Outcasts of Gideon

Dawn Imara : Part 3

The passenger cabin of the Aion was empty when they arrived. Dawn hadn't seen Dewey on the way so she assumed he was in the pilot's cabin. Before she could move toward it, Dewey's feet wrapped around the ladder from above. He slid down into view. "Mister L!" he shouted.

"Dammit, Dewey, what's this I hear about a disturbance?"

"What disturbance?"

"Are you telling me nothing happened?"

Another set of boots appeared above Dewey and began a slow climb down the ladder.

"Is that a passenger on the flight deck?"

"I can explain, sir."

When Bobby finally reached the deck, he turned. Dawn gasped. She hadn't seen him in several months, so any significant change would have been abrupt. She couldn't have anticipated the transformation he'd undergone. He might have dropped twenty kilos or more. The pale skin and recessed eyes attested to that. He looked like he hadn't slept or bathed in days, maybe weeks. Yet here he was, a smile spreading across his face. "What happened?" she asked.

"I found something."

"That's all he will tell me," said Dewey.

"What were you doing on my flight deck?" snapped Grant.

"I found something." Bobby held up his messenger pouch and reached into it, retrieving a small object. She couldn't tell what it was. All she could make out was dust covered cloth. He unwrapped it, exposing a small piece of metal. Lifting it up, he smiled.

Dawn looked to the others, then to the grinning Bobby. In his eyes she found nothing but a boyish wonder.

"I found this." Bobby held the object higher the way a child might exhibit a drawing or a favorite toy. His eyes widened. He lowered the object to his face. Reaching with his other hand, he grabbed the metal with is fingers. As soon as his skin touched the metal, he began convulsing. His eyes rolled up into his head and his face went flush. He collapsed to his knees. Before any of them could react, he'd fallen on his side, the artifact still held firmly in his fingers.

Dawn rushed to him. She swept around toward his back to roll him over. Kneeling down, she cradled his head. His body continued to seize. She wiped sweat from his forehead, looking at the artifact which he still held tight. His arm and hand seemed unaffected by the convulsions. It was as though someone else held the object. Finally, she reached toward the metal, easing it from his grasp.

The cold of the artifact surprised her. With it, the room faded into shadow. All at once she became aware of another presence. No, not one. There were others. They were making noises. They were at once distant and frighteningly close. Their forms were uncertain, their features a faint blur. They were directing sound of some sort. It may have been a conversation, though she couldn't make out more than odd sounds and echoes. She searched around for Bobby, but he was gone. No one was there other than the uncertain forms billowing around her.

The sounds were like voices, with changes in tone and inflection. Nothing in the words made sense – if they were words. She scanned from form to form, each of them more of an impression than something solid. She tried to figure out which of them was speaking, and to whom. They did not react to her. Even this was more an impression than something she understood from their manner. At times they appeared crowded into the space, too numerous to count. Within an instant they seemed but a few. They were shapeless, simultaneously immense and very small. Their forms were sweeping and narrow, vibrant and faint, solid and amorphous.

She tried to make sense of what she saw. Neither the sounds nor the shapes fit anything familiar. The only thing that came to mind were the echoes of a bad dream. It was a constantly moving landscape of shadows and colors coming at her, through her, in waves. The sounds were vibrating in dull throbs that almost appeared solid, like ripples on a pond.

"Are you talking to me?" She shouted as though contending with a loud din.

The voices stopped. The forms shimmered as though she was seeing them through a wall of water. They were around her, dozens of them. No, that's not right. Only a few. They were drawing toward her, their attention focused on her. One began to gesture. A voice returned, deep and gruff, then sweet, tinny, a series of fluctuating modulations. It was pointing at her. It had seen her.