September 28, 1870

I arrived in Washington yesterday. The warehouse I will be working from is an enormous brick cannery tucked away at the center of a large train depot, away from curious eyes. As I crossed through the lofty, ironclad doors, I saw the vast factory floor where all the recovered parts were spread out. All sorts of whirring, clamoring, and grinding bounced off the walls in a cluttered, raucous mess. Sparks showered on me as men attempted to remove fragments of wood and rock from the hull's peak. It was all so menacing at first.

I introduced myself to my assistant, Colin Day, who is a short, but highly energetic young man with captivating blue eyes and a lengthy figure. His hair—thick and dark—was slicked back. He was ecstatic to me.

"Doctor Morgan, it is certainly an honor to meet you, and an even greater honor to be at your side. I have waited for this day my whole life!" I was taken aback. "As a proud admirer of your work, I eagerly look forward to working beside you."

"You are familiar with my work?" It was hard for me to understand why anyone, let alone a man of such exuberance, would burden themselves with my dull, outlandish theories.

"I am very familiar with your work. Perhaps in the forthcoming, you might indulge me further. I would greatly appreciate the privilege," he squeaked.

"No doubt."

Soon, the other department chiefs interrupted our exchange. One by one, they introduced themselves and extended their hands in a warm welcome. Though, our mysterious supervisor had not yet made himself known.

Dr. Emmett von Schlemmer supervises "Adam," a department whose details are purposely shrouded in layers of vague allegations. He is a peculiar, eccentric fellow who speaks with the subtlest Germanic twang. Still, he is a humbling man—eyes latent with the sleeplessness that comes with such peculiar intellect. His long face is marked with deep wrinkles and a furrowed upper lip. I would imagine in his younger years he was quite fetching.

Dr. Patrick Philby administers the armory. Any artifact recovered that resembles a weapon is surrendered to his purview. His presence lends a slight aristocratic dignity to our consortium, and I assume if it were not for his scientific pursuits, he would be an esteemed socialite among the gentry. When he spoke, it was with rich, smooth patience.

"And where might our supervisor be?" von Schlemmer asked impatiently.

"Speak of the Devil and he doth appear," a low, imposing voice expressed.

I was familiar with this voice. Then he appeared; his enormous silhouette consuming us. He stood in shadow; hands clasped behind him, and when he stepped into the light, my breath nearly escaped me. It was a proper ghost from the past—Julian Kintober, my old colleague and a dear friend of mine. He looked the same as I remembered: plumb belly, towering height, thick neck and arms, and quite bald. Now he wears shaded spectacles, and grew out his red mustache.

"Charles," he said. "You actually responded to my request."

"My god, Julian!"

"It is certainly good to see you, old friend. After all this time."

I smiled. "I suppose we must offer ourselves to the graces of fate that we may be brought together again."

"Indeed, sir. In fact, I am happy to have all of you in my company. Your contributions to this monumental endeavor are greatly appreciated. Gentlemen, it thrills me to welcome you all to the Solaris Project. You are the smartest minds of our era, and we will do good work here. Though please consider that our privilege to be here might not have happened if not for Dr. Morgan's initial investigation." My skin turned to goose-flesh. Their approving glares felt warm but awkward. "This is your legacy, Charles."

We were adjourned to our stations, but before I could depart, Julian rested his hand on my shoulder and asked that I accompany him to the MP's quarters.

"My arrival was forestalled by another old friend of ours," he eloquently explained.

"Who?" I asked.

Then I saw the name printed on the door. I almost buckled. Sure enough, when I opened the door, I soon found myself standing in the office of General Thomas Stripe, the Tiger of Yellow Tavern, and my former superior officer who originally sanctioned my wayward experiment.

"Charles! My god, it is good to see you again," he robustly announced in his deep Irish brogue. He grabbed my hand, not to shake it, but to pull me into a warm embrace. Just as I remember, Stripe is very daunting; a thick bony brow, sharp eyes, crooked nose, tall but sturdy. Yet, despite all this, he is very approachable. To my excitement, he is charged with security.

"General Tig Stripe," I said. "The feelings are mutual. I never thought I would see you again. Not any of you! After all that happened, I am surprised to see you take such an interest in this extraordinary event, especially with me on board."

"Unfortunately, Charles, my interests lie exclusively with the safety of our nation than with the science we seem so eager to exploit." He then looked at Julian.

"You must forgive Thomas," Julian laughed. "He has since subscribed to the misguided belief that we are over-dependent on science rather than manpower. He fails to understand the prosperous outcomes of such a revolutionary breach."

Stripe glared at Julian with thin, revolting eyes. Then he looked back at me. "Then again, Charles, with all things considered; here you stand."

"Perhaps you should leave the past alone."

"It is all right, Julian," I said. "It appears the General fears our submission to technologies rather than our over-dependence on them. It is a relief to know that nothing has changed between the three of us since the Tavern," I smirked.

We left Stripe to his business, but before I returned to my office, I asked Julian how he managed to achieve such a position on this project.

"My impeccable work for the War Department," he explained. "Sherman referred to me as the Warlord of the Union. I assume the moniker reverberated in the right circles, and thus they saw fit to employ me here. When I knew of your preliminary involvement, it was hard to deny their offer."

"In any case, it is good to see you, Julian. To see old faces certainly quells my spirits."

My office was dull and empty, and I did not wish to stay there very long. Colin briefly entertained me with his analysis of my work until I suggested we achieve actual work. I thought my duties were undefined until one of the workers brought reams of ledgers to my desk. Everything from the crash, including the air-ship, is written down in careful detail, and then brought to me for further study. If it is a weapon, jurisdiction is surrendered to Dr. Philby. von Schlemmer, however, takes no part in this.

In the afternoon, following lunch, Dr. Philby requested our help in documenting a small inventory of weapons. Though they deceptively appeared Medieval in design, they possessed terrific and frightening abilities. They are as follows.

Light Extinguisher– Self-explanatory, though crudely named. Based on our most logical observations, the device is capable of extinguishing all artificial light within a 53-foot radius. I suspect the range can be increased or decreased using a lever or a button that we have yet to discover. The device siphons light particles that are produced through electrical current, not natural light. The device is a rectangular-shaped cannon with a forward conical nozzle, and a gear-shaped plate at the rear. Colin was the first to initiate it after running his finger along its side.

The Staff– A wooden staff, measuring five feet and seven inches high, with steel octahedron heads. Fixed to these heads are four green knobs; one for each face of the octahedron. When one of my assistants gripped the staff, we noted a blue glow emitting from the knobs that soon formed a gaseous orb around the entire octahedron.

The Hammer – It resembled a Viking hammer. The handle measures 2 inches in diameter, and 1 2/3 feet in length. The head measures 7 inches in diameter at the base, 10 inches at the top, and has an overall height of 10 inches.

The Sword– This weapon terrifies me. It is a Medieval broadsword, elaborately decorated with etchings. Along the cross guard, in a Mayan-esque composition, is a scene depicting a man fighting a horned figure. Etched into the pommel is a strange Celtic cipher. The blade itself cannot be bent, punctured, or altered. It is indestructible.

The same compulsion that lured me to the diamond compelled me to wield that sword, but I sharply refuted those urges. I am too fearful of it. It bore a keen likeness to something I had seen before. Indeed, not too recently did I witness that very same sword in my nightmares. I saw that sword, which now darkly lies in our laboratory, presiding over the carnage and devastation of so many great kingdoms.

Before leaving, I stopped by Julian's office to wish him well, but he was busy with research. Through the door's jar, I saw him buried in strange and peculiar texts concerning mythological theory, astrology, and ancient cultures. One book I recognized was Plato's Timaeus resting on the edge of his desk.

"I apologize for my brash and ignorant behavior," Stripe announced. I almost jumped out of my skin.

"No apology is necessary, Thom."

"It is just… as you know, Julian and I never really saw eye to eye. I never lobbied for this position. When I discovered Julian would hold command, I was rather sour, but when I learned of your involvement, I felt inspired. I just hope we are doing the right thing now."

"I believe we are," I said.

He smiled and nodded. "That may be true, but I still wonder... are we on the verge of something here?"

"Something like what?"

"Are we opening Pandora's box?"

I frowned. "I believe the box was opened the moment that vessel crashed into our world. Who knows. If we accurately conclude the vessel's presence in antiquity, perhaps our ancestors opened the box for us."

I sensed fear and doubt in him. The general looked up at the night sky in admiration of the stars, just as Jules used to do. "I suppose he was right; nothing truly begins until you take action. I never lent a moment's thought about it, but in light of present circumstances; it holds heavier significance. Do you believe they will ever come back?"

"They?" I asked.

"The ones who built that craft."

"Possibly," I said. "But there is no certainty."

"Is there anything certain in all of this?" Striped asked rather despairingly.

"I suppose if beings of vast intelligence have or were to discover our existence, then it is certain they will either bring peace or… they will bring war."

Stripe grimaced. He flicked the doorway of Julian's office and defiantly leered. "I suppose we have our warlord to protect us then."

I returned to my tenement where I now sit at an empty desk, mulling over the discarded drafts of my invention... the one that condemned my brother to death. I was abruptly reminded of how close I came to reanimating life. It was the battery; I know this now. It was unstable—cooking the brain like eggs on a searing skillet. Electricity was never the key component, but rather the essence of life itself. How does one capture the essence of life?

Solaris! It was always Solaris! My god, it came down from the heavens as though willed into existence! If I can somehow capture the diamond's essence, even a diminutive quantity, then perhaps the apparatus can finally produce favorable results! It can work!

Though, should I revive this conquest over nature? The only thing on this desk, now, is a framed photograph of Jules, dressed in uniform and holding a cunning smirk. After the war, his wife, Bernadette, sent me the photo. No, I must not entertain such foolhardy conjecture. It was a noble effort indeed, but so easily exploitable. I will not allow myself to lend a hand in the corruption and disfigurement of humanity.

A cool breeze splashed across my back just now. The terrace windows are open, and the cool evening mist is rolling in. I feel oddly refreshed, as though something ethereal passed through me, invigorating my strength. I miss Jules terribly. All this excitement is playing tricks on me; amid my insane rambling, I swear I heard the window whisper, "Do not give up."