Dove Levy - Way Station

[sigh] No, I thought not. Sir, a few minutes before we connected, Facility D received distress signals from nearly all facilities north of the southern continent, save the unmanned one, each reading as a manual transmission as opposed to the automatic ones originally sent when the team members died. As they all came simultaneously, I don’t think there are people alive in each one, but there were numerous tech experts on these teams, and it’s possible one is still alive in one of these stations and programmed the others to send the alarm as well. Have there been any attempts at contact with Earth since the communication channel opened again?

Maybe they don’t know it’s open. It’s possible their facility took some form of damage. We aren’t sure what all the possibilities are, since we’d only just learned of land life existing here.

Yes, we will find out where it’s from. Facility H is the closest to the port. We will depart when the ferry arrives tomorrow.

After our last autopsy was sent in, we did confirm the existence of a larger, sentient form of life. I can’t describe it very well, as I encountered it beyond the reach of the facility lights, nor do I know how many there are, but it was about the size of a large dog, like a Husky or German Shepherd. We haven’t found the creatures that killed the team of Facility D, and I believe they live in the ocean instead of on land. Additionally, back at Facility E but after we’d sent the autopsy review, there was a pheromone-like chemical signature found in the data from the storm. We have nothing more detailed than that at the moment.

Yes, sir, I’ll wait.

[off-mic, whispering] Can you pull up the data on yesterday’s logging of the alien? And the chemical compounds attached to E’s monitor? Thanks.

[on-mic] I’m sending you what we’ve learned about what I just told you. Did the autopsies send correctly? Good. There are more details in those than in the reviews I’ve been able to send this past month. We don’t yet have a concrete solution for how to keep this from happening in the future, but we hope to have one compiled after we’ve been in more of the stations.

No, sir, I don’t believe there’s anything more. If you have more questions, I will be waiting here for another call for the rest of the time the channel is open. Goodbye.

[sigh]

Did he seem skeptical to you?

The automated ferry will come into port at noon tomorrow. When I first heard of it, I thought of how odd that was, that amongst all the people who lived on POGE, they couldn’t have found anybody to drive a boat back and forth over the water. Now, though, I’m grateful for it. It’s not like I or Dr. Federman know how to drive it.

How boring of a job would that be? To live on an alien planet where all your colleagues are making scientific breakthroughs, while you’re just steering a boat over a dead ocean.

I’d like to leave quickly, but it’s not here yet. There are only a few ferries on the whole planet, and a lot of ocean for them to cover — it wasn’t much of a priority to make all that many of them, or to make them faster, so even though we sent for it about two weeks ago, before we even got to this facility, it’ll still be a bit before it arrives. It will take about that time as well, if weather permits, to cross to Facility H.

I don’t know if it will be better there, or worse. Maybe the southern continent is the safest place on this planet.

I…

I’m scared.

More storms are picking up around the continent. Odd heat signatures reside within the one by Facility C. I would have been curious a few weeks ago, might have even convinced Dr. Federman to drive us back there real quickly, see what’s up. I’m not curious anymore.

There’s — tingling. A lot of tingling. Neither of us have removed our walking suits for anything more than necessity for the past couple of days since it started. Can’t see anything, any rashes or bumps or movement, but no matter how much I try to ignore it, it doesn’t abate. Feels like something’s crawling under my skin, a lot of somethings. Both of us feel it.

Even if it’s safest here, much as I doubt that, I want to get off. If only so this will stop.

Someone is out there. Someone is alive. I’ve made a living dealing with the dead. I’ve spent the past month on a planet of, presumably, nothing but the dead. The possibility of someone here, someone human instead of the creatures prowling about around the borders of the facility, that’s — that’s—

…

Seven hours until the ferry arrives. It will arrive, that’s one thing I’m sure of. With what’s happened, I was scared something out at sea or in one of the other harbors would have damaged the ferry, kept it from making it here. Trapped us. But its incoming signal reached us a few minutes ago without sign of damage. It’s on its way, and soon we can leave.

The ocean is too big for us to chance across anything more until we hit land. I have to believe that.

Our friend out there, the one who made Dr. Federman try his hand at stitching up a living person for once instead of a still, numb corpse who never cried out or jerked away, has more. A pack, maybe. Or a spattering of different creatures. All I know is that they’re prowling together, but my light switch is firmly on OFF. I have a lot of trouble managing myself, but at least my meager survival instincts know that going out there with more than one to face will be suicide.

Something is scratching at the walls. It circles around the facility, scratching, scratching. It’s testing the structure, finding a way in. Hasn’t found the skylight yet, but it’s found the windows.

This baby can hold up against a storm ten times worse than anything Earth can throw at us. Nothing’s coming in, but—

The ferry will be outside, in plain view as it pulls into harbor. The harbor is internal, but if something finds it and sees it as a threat before it gets all the way inside — or, heaven forbid, after we’ve boarded and are on our way out — there’s not much protection on it. It’s decently secure, but nothing like the facilities or a warship. It’s not made for fighting.

Dr. Federman wants me to stop talking. Well, he can leave the room if he doesn’t want to listen to this.

…

[off-mic] I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Don’t leave.

Two hours until the ferry arrives. The scratching has increased. Dr. Federman left to go get us some food, and I’m trying to tell myself that it’s fine. He’ll only be gone for a few minutes.

He’s been drawing to calm down. Maybe an audio diary will be more beneficial for him than it is for me. Some of these pictures—

They freak me out to look at. I wish he wasn’t such a good artist. My nightmares are potent enough without these joining them.

One hour. Haven’t heard anything outside for the past twenty minutes. That’s good, right?

[off-mic] Don’t think like that. Who can hear it from this far out? It’s still a good fifty or more miles.

[on-mic] I hope these things can’t swim. More than that, I hope they don’t know that they can’t swim, and they try to get to the ferry, and they drown. The best possible medicine exists here, yet my arm still feels like it’s on fire if I so much as brush it against something.

I know I never talked about what it was I saw out there. I wasn’t exactly honest with the boss. But…

I think that’s for the best. It doesn’t need to be talked about. It needs to swallow the ocean and become someone else’s corpse to deal with.