Update: Thank you everyone for hanging on while I finish transcribing this admittedly long and complicated letter.
Part 1: http://ift.tt/1RDCzpP Part 2: http://ift.tt/1G2qkBV Part 3: http://ift.tt/1jnl15Z Part 4: http://ift.tt/1jrdD9H
The blue, radiant filament hanging in the sky had dissipated by the time the sun rose and the sky was blue and clear after dawn. We had not slept well, but we had slept. The power was still off, and the winds were strong, scattering the fallen snow across the lake when we went outside and ventured to the shoreline facing South Fox.
There was one known route to South Fox, and that would involve crossing the narrow channel that separated the neighboring islands. Crossing the water posed immense dangers, however, and we knew that there was a possibility, if Jake's theory was right, that we could make our way to the island through the marker system that Jake had mapped out. Abandoning my skepticism, I agreed that we should see if we could reach South Fox without crossing the frozen waters that had claimed Lucy’s life during our failed escape to the mainland. I know how it sounds to you, whoever you are, reading this letter. And I was not sure that I even believed it was possible at the time.
There was only one problem: The only time we had found Control populated was the fourth, accidental visit. There were only three deliberate trips that we had made to Control. The first two times, we had followed the coastline. The first visit we had encountered an abandoned site, the second visit we had encountered an empty site. Our third trip with Lucy went along the coastline, and we had discovered the same empty location. It was only when we had crossed the lake to try to reach the mainland that we had ended up, inexplicably, on South Fox.
Jake suggested an alternative: If we believed Dan and Lucy, and Dan’s journal entries, they had reached Control sometime after we had left for our first trip. Their version did not have a lighthouse, and they claimed that they had spoken with the researchers and the power had been restored. On the way back, we went through the forest and had come across the wreath and the windchime. What if they had passed through the same area on their way to Control, and returned along the coast? It would still not explain why we found the site empty on the second and third visit, or why they had not seen a lighthouse, but it might explain their ability to reach Control.
We walked through the woods, listening for windchimes. At a few points we thought we came across areas that resembled the place we found the chimes and the wreath in the makeshift arch, but we could not be sure. We finally decided to continue towards the Control site through the woods. When we came to an area near the shoreline, the area that had been empty during our second and third visits, we moved out of the woods and found, to our surprise, a living pod. It was accompanied by a small communications array, the only way I know how to describe it, and a generator. We knocked, but no one responded. The door was unlocked, and we walked into the first warmth we had experienced in hours.
This pod was about the same size as the common area pod at the base camp, complete with two bunk beds and a computer with a monitor and printer. The power was still on, with a screen display. There was also a food storage unit and a refrigerator. With the possible exception of the communications array, this looked like what we had expected from Control when we arrived on the island.
We searched for clues. At this point, we knew that there had to be more to this experiment than what we were led to believe. We opened several files, but most of them appeared to be encrypted or password protected. Inside the desk, we discovered several items, however, including a calendar with several dates circled, including the date of our actual arrival and, inexplicably, December 21, which had the word “extraction” handwritten on it, and December 22, which had the words “Arrival” handwritten on it. We knew that was wrong, though; we had arrived a week and a half before winter started, at Ogletree’s insistence. That was why we had missed the holidays. And our departure date was in February, still a ways off. The dates did not correspond to anything that we knew about the experiment.
I read through the remaining papers while Jake searched through the pod, making a mental list of the supplies so that we would have an inventory of what we could use. There was a two page memorandum on something called the "Mobius worm." I remembered coming across the same when I read Dan’s entries, that bizarre term. The first page offered an enigmatic description, replete with technobabble worthy of NASA but also providing something that came close to a definition: An organism composed of exotic matter, possibly tachyons, detectable only by the presence of cherenkov radiation. The second page contained no text, but was instead a color printout of an artist’s rendition of the so-called “worm,” an image that bore an uncanny resemblance to the blue filament that had streaked across the night sky.
There were more mysteries opened by this, if you will excuse my pun, “can of worms” than answers. I started talking while I read, a little excitedly and loudly. Jake came over and looked over the papers.
"A worm?" He laughed slightly at the absurdity of it. "A worm made of tachyons?" I nodded. It was ridiculous. And still no sign of any research related to the actual purpose of the experiment, studying the effects of isolation for purposes of interplanetary expeditions. This seemed more along the lines of a decoy designed to instill false beliefs, much like the Hebb experiment that Dan’s journal entries referenced repeatedly.
We decided to remain in the Control facility. It still had running power and there were enough food supplies to last us for a while. The base camp was a death trap.
For the first part of that night, we slept well. We woke late in the night as sounds erupted from the computer. A voice came through the monitor, male, professional and the hint of ambient sounds in the background. I recognized it immediately: John Ogletree.
“Remote contact with North Fox Control 1 established. Initiating satellite telemetry feed. Estimated local time to contact from South Fox Control II is 5 minutes. Satellite telemetry feed is online. All systems go. Let’s catch ourselves a worm.”
Jake and I stared at each other in disbelief and then began shouting at the monitor, but if they could hear us, there was no sign of it. After a minute or so we gave up, and waited to see if there was anything else. After a brief pause, the monitor switched to a live feed from what appeared to be satellite imagery of the islands.
Ogletree’s voice emerged again. “Mission Control Alpha, this is South Fox Control II. Rift is open, data transmitting to North Fox Control 1.” The monitor switched, displaying a bewildering series of binary numbers. “Estimated delivery time is thirty seconds.” There was a long pause, and then Ogletree’s voice returned. “Initiating shutdown sequence in ten seconds. Happy hunting, Joh-.” His voice was cut off by the sudden wail of a siren, which itself was cut off when the monitor returned to the live feed of the satellite. Then Ogletree’s voice returned almost as suddenly as it had disappeared, with cheering in the background. “Mission Control Alpha. Data transmission successful. We did it! Subjects commenced expedition December 22, 2014 local time.” We sat back bewildered as the cheering and applause continued, only drowned out by Fleetwood Mac’s *Don’t Stop.” That continued for a while before another voice announced that the remote feed was being cut, and then there was silence.
We stood in the pod, confused. We decided to go outside, to see if there was anything happening in the sky, again following whatever strange logic applied to life on this island. Had we heard transmissions from the past and the future? What was this worm Ogletree kept referring to? I felt, in that moment, that we were on the cusp. If we had just a little more time, I reasoned, we would have our answers. And now, with all the time in the world, I realize it would not make a difference at all.
We stepped outside, and I looked to the sky. There were no stars, but there wasn’t anything else either. No strange green lights, no blue filament, no strange hum. Just the stillness of that desolate place, and the harsh winds of winter. I walked to the shore while Jake explored the communications array. Was there a sign out there, across the water? Or were we stranded here forever?
My eyes watered as I stared across the frozen terrain and into the wind. I thought about God for the first time since we arrived, my agnosticism shaken by the sense of doom and confusion this place had instilled in me. I heard a sound, a voice from the wilderness.
"Jocelyn?"
And now I have to laugh, because in those brief moments, seconds really, between the time I heard something and the time I turned around, taking a moment to clear the water from my eyes, I thought just maybe it was a sign of God answering my unspoken prayers. And now, looking back, I realize it was a sign. Just not a sign from God.
It was Dan. Back from the dead.
Submitted October 16, 2015 at 01:22AM by MessagesinBottles http://ift.tt/1VV7W54 nosleep
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