the colour of the gas giant planet that the Homesphere had always orbited round. A lovely, aquamarine blue, so smooth your eyes could swim in it. The light of the local star reflected from the gas-planet's surface and gave the mountains, craters and chasms of the Homesphere moon an ever-present indigo glow.
Cooper was walking through one of those chasms now. It was a shallow canyon that cut its way across the 'sphere, through a smooth grey plain dotted with methane seas. Along the sides of the canyon, his people stood – hundreds of them, even thousands – ashen muscular shapes that watched and waited in silence.
At the other end of the canyon, his ship was waiting for him. A silver starfish pointing proudly at the sky.
As Cooper walked, his people watched; following his path with their large, glossy eyes. He could feel the buzz of their thoughts all around him as a comforting, electric cloud. /Pilgrimage (happy) it is good to see another it has been too long /Cooper has always been one of our best the Mother will be proud /We wish for safe and quick return and a fruitful journey /The stars are beautiful are they not? See them far too rarely.
Tunnel entrances loomed in the canyon walls, gaping black holes that led to the caves below the Homesphere's surface. Still more figures were emerging from them now, rearing up on their hind legs to peer over the swaying crowd. Alien calls echoed through the mist. The surface wasn't seen or visited very often; most of their species' lives were spent underground, in the shadows, where it was warm... Where it was safe.
Soon, Cooper reached the end of the canyon. The ship stood tall before him and he gazed upon its brilliant surface.
/Your ship now.
Something big stepped out of the crowd – a huge, grey-skinned alien, different from all the others. It (she) was covered in twisting, winding bone growths, with nine slender legs that emerged from her lower thorax. Slithering tentacles curled around her back like an ancient, rippling forest. She looked… old.
/It is your ship now Cooper'1213 and (warning) you must use it well. Embark upon pilgrimage.
Her thought was piercing and clear as she approached, instantly drowning out every other as it appeared fully-formed in his mind. /Embark upon pilgrimage. Explore. Experience. Expand. Return. Bring value to us. Uphold our honour. Become new.
/Affirmed, he replied. A mixture of nervousness and calm.
/Then Cooper'1213 is ready (wise encouragement) and Cooper'1213 may go. Upon return you will be a child no longer.
Cooper knelt down. The figure stepped forwards, and, gently, she touched him. Her hand slipped across his forehead. Blue-tinted mist swirled above their heads. /You will be my child no longer. You will be a child of the stars. You will become new. You will evolve. You will become one of us. There are many stars in this universe and they require visiting...
She stepped back, and he opened his eyes. From the assembled figures there was a reassuring, silent sigh. This was the way things were meant to be. Cooper suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. All his aches, all his old pains; he couldn't feel them anymore. And in his mind, he felt… happy.
This was the way things were meant to be.
/Now your pilgrimage it will begin.
The Mother stepped back. Eerily, she melted away, into the shadow of the canyon walls. Cooper strode forwards up the ramp of the ship. The walls parted as he reached them, the cubes dissolving to reveal a wide, circular doorway. Beyond it was his new home for the months and years ahead.
Cooper turned in the doorway and gazed back at his assembled people. They watched him as one mind, their thoughts reaching out and giving him encouragement, advice, a whole sea of feeling that he would always treasure – and miss – as he drifted among the stars.
There was one face in particular that he would miss. One that stood out from the others. The face had bright white markings around its nose and forehead, a little like Cooper's own, and that alien face, right now, seemed to have a smile upon it. A sad, proud smile.
/Now your pilgrimage begins. Be safe.
Cooper looked up, through the thick methane clouds, at the giant blue planet and twinkling lights up above.
/Affirmed.
The door closed. Engines fired. The ship spun smoothly and rose towards the stars.
A sad, proud smile.
"…I think The Flash would win," Joe said, smiling.
Cary spluttered on his juice. "Oh my god Joe, what are you even saying?"
"What? I think he would—"
"No way. The Silver Surfer's faster - I guarantee it."
Martin rolled his eyes. "You guys are such nerds sometimes."
"Like you can talk, Smartin."
"Don't call me that, Cary."
"Why not Smartin?"
"Because… ugh. Charles, back me up here, would you?"
Charles leaned back and smiled innocently. "I'm staying out of this," he murmured, chewing on a Twizzler. "Besides – I think Superman would kick both their asses."
"No he wouldn't," Joe said derisively
"Why? Do you know how fast Superman can go?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Because I think he's the fastest. By FAR."
Then Preston looked up for the first time in about three minutes. "So, uh... what the heck are you guys talking about?"
They were sitting in a circle in the middle of the sports oval, on a blustery autumn morning when Joe was ten years old. It was the date of the annual Lillian Elementary sports day, and hundreds of kids were clustered around the multi-coloured pavilions set up on the emerald grass. The painted white outline of the running track followed the curve of the oval, past smooth sand pits for the jumping events and marked-off areas for throwing. Schoolkids were yelling and chasing around like mad, barely kept in check by harried teachers and the parents sitting on benches at the far end of the field.
"We," Cary said grandly, "are deciding which superhero would win in a race."
Preston frowned. "It's Green Lantern obviously, he can enter hyperspace. But shouldn't we be talking about sport or something? It's sports day, not comic-books day."
"We're talking about a race aren't we? That's a sport," Charles retorted.
"No, it isn't," Martin interrupted.
"Yes, it is," Charles shot back. "Preston, are you actually in any events or did you just get the day off school for nothing?"
"Hey! I'm in the relay and the long jump AND triple-jump - that's probably more than you."
"Triple jump?" Joe asked. "Doesn't that mean you're just really good at hopping?"
Preston sighed. "No, just think of it like long jump except with three jumps instead of one. Like it says in the name." He thought for moment. "…buuuuut actually, yes, there is some hopping involved. How many events are you in, Charles?"
"Lots of them," Charles said defensively. "All the throwing ones. And I'm gonna win 'em."
"Hmm. Is Ben Huxley doing the same ones?"
"…Yeah."
"Hmmmmm."
They all stared pensively at the absolute hulk of a sixth-grader standing under the next pavilion. Ben Huxley was… well. Let's just say that Ben had issues. Sometimes with Charles and their group specifically, but mostly just issues with everyone. That wouldn't have been a problem except that Ben had been kept down two years and as a result was nearly the biggest kid in the school.
"Well, good luck," Preston muttered.
"Thanks. I guess."
Then, suddenly, a whistle blew and the school vice-principal was announcing something over the loudspeakers. Across the oval, every kid stopped to listen: "…All sixth-grade boys running the hundred metres please come to the starter's tent. All sixth-grade boys running the hundred metres please come to the starter's tent. Thank you."
"That's us," Cary said quietly. "Joe, Martin, you coming?"
They began picking their way across the sports field, past schoolbags and jumpers and discarded chip packets. Charles and Preston waved after them. Joe waved back, and scuffed the heels of his new sneakers against the grass.
"So, uh… which division are you guys in?" Cary asked.
"C," Martin replied.
"A."
"What?"
"I'm in A-division," Joe repeated.
"Why?"
"Will got sick yesterday. He can't race."
Cary took a breath and shook his head. "You're gonna lose, Joe," he said bluntly.
"No I'm not."
"Yeah you are."
"Hey, I can run fast when I want to."
"But not that fast."
Joe knew inside that Cary was sort of right - but hey, maybe the new shoes would help. He could feel a couple of butterflies in his stomach and a big heavy lump which he assumed was his morning tea. Next to him Martin was looking around nervously, back and forth between the sky and the horizon.
"What about you, Smartin? Are you gonna win?" Cary asked.
"What?"
"I said, are you gonna win?"
"Oh. Maybe."
"Just make sure your glasses don't fall off this year," Joe added helpfully. "Did you tape them to your nose like we told you? My dad said that might work."
"...they're not gonna fall off..." Martin answered.
"Okay."
They arrived at the runner's tent. About twenty other kids were there, eight for each division. Division C went first, and a minute or two later they were all waiting ready behind the start line.
BANG! went the starter's gun.
Martin came third. He looked really happy.
The Division B went. Someone named Daniel won, but the race was made slightly more memorable by one kid falling over about ten feet from the finish line and taking out the person next to him.
Then it was Division A's turn. Joe took his place on the start line, in the third lane, a couple of spots away from Cary. Cary gave him a grin and a thumbs up; Joe rolled his eyes and took few deep breaths. The finish line looked awfully small in the distance. Awfully far away. He swallowed and looked up at the benches where all the parents were sitting… and saw his mom. She was sitting a couple of rows back, next to Mrs. Kaznyk, dark hair shining beneath the steel sky. Elizabeth turned, saw him looking and waved. She grinned proudly and mouthed something that looked like 'You can do it!' Joe smiled and waved back.
"On your marks!"
Joe immediately tensed and took another quick breath. Focused on the finish line. A few of the kids knelt down in sprint positions, but Joe just leaned forwards and got ready to run.
"Get set!"
Just don't come last, he thought to himself. Just don't come last. Just don't come last. Just don't come—
BANG!
A split-second of reaction. His heart skipped a beat.
He ran. Pushed off as fast as he could, muscles straining, arms pumping, feet pounding on the grass. Faster and faster until the world was just a blur except for that distant finish-ribbon flapping in the breeze. Nearly every thought left his mind as instinct took over until he couldn't even count his steps anymore – slap slap slap slap slap – and his body felt like air. He saw Cary out the corner of his eye a few metres ahead, saw the boy to his right basically neck-and-neck. Sprinting. Breathing hard. Now someone else was overtaking and he tried to force himself to go faster. He couldn't. The finish line was getting closer by the instant. Cheering voices echoed in the back of his mind. But he wasn't gonna come last, he couldn't see that many people ahead of him, he wasn't gonna come last, he was gonna come fourth, or fifth—
All he knew was the memory of running.
Cooper had a memory of running of his own, of running through the tunnels, surrounded by his friends. Their names were Masaq'-417 and Zila-421 and their thought-words echoed in his ears.
/Take next route through secondary tunnel
/Cooper is slow (mocking) too slow!
/(retort) Masaq' is too slow
/Incorrect. Both are too slow, and both talk too much
A huge grey blur whipped past them - Zila, leaping gracefully through the air. She landed with a skid and sped off even faster. Alien limbs pounded against the atom-smooth tunnel floor as Masaq' and Cooper galloped after in pursuit. Running, chasing, flying. Young and free.
/Don't think we are allowed here, Cooper thought worriedly.
/They will never know, was Zila's breathless reply.
Tunnels. The Homesphere's tunnel system was an immense underground labyrinth, a network of spiralling, snaking caverns that honeycombed its way through the rocky core of the moon. The tunnels were old, awesomely ancient, and according to history had been dug by the first of Cooper's species to develop intelligence thousands upon thousands of years ago – back when they had to dig by hand, instead of using drones to do it for them. Despite their age the tunnels were in near-pristine condition: the walls were all perfectly machined, curving with gentle mathematical smoothness as they wound through millions of kilometres of flat dark rock. Nearly all of Cooper's life had been spent in the tunnels.
He loved it.
In this section the tunnels criss-crossed like roots of a tree, diverging at intersections and meeting in larger chambers. Up ahead was one of those chambers – a long, high-ceilinged cavern that was filled with humming silver machines. And floating around the machines were… lights. Bright, orb-shaped lights, about half a metre in diameter, hovering and buzzing softly like alien will-o'-the-wisps. The whole chamber was bathed in their multi-coloured glow, blue, green, purple, gold.
/Look! The lights are working
/Amazing
/(Warning) Be careful not to touch—
/Cooper is still too slow!
Masaq' took the lead as he thundered through the middle of the chamber, feet thumping, a huge, agile beast. Cooper and Zila followed close behind and the lights scattered out their way with an annoyed sort of shudder. Then they were back in the tunnels; the floor sloped downhill and bent sharply and Cooper nearly slipped over as he went around the corner, six limbs all struggling for purchase.
/Take care
/Thanks
/…(playful) watch out!
Cooper heard the last thought in the back of his mind. He glanced behind him and saw Zila leap forwards, arms outstretched – and he zig-zagged just in time to dodge her friendly strike. He swung back with one giant hand but, as always, she ducked easily ducked through his grasp.
They were almost there. Almost at the place. They kept running, through an intersection, past a line of grey-skinned, bewildered worker-types. Masaq' was the oldest of them and pulled ahead (he'd always been bigger than the others). Every now and then a wall would flicker as they passed, revealing a patch of interlocked white shapes. Cubes. Cooper was tired but he still kept up with them - he was growing stronger and faster every day, nearly ready for the pilgrimage.
Suddenly the tunnel ended in a flat, wide ledge and the three of them skidded to a stop. Before them was… air. Lots of air.
Here the tunnel opened up onto a giant circular shaft, maybe half a kilometre in diameter, boring vertically through the rock. Above, barely visible, was a faint blue energy-dome that shielded the top of the shaft from the surface. Below, going down, down, down… the shaft just disappeared into the shadows (this particular shaft, in fact, went straight to the core of the moon).
/Tunnel is busy today Masaq' buzzed.
/Today is important (obviously) Zila replied. /Masaq' should be more attentive
All around the shaft, it was a riot of movement. Huge batlike creatures flapped through the air, leathery wings stretched out wide, ferrying cargo back and forth between the other tunnels and openings. Swirls of the small white cubes raced past, darting, whirling, forming shapes for the briefest of instants. Arrow-straight spears of blue light pulsed up and down nearby, serving as guides for squadrons of autonomous silver drones. One even bigger airbeast floated high above, trailing tentacles; its enormous round bulk shadowed almost a quarter of the shaft.
Cooper took a deep breath of cold, underground air. It smelled of recycling.
/Jump? Zila asked.
Cooper blinked. He looked down at the infinite tunnel. /Danger…
/Fun!
/…still danger
/Cooper'1413 came to jump Zila reminded him. /Came to jump with Zila and Masaq'. Cooper is our friend but if Cooper does not jump Cooper will be pushed.
/Known. But wait (please), Cooper thought. /Must think first. Must prepare oneself for-
/No waiting! No thinking! (forceful happy) Prepared now, time to go!
Zila grabbed onto his arm. Their skin touched for a moment, wet and warm.
Then she shoved him over the ledge and out into the open air.
The world twisted. There was the rush of air; the sensations of shock, and vertigo, and falling. He sensed a shape flying past—
Grab! Zila whispered.
Almost without his permission, Cooper's four arms lashed out and locked around the leg of one of the flying bat-beasts. The creature screeched and tilted wildly but soon managed to right itself, glaring angrily at the one-ton weight that was now hanging from its body. Its wings slapped at the air. Cooper looked around at the air, at the—
/Cooper is too slow! Always too SLOW
Masaq' dove past him in a blur of thrashing wings and limbs, holding onto a bat-slave of his own. Cooper forgot about falling for a moment and on instinct willed his creature to give /Chase!
It did. Fast. The bat arrowed downward and suddenly Cooper was darting through the rush, past other bats and drones and floods of white cubes. Masaq' rolled sideways, holding on with one hand. Zila's joyous thoughts flooded the air from somewhere behind. The world seemed to glow. They spiralled past a stream of crackling blue plasma that reached out with fingers of lightning, but the creatures knew exactly where to go and whizzed past with room to spare.
/You were right, Cooper thought. /…Why can't we fly?
/Because then we would do nothing else, Zila replied. /Look up!
He looked up. Behind them, a vast wall of cubes was forming around the edge of the shaft. It flickered silver as it settled on the rock, extending and reforming as thousands more cubes swarmed in from the tunnels every second, layered in geometric shapes. Creatures and drones had to rush out of the way. And above, by the distant blue ceiling…
There was an extremely bright light. Almost blinding, white and pure.
/This is why it is an important day?
The light grew bigger, whiter, like a miniature sun that was slowly descending from the top of the cavern. He could hear it now too, a dull roar that filled the tunnel air. Filled his senses. The beauty of heights, the breath of the wind; this was so much better than running. The light was very big. The ship was getting close. And suddenly, as he soared... all he could think about was flying, and how his world so very, very bright.
Anger. Bright and hot.
"Joe Lamb, get back here!"
"NO!"
He stomped through the kitchen, knives and forks clattering with every step. The table was set for Sunday dinner – three clean white plates ready for roast vegetables and lamb. Outside, the sun was just about to set.
"I mean it, Joe!"
"Go away!"
"Joe—"
His mom appeared in the doorway in front of him, with hot red cheeks and eyes like daggers. Elizabeth Lamb didn't get angry very often, but when she did…
Joe immediately turned and ran the other way, suddenly afraid. His mother darted after him, out through the hall, shockingly quick. She caught him in the front room and he almost fell as she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him round to face her.
"You are grounded," Elizabeth hissed. "For a WEEK."
Joe shook his head. "You – you can't! You can't do that!"
"Yes, I can. I'm your mother."
"It's not FAIR!"
"I know it's not fair. But you haven't been very fair to me, either! You can't say those things to me, Joe!"
Joe suddenly tried to pull away but she held his arm with a vice-like grip. "Look at me!"
He tried not to. But she made him, with a voice of stone.
"Look at me."
Joe did. He looked at her in the shadowy front room, his vision blurred with tears. When he saw her face, how furious it was, how disappointed, how hopeless all at once, it felt… awful. Like something you could never fix. Elizabeth sniffed, and continued more softly. "You can't say those things, Joe. Not to me, not to anyone. You might think that's what you feel, but it's not. And saying those things… it hurts people. It makes them feel like – like nothing. And people aren't nothing, Joe."
A quiet silence as anger faded. Six o'clock's news crackled faintly from the TV in the lounge.
"Now, this is all I'm going to say about it: you are coming to your grandmother's this weekend. No arguing, no complaining. We are going to visit her, and we are going to talk to her, and we're going to have a nice time, and then…" Her voice cracked. "…and then we won't have to see her again. Till Christmas."
"But what about Charles?" Joe asked plaintively. "Can't I stay behind? Just once?"
"You'll have to see him another time."
"But I promised, mom. I promised that we—"
"You'll have to see him another time."
"But we were going to see—"
Elizabeth's eyes flashed. "God, Joe, I don't care about Charles! I don't care! Sometimes family comes first!"
Suddenly the anger came flooding back, swamping every other feeling in a tidal wave. "You should care!" he yelled. "It's IMPORTANT!"
"Joe—"
"We planned this for a whole year!"
"I know but things change! Just – listen! I let you spend time with your friends every day, I've let you for eleven years, but this once, just this once—"
"I hate you," he said quietly. Stupidly.
Elizabeth blinked. "…What?"
"I hate you."
She shook her head sadly. "No. You don't."
And that was when the front door swung open. His father walked in, wiping his feet on the mat, looking tired and grey from a hard day at the station. He dropped his bag and shut the door, grumbling a little to himself; then he saw them both standing there in the middle of the room – red faces, fists clenched – and frowned. Hard.
"...What in God's name is going on here?"
They shouted at him in unison. "Your son—"
"Mom won't let me go to—"
"—just said that he—"
"Whoa, whoa! Enough!" Jack strode forwards and roughly grabbed Joe's shoulders. "First, you are going to your room." He glanced warningly at Elizabeth. "Then you can tell me what this is all about." He shook his head, grumbling again as he began steering Joe towards the hallway. Joe fumed and stayed quiet, staring sullenly at the floor.
They walked in silence down the hall. His father gripped his arms almost painfully as he was pushed unwillingly forwards. He let his legs drag against the ground, making it difficult; Jack shook his head ad muttered something ugly under his breath.
"Okay, in here." He kicked open the door to Joe's bedroom and pulled Joe inside. It was still messy. He pointed at the bed. "Sit there. Be quiet. Don't come out until I tell you to," he said sharply.
Joe met his father's irritated gaze for a second before looking away. He trudged to the bed and threw himself onto it, still mad.
Jack shut the door with a quiet, final click.
Powerless.
In the sudden silence, Joe grabbed one of his pillows and squeezed it as hard as he could, hoping that it would burst and explode and let out everything inside. It didn't. He threw it at the wall instead, where it smacked against the plaster and knocked over one of his models. Then he lay back down and gazed blankly at the ceiling, thoughts whirling inside his head, round and round and round again. Uselessly. His skin felt hot. No sound, nothing. Just blood rushing through his ears.
It was quiet.
And when it wasn't quiet, a minute later, Joe would've preferred that angry, suffocating silence. Accusingly: "He's your son!"
Bitterly: "He's yours too, don't forget. People keep saying there's more of you than me in him."
"How can you say that, Jack?"
"Hey, don't twist it around on me! I just want to know why you two are standin' around yelling at each other in the living room!"
Muffled shouting, from the other side of the wall. The kitchen, maybe.
"It's because he hasn't got any empathy! His grandmother's going to die and instead of going to see her all he wants to do is make movies with his friends!"
"Well, did you tell him?"
"What?"
"That she's sick."
"No! He's still young, he doesn't need to know exactly—"
"If you didn't tell him, how can you expect him to care?"
"Because she's my mom, Jack!"
"I know that, Beth, believe me I know! But to him, she's just a daft old lady that he has to go visit twice a year. Sometimes, it's easy for me to feel like that too."
Elizabeth took a while to answer. When she did, she just repeated the words. "'Just a daft old lady you have to visit twice a year…'"
"I – I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, Beth. I shouldn't have said it. I'm just tired."
No reply.
"And he does care. I'm sure he does. We all do…"
Desperate, stifled sobs crept through the gap under his door. Joe tried to shut them out, but couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. He hid under his blankets and put his hands over his ears. Quiet, comforting darkness.
It was mother's day.
/Mother.
Cooper walked through the dark, dark cave. It was cold. Wet. Quiet. Moisture dripped from the rocky walls and pooled in stagnant crevices. Even with his huge, glistening eyes he could barely see the way ahead – he had to rely on clouds of smell and tiny, soft echoes. He paused briefly, sniffed, and delicately stepped over a patch of small stalagmites. Most of the caves had been smoothed and polished by a thousand years of passage, but not this one. This one was special.
/Mother? Mother angry. Cooper bad. Doing, seeing things he shouldn't. Angry.
It was dark, though. Very dark. He didn't like it when it was so dark. He was far, far away from the usual buzzing sea of thoughts; the only communication he'd had in the last hour was from a confused worker-drone that had gotten lost. Cooper almost thought he'd gotten lost too…
/Make things better. Cooper must come here, and make things better.
…but just up ahead was the entrance he'd been trying to find: a black, round portal in the side of the tunnel, small and unassuming. Cooper leaned down and peered through the gap. It was… dark.
/Very surprising (not)
Cooper shuffled forwards and squeezed his three-metre bulk through the portal. He was still quite small for a youngling, but not exactly tiny either. With a bit of scraping he managed to lever himself through, and, with joint cracking, he stood up and looked around.
Yes, this was it. The old chamber.
It was round, roughly, with curving stone walls. Quite tall. Large. Mostly empty. A few inches of perfectly still water covered the unseen floor, as reflective as a black glass mirror. Some thin pillar-like structures rose from the liquid, oddly spaced, smooth and featureless and gently tapered. Cooper had no idea of their purpose. There were carvings on the walls too – huge carvings, of writhing alien shapes, ancient scenes filled with war and knowledge. Faint light played across the stone.
And in the middle of the cavern, there was a raised platform. Upon it was a flat silver casket. The surface was tarnished, pockmarked with age, but even from here Cooper could feel some kind of… aura. A cloud of muffled emotion.
Cooper blinked. He dipped one long finger slowly into the water, and watched a thousand ripples danced away from his touch. Then he took a step, and another, and began wading through the silent lake. The only sound was the gentle splash of his footsteps, and the soft echo of his breath. He wondered what his all his new friends would think of this – Zila and Masaq' and the others.
/Curious
After a moment, he reached the central dais. Water lapped gently at its edge. He climbed up onto the platform. All around him were the pillars and carvings and looming shadows; before him stood the silver casket. As he approached, the light in the cavern seemed to get slightly bluer, and he thought he could detect the faintest ultrasonic hum. The aura in the chamber seemed to be coming from here: the casket almost beckoned to him, whispered to him, with its rough silver and ancient promises. Cooper reached out, and...
Nothing happened when he touched it; that was slightly disappointing. He peered closer, and brushed a layer of dust off its face. There was a faint depression in the side and he pressed it nearly without thinking. Then:
Hissss…
The casket activated. Pressurised air escaped from the thin black parting line that appeared around its lid – and slowly, slowly, the lid began tilting upwards. Cooper went down on all fours to get a closer look. Suddenly, he felt…
/Should I be here (question)
…scared. But eager, at the same time.
The casket opened. He almost hadn't expected it to.
Inside it, there were bones. White, old bones, large, jumbled together, covered in dust. They looked like they belonged to an old male – one that had died many years ago. The bones were very big. Cooper hoped he would be that big one day. The smell of death wafted around him, rising from the ancient carapace plates and flakes of dried skin. Cooper sniffed. Paused. The bones felt like a warning.
/Mother. Father.
But he had to touch it. That was what they told him. He looked around the silent chamber, with its pillars and carvings and rippling water, and saw nothing. So he closed his eyes, and reached out.
As young skin touched crumbling bones the aura in the chamber burst.
/Space. Shocking emptiness. The void between stars, the gulf between galaxies. Immeasurable. Unreachable. Crushing. Ships dancing with twinkling blue engines.
/The taste of blood. Warm, black. Too much. Far too much.
/Drowning.
/Ghosts. Ghosts of aeons past. Angry. Bitter. HATEFUL—
Cooper opened his eyes and whipped his hand off the bones. He scrambled back from the casket, nearly tumbling off the platform into the water. Terrible thoughts consumed him.
/A cold, lifeless planet. Stranded. Trapped and tortured, no way out. There was nothing for them here.
He wanted to run. It wouldn't let him. He grabbed the lid of the casket and slammed it shut. It cracked, he didn't care, he only wanted it to stop. /Shadowy beasts, hunting, killing. The silver glittered. And the bones… moved. In the middle of the ancient, forgotten cave, they moved. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them jittering and shivering in their coffin. He knew it. He knew they wanted him, wanted to get out. An awful, awful rattle. The walls were moving too, flowing like black, suffocating ink.
/Friends, all dead
/How does it feel to be alone?
All around, the water rippled. He couldn't run. He couldn't. Cooper keened softly and curled up on the edge of the platform, helpless, limbs folding, squeezing himself into a bony, motionless ball. Shutting out the world, shutting out the thoughts. Just a child. He had to be brave.
/Mother...
Like that, he hid in the darkness, waiting for the light to come.
Light. When Joe stepped out of the air-conditioned car, that was his first thought - how so very light it was. And hot. And open. He squinted at the cloudless blue sky for a moment, then leaned over to grab his bag from the back seat of the car.
"Holiday hats on, everyone!"
His mom settled a white, flowery sunhat over her head, shielding her face from the harsh Arizona sun. Joe and his dad pulled on matching red baseball caps. Jack grabbed their camera and locked the car; then they started picking their way along the sandy, winding path, following the signs to the viewing platform. The ground all around them was covered in low scrub – fine orange dirt dotted with scraggly green leaves.
The viewing platform was simply a paved circle at the edge of a rocky outcrop. A waist-high wooden fence ran around the edge, and there was a raised section in the middle plastered with information sheets. A couple of other families were already there – one old couple taking photos, another family with three young daughters. Jack led them to the far edge of platform and pressed up against the fence. He gestured briefly at the vast expanse before them.
"There she is. The Grand Canyon."
"Wooowww…" Joe breathed.
The Grand Canyon, true to its name, was pretty darn grand. It was like someone had taken a scoop out of the earth, but with a shovel as big as a mountain – creating a huge, winding chasm that twisted as far as the eye could see. The far side of the canyon had to be at least two miles away; the bottom was so far down that it had its own hills and canyons and mountain ranges. The canyon's stony walls had a rough, detailed surface texture, incredibly steep and incredibly sharp, and were split into clear, arrow-straight layers of red, yellow and brown. Where the rock met the gravelly lower slopes it was much smoother, looking almost like cloth or crumpled paper in the distance. Really enormous paper.
And there was barely a tree to be seen. No vegetation, except an occasional brave patch of bushes (as you might expect in a desert). The air was dry, uncomfortably hot. The sky was hazy blue overhead. Sunlight played across the winding ridges and jagged, creased stone, casting deep black shadows.
"It so… big," Joe murmured.
"Do you know what made it?" Jack asked.
He shook his head.
"It was the Colorado River. Over millions of years, the water carves away the stone. Like when you build a sandcastle on the beach, and it gets washed away by the waves. Except the stone's a lot stronger the sand and it takes much, much longer… but the river just keeps going, and flowing, and gradually it carves out its own shape. It's called erosion. All the rock gets cut away and washed out to the ocean. How old are you now?"
"I'm twelve, dad."
"Hey, it's easy to forget when the numbers get that big. But just for perspective, this place has been around about a million times longer than you."
Joe frowned. He looked around at the canyon's vast length, at its huge two-mile width, at the hint of the placid, brown-watered river that flowed close to a mile below. "Did one river really do all this?"
His dad grinned. "Why, I'm glad you asked. At the same time, all the ground around us – the Colorado plateau, it's called – was pushed upwards. Lots of the rocks here were originally below sea level, but they've risen nearly 10,000 feet since the dinosaurs died. And as they rise, it lets the river cut through them faster, and makes all these mountains stretch into huge strange shapes. After millions of years, more time than you or I can imagine… this is what you get. A grand canyon."
"Why did the rocks come up?"
Jack thought for a moment, then shrugged. "…Ask a geologist."
"Huh."
Elizabeth smiled at that. "I think your father's been doing some homework," she muttered. "Best not ask him anything too difficult."
Joe looked up at her, shielding his eyes from the sun. "Have you been here before, mom?"
"No. Never had the chance. It's… beautiful."
They stared at it for a moment longer. A flock of birds were circling above the centre of the chasm, maybe half a mile away. Joe could just see their shadows skimming across the rock – skimming across layers of red-yellow stone and vegetation clinging to the slopes.
"Speaking of homework… do you remember what day it is, Joe?" his dad asked mysteriously.
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Go on then."
Joe took off his backpack and unzipped the front pocket. Out of it, he took a small cardboard box, wrapped in newspaper. He handed it to his mom and said, "Here."
Elizabeth took the box and stared at it curiously. "What's this?"
"Happy mother's day," he said.
Elizabeth blinked. She paused for a second, then started unwrapping the present, carefully removing the layers of paper. Jack smiled faintly and turned back to the view, watching out the corner of his eye. The birds wheeled overhead.
When his mom opened the box, she gave a little gasp. "Oh, Joe," she murmured softly. Inside was… silver, glinting in the sunlight. Something that he'd had spent a long time making.
"I hope it's okay," Joe said nervously.
"It's more than okay. It's perfect." Elizabeth grinned, and stepped forwards and threw her arms around her son. She hugged him tight and Joe hugged her back, and their twin smiles were the brightest thing beneath that endless desert sky.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"So am I."
It was mother's day.
This time, they were tears of happiness.
Happiness. Happiness. That was what he felt when she picked him out.
/Cooper'1213. Follow.
She beckoned, and disappeared through the opening in the back of the chamber. Cooper stood up. The rest of the children watched him with glowing, curious eyes. Some of them were jealous; the bigger ones especially. The younger ones, though, were happy for him. Slowly, he picked his way through the crowd, across the low-ceilinged cavern.
He soon reached the opening. He turned around to look back at his brood-mates – a sea of awkward limbs and small, leathery bodies, crammed together in the dark. The children were all tired, had learned a lot, but this was why they learned: so that one day, they would be picked out and shown... the truth. Cooper took a deep breath, and then disappeared from view.
She was waiting around the corner. The Mother.
/Come, Cooper
She began walking down the tunnel. He followed her a short way behind. The Mother was enormous, compared to him; at full height, he barely came up to her knees. But he was still young. He'd grow. The Mother, on the other hand, was old. Her skin was wrinkled and cracked, and her legs creaked as she walked, and the tangled tentacles that covered her back moved with lazy, lethargic slowness - licking the air, scraping the familiar stone walls. Cooper saw that her eyes were closed.
/Do you know why you are chosen? she asked.
Cooper didn't.
/Not just because you are strong, or fast. Because you are smart. Too often, this is of forgotten value.
His heart(s) nearly burst with pride.
/Here.
The Mother led him through into another huge, dark space. To a species unaccustomed to living underground, you could be forgiven for thinking most caves were the same. But for someone who'd spend their life in darkness… caves could be as distinct as any landscape, as deserts and fields and forests. Some tunnels were warm and comforting, like a mother's womb; others were long and curving, like roads in the midnight. Some were dry, sandy and desolate, while others were wet and filled with life.
This particular cave was... big. It was also imposing, and curiously hushed, like an empty, dark church. It felt important.
/Wait. The Mother walked onwards, and with surprising swiftness, her huge shape vanished into the gloom. Cooper waited. He could hear her doing something in the shadows, scratching, knocking about. Touching things.
Suddenly, strangely, there was a sound like a flute – a high, lonely note. Then a lower note which echoed all around them, alien and sad and beautiful.
The sound faded.
And the chamber began to light up. Glowstrips on the floor buzzed to life, shining soft and yellow. They illuminated gently curving walls that rose to a ceiling high overhead, and a floor that was made of dark, almost organic-looking metal. Strange machinery and pipes covered the floor in criss-crossing patterns, all pointing to the centre of the cave like spokes of a wheel. In the middle was a smooth, circular platform.
From it, a giant blue sphere suddenly erupted into existence, hovering just above the ground. The sphere was made of projected holographic light, faintly transparent; an insanely complex network of lines ran through its centre, surrounded by the barest hint of an atmosphere and a rough, cratered surface.
It was the Homesphere. Cooper stared in wonder as the projection rotated slowly; he'd never seen it like this before. The Mother watched it too, standing a little closer. She lifted something to her mouth and played another note, silhouetted by the strong blue glow.
More lights. More wonder, fading into view.
First were the nebulae. They appeared as swirling, insubstantial clouds, like wisps of the lightest aquamarine smoke that hung suspended in the air. Then were the stars, just tiny bright pinpricks, millions of them dotted all through the giant cavern. Uncountable numbers, spread between packed clusters and delicate, spiderwebbed trails. There were other places, too – other planets, other moons, represented as smaller blue spheres that revolved slowly around the Home. Orbital paths were displayed around them as solid rings of blue. Greener lines swept arcs from planet to moon to planet, connecting the many worlds that had been explored by their people.
/This is the galaxy, the Mother told him. She gazed upwards, following one of the spinning planets with her eyes, watching as it passed through the distant nebulae near the roof of the cave. Cooper looked as well. He didn't know the planet's name. The Mother touched one of the central control panels and the Homesphere shrank and sped away, replaced by the new planet which ballooned large in the centre of the room. It had a strange shape; not circular, but more irregular like a lump of misshapen sand. The air sang.
/And this is the universe
Immediately every star in the room darted inwards to a single central point, merging into an impossibly bright speck. More lights instantly burst into existence all around, and more, and more, all zipping towards the centre of the room sickeningly fast as if the image was zooming out and out past solar systems and stars and galaxies… until, eventually, he saw it.
Everything.
Now, the dots weren't stars. They were galaxies. Clusters of galaxies, trillions upon trillions of worlds, all connected by vast, intertwined webs of dark matter that spanned fifteen billion light years across the universe.
/You will be there, one day, the Mother thought softly. /This is your first step.
Cooper breathed in deeply. He raised one of his arms, and opened his fingers, and swept them slowly through the sea of warm blue light. Galaxies scattered from his touch. Civilisations rose and fell as they orbited around his shoulders.
The Mother stepped back, and he shivered in breathless awe.
Joe shivered, with a mixture of cold and anticipation. He looked out the window at the entrance to the gymnasium, which was newly-bedecked with flowers and hanging cloth banners. 'Homecoming Dance 1978!' it said. 'When You Wish Upon a Star.'
"Nervous?" Elizabeth asked, from the front seat of the car.
"No, not really." Although he did feel a little uncomfortable in his collared shirt and tie.
"I still think you could've asked someone."
"It's okay, mom. None of my friends are going with anyone. Charles isn't, and I don't think Cary is either. Or Martin."
"That doesn't mean you can't ask someone." Elizabeth smiled. "Don't you like any of the girls in your class?"
Joe looked away, embarrassed. "No! It's not—"
"What about the tall one that's always winning those running competitions? Brooke? She's pretty, isn't she? Why don't you ask her?"
"Mom! Shhh!"
"Okay, okay. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone." She winked.
Outside, a steady stream of cars passed through the parking lot, dropping off girls in shining dresses and boys in fancy ties. Partners walked arm-in-arm or were escorted by beaming parents. A photographer was snapping pictures outside, camera flashing upon the faded red carpet that led to the gymnasium entrance (still slightly damp from the night's earlier rain).
Elizabeth stopped the car in an out-of-the-way spot. She turned around in her seat, frowned a little; then reached out with one hand and straightened Joe's collar. "There you go."
He smiled. "Thanks mom."
She stared at him for a moment longer. Then she shook her head, and sighed. Happy, sad... maybe both. "I'm going to have to let you go sometime, aren't I," she murmured softly. "...Go on, shoo! Get out and have some fun."
"Yeah." Joe nodded and opened the car door, and stepped out into the warm autumn air. "Have a good time with dad."
"I will. I'll pick you up at ten, alright?"
The car disappeared back up the hill. He saw her waving. He waved back.
Then he turned, and started walking towards the dance. The music was already audible from outside. He trudged down the damp red carpet, past some potted roses the gardeners had brought out, beneath the dangling trails of party streamers. A trio of girls from his eighth-grade class glided by, chatting animatedly to each other. Joe glanced at the teacher - Dr. Woodward - who was supervising the entrance with a bored look in his eyes, then ducked through the gymnasium door. The song hit him as soon as he walked in.
"Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me… Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me…"
Dancing.
Darkness.
A disco ball, spinning lazily.
People packed together, moving like waves on a beach. Sound filling his ears.
Joe stood on his tiptoes and peered around the room, looking for recognisable faces.
"Hey Joe! Over here!"
They were in the far corner, next to the stage. It took him a few seconds to make his way there through the crowd. "Hey guys. What's up?"
"My IQ," Preston said casually.
Cary whirled around. "Wow. Have you been saving that one up all night, Math Camp?"
"…Maybe."
"Cool shirt Joe," Charles added.
"Thanks, yours is too." (It wasn't really, but he wanted to be nice; it had ruffles on it.) "How long have you guys been here?"
"About ten minutes."
"More like fifteen," Martin corrected. "And they've already played this song twice."
"It's a good song!"
"It's not a good song. And Charles, you don't know anything about music."
"Hey, I listen to the radio sometimes."
"That doesn't count."
"We climbed aboard their starship, we headed for the skies - singing come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me…"
Cary snickered. "Do you want to know why Martin doesn't like this song?"
"Ooh. Yes I do!" Preston replied knowingly.
Martin frowned. Then his eyes widened. "No. Nonononono."
Joe and Charles exchanged a glance, then said in unison: "Tell us."
"Well, it's because— hey! Martin, that hurts!"
"Shut up Cary!"
"Ow! Stop hitting me! Ow! It's because—"
Dr Woodward's voice suddenly rang out from across the room. "Martin Haverford, please stop punching your friend! This is a school dance, not a wrestling match!"
Martin jumped back, embarrassed. "Yeah Martin," Cary muttered. "Stop hitting your friend."
Martin just glared. "Oh my god, Cary, you're lucky I AM your friend."
"Or what?"
"Or—"
"Hey guys, stop it," Joe interrupted.
"—or I'll hit you again! Those are bad memories, Cary! Why would you even bring that up?"
"Because it's funny?" Cary shot back.
"It IS pretty funny," Preston agreed.
Charles just rolled his eyes. "Who cares. Come on, just leave it. Let's go and dance for a while."
Immediately, there was stunned silence. The crowd flowed around them – hundreds of kids from fifth to ninth grade, swirling beneath the dim, multi-coloured lights. Joe felt the music rumble in his chest. "I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory - some happy, some sad, I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had…"
"Dance? You want us to dance?" Martin asked incredulously.
"Well, isn't that the point?" Charles protested.
"Yeah, but who with?"
They all turned and looked out over the polished wooden floor of the gym; it was a good question. There were plenty of people there, that was for sure. Plenty of girls. But…
"I'll dance with you, Charles," Cary whispered.
"Shut up."
The song ended, and changed to something a bit more soft and slow. The couples on the dancefloor spread out, and clasped each other's arms. Balloons and streamers floated through the gloom like ghosts. A few boys nervously approached new partners in that massively-awkward but still-charming way that seems to work wonders when you're thirteen.
"Hey, look. There's Alice Dainard," Charles said quietly. He pointed across the other side of the room; Alice was standing there with a few of her friends, in a simple yellow dress.
"…And?" Preston asked.
"I... never mind." Charles looked like he was about to say something, but then decided to stay quiet. Joe looked at Alice too. He felt nervous, for some reason.
Suddenly, it hit him - Alice was pretty. Amazingly pretty, tall and pure, with a smile that shone in the darkness. He'd never realised it before; never even really looked at her before. Or talked to her. Why? And right now she wasn't even dancing with anyone, just chatting with her friends.
In that moment, he wanted more than anything to be brave. To be brave enough to just walk over there, and take her hand, and maybe, just maybe, ask her for…
"Joe?"
He jumped. It was Charles. "What?"
"We're gonna go and grab some food. Wanna come?"
"Oh, yeah. Sure. Coming."
Joe glanced over his shoulder one last time, and saw Alice smile again at something one of her friends had said.
Her skin was glowing.
Outside, in the tunnel, everything was glowing.
Inside, in the egg, it was dark and warm.
That was his first memory: the darkness. The warmth. The feel of his limbs all crushed up against one another, pressing against the slimy walls of the egg. Hydrogen-rich fluid swirled in and out of new lungs. Tiny hearts beat in unison. Gradually, he became more and more aware of his surroundings – and with that awareness came the knowledge that he was something. That he was here. That he was alive.
His first thought was that he was trapped (not a very nice first thought, but one that was appropriately geared towards survival). His legs began kicking against the wall of the egg, slipping against the smooth surface. Muscles tensed for the first time. They worked well. His fingers twitched reflexively.
/need
/out
The egg began to shudder – just one of hundreds that filled the floor of the birthing chamber. They were arranged in a square grid, each one about a metre tall, sitting upright in a bed of watery nutrients. Glowing crystals in the walls bathed the cave in soft blue light, pulsing regularly with a slow, deep beat. He kicked harder; scrabbled at the egg with his hands, twisting around in the cramped, hot space that had kept him alive for the past year. He felt the walls begin to give. And—
Scrick! A tiny fracture appeared in the egg's shell. Fluid began leaking out, mixing with the others on the floor of the cave. His first emotion was triumph: it spurred him on, made him stronger, a weak, soft body fuelled by a pair of newly-grown hearts. He lashed out again at his wet, round prison. Crack. More fractures speared across the surface. They grew and grew, splitting, widening, until he gave one last kick—
CRACK! Bits of eggshell skittered across the ground. The side of the egg crumbled, splitting into half-a-dozen jagged pieces. Water and slime rushed out in a wave, leaving behind a grey-skinned, curled-up body.
He lay there for a moment, exhausted – small breaths shuddering with effort. Then, slowly, he raised his head, and opened his eyes for the first time. Beautiful black eyes. He looked around curiously, trying to process what he was seeing.
Soft blue light. Egg-shaped shadows. Rippling water. The soft cries of another youngling, echoing through the cave. It was all new, yet somehow still familiar. He felt like he'd been here before. Like he knew what it was.
The world dimmed suddenly as a shadow fell over him. Pairs of legs splashed down into the water nearby. It was a shape, a huge dark shape, which bent down, reaching with one enormous hand – and picked him up. With that touch there was a single word.
/Mother.
Gently, she lifted him. He turned over onto his back and stared into her face. Her aged skin was dotted with white, and her eyes were milky and grey. She hummed softly as her mouthparts opened, spreading like a fleshy six-petalled flower. It was a kind face. Slowly, delicately, she cleaned him. Her hands moved with practiced thoroughness. Pieces of egg fell to the ground. She dried his skin, and cradled him in her hands, and he shivered happily at her touch.
Then she raised a finger, and slowly touched it to his forehead. He blinked.
/Cooper, she thought.
Cooper? he asked.
/Cooper.
It looked like she was happy. Then she leant down again, and placed him carefully on a small platform by the side of the cave. One of his brood-mates was already there, flopping about on the stone; he'd been the second one to hatch.
The rock felt cold beneath his feet. He tapped it with his finger. It was a new feeling.
The mother watched him for a second, then walked away, still humming, delicately stepping between the dozens of silent eggs. Then – crack! There was another one that needed her attention. He watched her go, still adjusting to the world around him. The cave was filled with warmth. Then, slowly, he managed to waddle over to the other young alien.
/Cooper! he thought brightly.
The other took a moment to respond. She looked up, but when she tried to turn, she somehow managed to fall and flop clumsily onto her back, limbs splayed in all directions.
/…Zila! she replied eventually.
/Cooper
/Zila! They played together in the darkness. Across the cave, the mother worked as she sang her comforting song.
It was night-time on the Homesphere, and everything was glowing.
Night-time. Still night-time, in the midst of the storm. She watched him by the flickering torchlight as the wind howled outside. The sky flashed again and he held his breath, looked into her eyes, tried his hardest not to jump – but he still did when the thunder came. Just a bit.
Elizabeth put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Joe, you can tell me."
It wasn't something an adult would understand, really. Only a kid. Only a kid, with your irrational fears and wide eyes and the sense that the world is so big. He never would've said anything if anyone else had asked. Never would have said anything, except to her.
"I'm scared of it – I'm scared of it hitting," he mumbled. "Hitting us."
"And?"
"I can imagine it, coming down, and… the house. Disappearing."
"And?" she asked again. "What else?"
"I'm scared of it hitting me," Joe whispered. "And you. And dad… I'm scared of dying."
Quiet, for a moment.
"That's a big thing to be scared of, for such a little boy. Such a big boy," his mom added lightly when she saw him frown. "Everybody's scared of death, somehow. The trick is just not to think about it too much."
"I know. I don't think about it a lot, I don't," Joe insisted. "Just sometimes. Like in the car, when it's raining really hard. Or when something bad happens on the news. It's – it's hard."
"Yes, it is, especially at night with the storm all around you. But being scared of death… it's almost like being scared of the future. There's no point, most of the time."
"…Really?"
"Most people live till they're eighty years old," Elizabeth said playfully. "Like Mrs Easton, remember? You've got more chance of going to the moon than getting struck by lightning. Why be afraid of something like that? It seems like a lot of effort."
"But there's always…" Dark little fluttered around inside him. He swallowed. "There's always a chance…"
A crack of lightning. The crash of thunder. It seemed to be getting quieter, moving off toward the hills. His mother smiled again and it was a sad sort of smile, filled with gentleness, kneeling by his bed in the middle of the dark house. "We're all going to die, someday," she began softly. "It might be tomorrow, it might be a hundred years from now. But you can't live every day in fear of ghosts – when you're scared of death, you're scared of the future and you're scared of memories… of making memories, and of having nothing but memories left. You're scared of being alone, even when you aren't. You can't let that control you, Joe. Something your grandmother…" She trailed off.
"Mom?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "Something your grandmother told me, a long time ago…" She began reciting the words, comfortingly, drowning out the rain. "'Time will pass, and places will change. The finest flowers in spring, a shooting star, the rainbow right after a storm – all beautiful, and none can be captured and held forever. No matter how fair the flower, it will rot and fall to pieces if you never let it go. But memories will never hurt you. The flower withers, the star falls, and the rainbow fades away, but you will always remember their beauty. What I'm saying is… don't let your fears for tomorrow cloud the memories you're making today. Whatever happens, all the time you've spent with them, all the joy you've had, will still be yours.'"
It was warm, under Joe's blankets. It felt warm as he turned her words over in his head. 'Don't let you fears for tomorrow cloud the memories you're making today.'
One sentence couldn't fix everything, but it was a start. At least it made him think a little less.
"I don't know if that helps," Elizabeth said uncertainly. "Mom – your grandmother – said that to me for a completely different reason. But… I think it's nice. Don't you?"
Joe looked around. The shadows, the cupboard, the trees outside – they all seemed a little less threatening.
"Joe?"
He realised he'd been staring.
"Is that better?" she asked again.
He smiled. "Yeah."
"Then close your eyes. You've got school in a few hours."
Joe snuggled into the sheets and shut his eyes. He heard his mom pick up the torch from his desk, skirting her way around scattered clothes and toyboxes. She tutted to herself under her breath. "It's messy in here, Joe."
"Mmm."
"Clean it up tomorrow?"
"Mmm-kay."
"Okay. Goodnight. Sleep well."
Joe opened his eyes, just a fraction and saw her standing in the doorway.
"Hey! No peeking," she hissed. "Go to sleep."
"Sorry."
"Love you."
"Love you too," he whispered back.
The door closed. The storm passed.
Finally, Joe slept, and dreamed beautiful, human dreams.
Dreams.
In the tunnels beneath the Lillian cemetery, Joe stared into the creature's eyes. There was life in those eyes. Fourteen years of his life, passed in an instant. A hundred of its years, passed in a blink. Two souls joined for the briefest of moments.
Plus a few more seconds - tick, tick, tick.
Suddenly, the rush of feelings and memories and thoughts just stopped, a gate somewhere slamming shut. He was back in the cave; back in the present. Back home. Here. Alien breath, warm on his face. An alien hand, dangling him in the air. Scared. Not scared. Both. New knowledge, filling his mind, the realisation spreading like lightning.
A hundred years ago, on a planet far away, Cooper slept too. She'd keep him safe.
Dreams.
Beautiful, alien dreams.
Author's note: Explanation time! Back when I'd just started this story I had a couple of ideas. One was to further explore the connection between Joe and the alien. Another was the theme of how the past is important, while it's also important to look to the future. I decided to connect both of those ideas to one tiny moment in the movie, and expand it into a series of vignettes.
I HAVE LITERALLY NO IDEA IF IT'S ANY GOOD. This chapter is four times longer than I intended and instead of a single 'dream' it turned into... a short story collection? Each section was supposed to be much shorter - just a brief moment or feeling - but everything sort of ballooned outwards, and at the moment it doesn't connect as well as I'd like it to. It also kind of ruins the pacing, haha. But there's still hints of what I wanted to achieve in terms of a 'profound' connection between two very different individuals.
Sorry again for taking so long to write this thing - your regularly-scheduled Super 8 novelisation will return soon!
I also made up many strange things about the alien society, which, if I'm being honest, I probably should've planned better, but one thing I didn't make up was "Cooper" - that was the alien's nickname while they were filming Super 8. It seems to fit strangely well, so I thought I may as well use it.