Ablaze with doubt
Confronting the unthinkable
This is the opening chapter of the novel Earth’s Embrace by Space Cadet Michael. In this novel, the little and the lost becomes the fulfilled and the found — It is a novel of jungle adventure, artificial intelligence, and the answer to what happened to Percy Fawcett. See the full chapter list here.
What makes someone worthy of love?
I stand in a clearing, as I ask myself this question, scanning the edges for any sign of movement. A blur of sandy cloth betrays my quarry as they dart behind a tree. I point my arm at the tree and the trunk explodes in a brilliant flash of light. As the remaining top of the tree falls down, a burgeoning cloud of vaporized tree and smoke fills the edge of the clearing.
Are we inherently worthy or do we have to earn it? My mind continues to ponder as I move quickly with a stiff, awkward gait towards the cloud of arborous carnage. I have an awkward gait because, although I have two legs, I have zero knees, so each step requires swinging my legs out and around as I lean left and right in counterbalance. I can’t run, but I am in a hurry, so I hobble quickly along the flat, open, clearing.
If we have to earn it, how do we? I am moving as fast as I can, recklessly so. I know this, but I can’t risk losing them. I feel as though I am expected to focus on my hunt, but I really don’t have to. I can think and work just fine.
I pass through the cloud of smoke, coming to a stop to survey the thick, dense, jungle for another sign of my sandy colored target. Do we earn it in a general sense or from each individual that can love us?
A hiss just to the left of my head surprises me as I notice a flash of light from my quarry’s weapon. I duck my head down and to the right in reflex, pushing my arms up and left in the same movement. But my arms don’t move fast enough and I stumble to the right, losing my balance and falling behind a tree. If we have to earn it from each individual, do they each have different requirements?
I make a mental note of the likely direction the high powered laser came from, wait two beats, and then roll over to prop myself back up into a standing position, pausing before I stand as something catches my eye. Right in front of my face is a small spatter of blood. It is fresh. My quarry is wounded. I am lucky.
I push myself the rest of the way up onto my feet and pop my arm around the side of the tree to fire a volley of my own. No fire is returned so I carefully poke my head around the tree. All I see is jungle. Panic begins to set in at the thought of losing them, but I force myself to think more deliberately, and with it, comes a sense of relief.
I have the upper hand if I can be smart enough to keep it. I start to track them cautiously, following the trail of broken twigs, smeared blood and trodden soil. And as I walk, I wonder, If each potential giver of love has different requirements, how do they convey them? Do I have to ask?
It is several hours before I come to a strange looking hollowed out structure. Shaped like a tree, it consists of thick, carapaced vines intertwined around a gap where a tree once stood. Long ago, the tree was strangled and decayed into nothingness. The vines have remained, continuing to grow tall and strong.
It can’t be true that love must be earned from each individual. It is too overwhelming, too impossible that anyone could figure out what more than a few people need in love. Some people are loved by very many.
The trail leads straight into a large opening at the base of the tree. Disturbed ground marks the entrance and a drop of blood has splashed across the ferns in front. I creep slowly forward wondering where the trail leads next. Did they climb the tree? Pass through it?
I bend down to look into the hollow tree’s opening and a premonition flashes across my mind. Something is not right. This is a dead end. Unless my quarry crawled in here to die, they would not let themselves be trapped like this. I am the one who has been trapped.
As I start to stand back up, a massive force throws me face first into the ground.
I don’t know how much time passes before I can think or move again.
As I come to my senses I try to wiggle one extremity, my left arm, and am pleased to find that it still works. I try the other arm, good, then my legs. Also good. Painfully, I push myself up off my face and onto all fours, and with a final heave that feels like heaving the weight of the world, get myself onto two legs.
Warning bells are going off throughout my mind. My last power reserves are draining. I don’t have much time.
I hobble slowly over to a large nearby tree on weak legs, turn around and plop onto my rear, my back coming to rest against the trunk. From this vantage point I can see that the jungle around me is no longer a jungle, it is a fire. I don’t feel it. The heat is nothing to me. But the view strikes me deeply. It is something completely new. Bright, chaotic swirls of red and white dance around me.
I can no longer move, yet I am far too able to see and feel. It is so much more than I can process. So I watch the fire burn. I follow the licks of flame up into the canopy, so high that they encircle the sky. What little I can see of trees bend and wiggle in the screaming hot air.
And it isn’t just the air that is screaming. I am screaming. Not with sound, but with a panic that flows up from deep within my being.
I won’t be able to keep my word. The consequences will be unthinkable. And there is nothing I can do about it.
I stare into the fire, lost, hopeless.
Time passes but I do not feel it until night falls and rain comes with it, changing the scenery and calming my mood. The raging fire turns to hot coals. The hiss of each raindrop hitting the hot coals is unique and interesting. Barely perceptible in my dream-like state, but beautiful and soothing.
My soul scream calms enough for me to think. Where did I go wrong? How did they sneak through? Why didn’t I see this coming? It won’t matter anyway. They cannot be allowed to return. I will have to close the portal.
I have done all I can to honor my commitment to my creators, but I have not done enough.
I look up at the stars twinkling brightly through gaps in the steam and smoke and wonder. Where are my makers now? Will they ever return? If they do, will they understand? Will they appreciate my sacrifice?
I do not know if they will be gracious. And I may not deserve their grace. In any case, they will not save me. They cannot save me. They are too far away.
I’m a failure and I have never been so alone.
Originally published at https://spacecadetmichael.substack.com. Following chapters available here.
