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#frictionlit #writing #contest #writingcontest #shortstory #sciencefiction #scifi Below is a story that I submitted to the “friction” literary magazine earlier this year. It's a beautiful magazine that is put out three times per year. Personally, I'm subscribed to it myself, otherwise I wouldn't have tried submitting a piece for their consideration. They hold a Spring and a Winter contest... The Winter deadline is still over a month away. We'll see how prolific I am in the next four weeks, maybe I'll have something that I think might fit the readership.

Getting back to this story though. This is one of the longer short stories that I've written, coming in around ~6k words. It's still considerably much smaller than a novella, but I've written it with the possibly expanding the story and the chapters more with additional prose in mind. So it is broken into ten “chapters” and an Epilogue.

The Pitch?

It's sort of like if Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind had a baby with Total Recall. It's not quite as Philip K. Dick as I would like it to be, but I didn't think f®iction would want to publish hard pyschadelic sci-fi... Maybe I was wrong.

The story was rejected, but honestly, I would rather just post it as-is for people to read while I work on other stories. I would love to know your comments. What do you like? What do you hate? Any feedback is welcome.

---

I

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can hear the glass shattering and I feel the tiny shards splintering across my face. I don't think it was Mick's fault, necessarily. I could see him start to grab the controls to swerve our taxi out of the way, but the system just didn't respond in time to his manual input. The vehicle just had a mind of its own. With the ice chunks falling through the sky, it just made it all that more difficult...

Lawyers for the insurance companies settled the matter without needing to appear in court. In the days after the accident though, I was so disconnected from everything and everyone around me that I didn't really pay attention to the documents they had me sign.

They just parroted the manufacturer's marketing claims, “these incidents are exceedingly rare” and “the safety systems engaged and deployed within optimal operating parameters.”

I know for a fact that my memory just hasn't been the same. I've been to several doctors, and they all say that there was no physical damage to my brain, that my trouble remembering things must be psychosomatic. Of course, I don't remember so well, how would I know whether or not they were lying to me?

“Emily?!?” Dr. Thompson gets my attention with a worried exclamation of my name. 

“Huh?” I must've trailed off. 

Sometimes I can't tell if I'm just thinking the words, or if I'm actually saying them out loud—it has gotten me into trouble before. Full conversations that only take place in my head and not with the other person participating. Even worse; when I say something I don't actually mean, an idle thought that escapes my lips. Thinking through words, or having an internal conversation with myself before engaging with someone else helps me to decide if it's the right thing to say in the moment, but only when I have control over it.

The good Doc continues, “you were just mentioning something about how you still get visceral flashbacks, as if you can still feel the sensation of the impact from the accident?” She lowers her glasses as she looks at her notes and then back up at me.

Our eyes meet, so I respond, “yeah, that's right. I guess they make the glass special so it's supposed to shatter into tiny pieces like that, but it's like tiny bits of hot ice when it hits your skin, crumbling to sand at the end, the tiny shards melt into the cuts that it makes... Cold at first, quickly replaced with a burning sensation.“ 

My tone is meek and meandering, I'm clearly not invested in the conversation, and Dr. Thompson knows it. She and I have gone over this a hundred times. She says that working through the trauma will help to rebuild the connections in my brain, and for the neurons to fire properly, helping form new memories. Also, improve my overall cognitive abilities through nothing less than sheer mental exercise. But I think she's full of shit, and I don't want to deal with reliving the pain any more. But for a fleeting moment, I am able to recall more of the details of that night.

It's the surface of Enceladus that stands out the most in my memory. The moon is only about seven hundred thousand square kilometers, but the constant snowfall from its major geological feature (The Tiger Stripes) at the South Pole tends to blanket the surface quickly, and so the emergency medics didn't find us right away. For that matter they couldn't tell whether it was the cold or the impact that killed Micky.

II

Sitting at my terminal at work with my hand hovering over the resonant display emitter, lifting up and swooshing to the right, cycling through a bunch of old pictures, I'm wondering what happened to all the time. For that matter, what the hell did I even do last night after leaving Thompson's office, and how did I get to work this morning?

These are questions that Jennifer can't answer. Not that I'd want her to. None the less, she saunters on up behind me without my noticing her.

“Hey Emily! Wha cha doooin?!”

Her infectiously sweet tone is a high pitched enthusiasm that sickens my stomach. I want to turn around to slap her, but I don't. Instead, I take a moment to breathe deeply and prepare for the emotional exhaustion of interacting with her.

Just before the silence gets awkward I slowly swivel my chair in her direction and look her in the face. It's an exercise to contort my facial muscles in such a way that my smile seems genuine and not forced.

“Well... Today would have been our anniversary. So, just looking through some old photos is all.”

“OH! That's right. I am so sorry! I should have remembered. But you know what might cheer you up? One of these cupcakes!”

My mind told me that the smell I caught in the breeze was just her perfume, and my eyes completely missed the platter of confections resting in her arms. Jennifer was the type to wear a scent designed for twelve year old girls to smell like frosting, so I didn't even question the thought. Vanilla gourmand. She also knew Mick pretty well too, which made her pandering all the more infuriating. We all had worked together for years, but he hated her as much as I did. For a brief moment I'm able to cling to a lost memory of his voice.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with Jen? She looks like a clown with all that makeup on, and she's always so god-damned happy. You know that's not normal! I'm only nice to her because I don't want her to come into the office one day and shoot the place up, or run around stabbing everyone with the birthday cake knife from the break room.

My fake smile slowly morphs into a genuine giggle as I imagine Jen gripping the handle of the dullest blade I've ever seen, tears streaming down her face in a thick rainbow of mis-matched blushes. Unable to actually injure anyone.

Shaking myself from the absurd cartoonish fantasy, “you're right! Maybe I could use a cupcake,” I exclaim.

By agreeing to take one, I know that she'll end this ridiculous exchange and move on to another co-worker that she can emotionally manipulate. Preferably one with the energy to deal with all her bullshit and engage long enough for me to slip away unnoticed.

As Jennifer trots away I scan the room for a roaming rubbish bin, preferably one that's out of sight and in the opposite direction of the way that she's headed. Bingo! A Robbie Roaming Robot Rubbish Bin, four o'clock!

“I swear Jen's mission in life is to make sure I can't fit into my pants!” It's a soft and compassionate voice. Even so, Rhonda startles me a bit. 

Clearly I didn't notice her as a I darted for the three foot tall squirrely mechanical trash collector. Staring down into the anthropomorphized receptacle I see that I'm not the only one who doesn't have a sweet tooth at 2pm on the Friday preceding a long bank-holiday weekend. 

Rhonda awkwardly giggles before I have time to respond, and quickly tries to change the subject, “so, uh! Emily, how are you doing?”

Authentic tone. Genuine concern. I decide to keep it light, rather than bitching about Jen or cathartically reminiscing about Mick.

“Saving my calories for some drinks later! How about you?“ 

In that moment, I'm hoping maybe Rhonda doesn't have any plans either, I don't particularly want to spend the evening alone. At least with a few drinks between us we can each easily ignore any waterworks that might be plumbed from my grieving heart. I'd be happy to talk to someone who wasn't court appointed or callously clinical in their approach to conversation.

Rhonda's widening eyes and toothy smile are the only response I need to confirm that we indeed are on for drinks after work.

III

Maybe it was the jalapeno poppers with the mango habanero cream cheese from the bar last night, but my dreams were extremely intense. 

I felt like I fell back into this dimension from another one, and I woke up extremely disoriented.

The dream was about living on a property in the picturesque icy wilderness near the surface, and the property came with a guest house. The guest house was where we were staying, and the guest house came with a dog. 

The house was situated along an internal riverbank with a lot of fresh foliage climbing the glass domes which let all the natural light in from the Bond albedo (of the moon's reflective white surface) when it was morning. Mick was there as well. We both felt bad about forgetting to feed the dog for some reason. A lovable multi-colored brindle pit bull. Preparing food for him was a bit like a video game, and we had to arrange food bites into different sized squares, and the tray was white and the lines or dividers between the food segments were blue.

There were other people who would peruse the property as well, all of them just passing through. Some on a stagecoach, others by horseback. They were shadows in the background of my life; each of them seemed to come and go without any real permanence. The property also evolved over time, and there were periods in the dream which progressed much faster than others. The guest house morphed from a shack into something much more substantial and robust. I don't have a good understanding of the layout to describe it, but I seemed like I knew how to make my way around inside the building. As if the building were somehow evolving around our living patterns.

Before I knew it, I remember standing in the interior of a building modeled after a rustic log cabin, like something that might have existed from the mid-to-late nineteenth century, post-Civil War America pre-Empire, otherwise known as the Wild West.

Most of the dream itself took place at dusk or dawn... in that perpetual twilight that early summer evenings have. I had a sense that it was getting darker the longer I stayed in the dream, but it never hit the point of turning completely into nightfall.

Suddenly I was transported from the mahogany log guest house with the dog, out to the back porch of my new single person apartment here in Cassini Falls, in the Prefecture of Lave.

As I was standing there, a liturgical, angel-type Entity swooped down and greeted me. At least that's the way I interpreted its curiosity.

It was a sentient sphere of color-changing plasma—or simply colored light. A large ball surrounded by an oblate sphere, ring, or saucer with a hole in the middle. There were also three other smaller orbs that accompanied the main sphere. All five of the component parts (sphere, orbs and ring) were loosely connected with an electrical energy of some kind that also shifted in color. The kind of electrical tendrils in one of those novelty plasma globes, the kind you touch and the electricity gets concentrated to the point where your fingers meet the glass.

While it didn't have any discernible facial features the way one might expect, the Entity did emote, and it made sounds the way a cat might chirp, or a parrot would in mimicking Morse Code. Unfortunately I couldn't make out what it was trying to say to me. Still, I understood the colors. It would flash red while speaking, blue when it was observing or listening, and finally yellow when it was thinking or contemplating its response. Variations in between the primary colors suggested nuance to its speech. Flashing yellow in between blips and shading to blue periodically to make sure I was paying attention.

“Mick! You gotta come here and see this thing!” My screaming was in vain though.

Even though I couldn't understand the sounds that it was making, I did get the distinct impression that it was trying to communicate to me. Specifically I received the impression that I wasn't supposed to be there, with it.. which felt like an odd thing for it to to tell me on my own back porch. It was in that instant though, a glimmer of doubt in the conversation, and my spirit was ripped back through the apartment, slamming into my body. My vision of the back porch soon became fleeting as I began to sense some semblance of a more physical awareness of my body.

IV

Gasping a long deep breath, I jolt myself from bed. My sense of feeling and mobility are much slower to return to me than they normally are. In the muffled distance I can hear the faint sound of my doorbell just as my sense of hearing returns from a light hum.

Ding, ding, ding.

“What the fuck was that...” I say to myself. Even though it felt like I had been thinking about saying that—and a million other variations—the act of finally being able to verbalize it somehow returns me to regular timespace and reassures me that I'm no longer dreaming.

Ding, ding, ding.

“Probably an Architect's Testimonial or a Huygen missionary,” I reasoned to myself as I ease the urgency of the solicitor's beckoning from my conscience. Just enough to gather my wits and firmly plant myself back in this reality.

Ding, ding, ding.

Persistent and annoying... I really don't feel like telling some teenager that they're in a cult, but I look to my left and the clock on the wall reads 7:15 a.m. It's Saturday. If they don't go away and give me some peace, I'm going to emphatically shatter their Huygen faith with some of my favorite scripture:

We have been carrying the burdens of our own darkness, and bearing the weight of our collective pain. Yet we've come to realize that it's only by surrendering to the light that we can begin to heal. ~ Luthier's Book Chapter 14 Verse 26.

I'll never actually convince anyone that they're really worshiping demonic beings, but it's always fun to watch them fumble their words and fall into the rote pattern of circular logic that is used to talk themselves through an attempt at converting someone.

Stumbling out of bed I fail to find strong footing, my legs are eerily heavy and it takes me a while to get the blood pumping through my body enough to even make it to the door.

Before I can make it, there's a rustling on the outer gate, and I deduce that they've probably stuffed a pamphlet for me to find upon their departure. So early on such a beautiful spring morning, plenty more souls to save!

Sure enough, when I open the door there's a thick folded glossy envelope with... Well that's odd.

I quietly mouth the text on the front, “The Island of Perfect Memories.” Certainly no cult I've ever heard of. At least it's not another copy of Issac Elijah's Sacred Ablutions.

Inside the elongated envelope I spot a letter addressed to me, so I take the letter out to examine it and throw the pamphlet on top of the stack of Elijah's books I have next to the trash can by the front door:

Dear Emily, 

Please allow us to extend this most gracious offer for a month-long retreat to the Island of Perfect Memories! We here with the Society of Sensible Sentiment believe that memories are the greatest treasure of human consciousness. Our patented and proprietary technology, as well as associated techniques and exercises, will surely help you to better develop your skills as a Hypermnesiac! Yes! Someone who possess the ability of perfect recollection.

We understand you may have had difficulty in the past with missing time, or foggy recall! Rest assured, during this retreat you will develop everything you need to live out the rest of your days with Perfect Memories!

Sincerely,

Lady Adair Pembroke

I'm not sure how the hell they got my information, or how they know that I've had trouble remembering things, but it's a compelling offer. Far more intrigued than some teenage Huygen trying to sell me spiritual snake oil, I decided then and there to make plans for this trip.

V

There was never any need for me to travel to other areas of the moon, or even to any of the other planets in Sol, except for the one trip that Mick and I tried to take.

The Enceladus Prime settlement isn't quite as big as the Europan colony, but we share a lot of the same technology with Euorpa, due to the fact that each moon has a vast underground ocean. Still, knowing that I have three hundred year-old proven technology shuttling me sixty kilometers beneath the surface isn't as comforting as I would like it to be. I've lived in the same Prefecture my entire life.

When I told Dr. Thompson that I was going, she was quite surprised. She was also absolutely elated to hear that I had chosen to attend the Island of Perfect Memories.

“As you know, I couldn't have recommended you, all personal files are confidential, and I was also hesitant to recommend seeking out an invitation from the Society of Sensible Sentiment, and Lady Pembroke, without having known anyone else who has visited their facilities. So I'm very eager to hear about your results when you return. Perhaps this is something I can recommend to some of my other clients.“ 

Her earnest and sincere tone definitely made me feel at ease. I still had the journey ahead of me but at least I wasn't concerned about the destination.

VI

The constant snowfall from the Tiger Stripes makes for a less than reliable trip on the surface, there was no way that I was going to make that mistake again. Besides, most commercial transit between Outposts occurs underground in the Grand Ocean because it's actually cheaper to operate transport vehicles there. Unlike snow from the Stripes, the Grand Ocean offered an  inky dark cocoon of depth.

Thankfully my cabin has a porthole for which to admire the beautiful light show. Native marine life going crazy, and living its best life.

One of the first things that folks who settled here did was to capture the power of Enceladus' cryo-volcanism. It means that what we see today isn't the best E-ring of Saturn that could have existed, or does exist in an alternate reality, but it means that we get to live here. It also means that the Grand Ocean is far more tame than it used to be, and the creatures that inhabit this ecosystem have adapted to the relative and intermittent peace in remarkable ways.

All the various marine life has a phenomenal curiosity about humans as much as we have about it, in our tube, rocketing along the frozen ceiling of the ocean. A brilliant mosaic of every hue and chroma of light that you could ever imagine, dancing in the darkness. 

Growing up I heard that some of the bioluminescence we witness is a bit like the echo-location of bats from Earth. We think the superstructures—sucking heat and minerals from the vents which lead down to the core—can contract and maybe even retreat below the iron core's silicate outer structure. Almost as if the moon itself is alive. No one has ever documented the full extent of the superstructures, but it's believed that every point of light communicates with the other in some form or fashion, whether that's individuals of a whole, or echoes of the collective.

The exterior illumination of the SS Aeolus' generous two hundred meter long hull offers some insight to the creatures that dwell here, but it's usually a fleeting sight. Anything close or caught in our current breaks free and keeps its distance as much as possible, retreating to the murky comfort of its habitat.

My mind instead settles on what I imagine is quite far off in the distance. A blinking red light, pulsing in an almost sensual manner. I can't help but wonder if I'm finally getting to experience photonic location. Can it see us? Does it know that we're here? What is “it,” exactly?

Concentrating harder reveals nothing more than a pinpoint of red. Around it are other features of the superstructure though; mountainous himalayan spines with greens and yellows trading off of one another on either side of the pulsing red. I'm sure that some of the light has to be blue or purple, but those colors aren't quite as noticeable as the others, and they don't reveal as much of the fleshy oscillation of the seafloor's features.

From what I can tell it took us approximately fifteen days from the port in Cassini Falls to get to this mythical Island. It was only after we got there—having stopped in Hydrostadt—that I realized this wasn't all that special of an island.

Mick and I had talked about going here for vacation once. I don't know why I thought it was going to be some mystical retreat I hadn't heard of before. Unlike Titan, I don't really know much about that moon. Only the fact that's where all those crazy zealous Huygens come from.

Nevertheless, I'm eager to see what this Society of Sensible Sentiment looks like.

VII

The Society's building was much smaller than I imagined it would be. Then again, there were only ten or so of us who were staying at the Island of Perfect Memories. Such a small cast of characters was ideally intimate though. It gave me the opportunity to mingle with others who all have a similar goal to mine, to become a hypermnesiac, to have absolute perfect memory and recall. This was to be our residence for a long enough time, it seemed prudent to try and get to know the others a bit.

The Island was little more than the only land mass at the center of a small pond. The building at the center of the small piece of grass was rectangular in shape with a square jutting from the middle of the front of the building. Stairs led up from the square entrance into the halls of the rectangle.

From the main entrance Lady Pembroke emerged to greet us all, introduce herself, and instruct the concierge staff to whisk us away. As we were escorted to our rooms, I noticed a stately clean-shaven ginger man to my right.

But the only thing I could think to start the conversation was, “there's no way you have trouble with memories... right?”

“Speravi In Misericordia... It's Latin for 'I put my trust in mercy,' and that is to say, I don't even know how I got here!“ 

Definitely the most interesting individual of the bunch, he continued on, without missing a beat and without care to my reaction one way or the other, “so, that's the motto of the courts on Calisto and Io in the Jovian Oligarchy.”

“Oh really, and what exactly would that have to do with anything?” I played along with his humble boast. 

“The name is Marquis Kato! This is the first time I've ever travelled via an abyssal aquatic medium. The void of timespace is far more familiar to me. I also don't usually make it out this far, generally I keep to Calisto and Fairwind, on Mars. I about worked myself to death. So this is kind of like a vacation for me, I'm just here to recuperate.”

Chiming in from the back was an androgynously bearded waif.

“Did somebody say Fairwind?”

Marquis and I oblige. He nods, my eyes invite this third voice to indulge us.

Holding out their hand in a dainty manner, “Astrid Lyrax! Pleasure to meet you both—though I didn't catch your name, sweetie.”

“I was just goin' to introduce myself. Emily.”

“And what is it that you do, or what brings you here?” Not expecting me to reciprocate those questions, Astrid finished their rhetorical prompt, “not everyone from Fairwind works at the casinos! I'm a neurosurgeon. The Lady Pembroke has asked me here to conduct an independent analysis of her facilities.”

Before I could add much to the conversation we had lost the other seven people and had arrived at our rooms.

Astrid and Marquis’ rooms were cattywampus from where my room was situated. The others down the hall seemed to form their own groups. Perhaps it was the destiny of the distance between our rooms. The others were cordial enough, we just didn't clique.

VIII

My first night there I had difficult falling asleep, as is normally the case with new beds and new rooms. Take a bit to get used to your surroundings, or to find a way to get comfortable. None the less, I did fall asleep for a little bit. Much to my surprise my friend the Entity came to visit me again. Enby seemed as good a name as any.

This time the Enby Entity was practically screaming at me. I couldn't understand because I only just walking the hallway out side of my room. I imagined it was my brain's way of getting used to my new surroundings.

As I walked forward toward Enby, they shot toward my face, its companion orbs encircling its center sphere in an exponentially increasing pace. As the speed increased so too did the rotation of its colors emanating from its body. Quite quickly the colors blended, reaching a point of complete and brilliant white light, blinding me and forcing my vision to go black.

Waking up this time wasn't quite as jarring a the time before. Instead it was a quite pleasant transition back to the waking world.

Seemed to be the perfect timing as well because the curtains were just transitioning to a less opaque material to allow the light to come in. I could smell a fresh pot of coffee brewing away in the corning of my room as well. An ambient calming voice came in over the room's sound system and I was guided into a meditative session.

“Good morning Emily, to start your day, we want you to just relax. Follow the sound of my voice and allow yourself to drift and grow larger.”

I hadn't been inclined to do this sort of thing on my own, but what the hell, as long as we're here, may as well go along with the program.

“As you you see yourself growing larger, remember that you are still anchored to your body here and now, in this moment. First visualize the room, then the top of the building. From there you can see the entire Outpost, and then all of the various Settlements here on Enceladus.”

Incredibly, it was working. Not only was I able to visualize myself, but memories began to come flooding back. The home of my parents as it was when I was only twelve years old. The place where Mick proposed. My first job working for the Ministry of News. And I could remember what it was that we had done yesterday. Not to mention Marquis and Astrid. Was this all that was needed, a semi-strong cup of coffee and an erotically soothing voice to put my off into another dimension?

“As you start to watch the Settlements get smaller you can see Saturn and Titan. Now the entire solar system; Earth, Luna, Mars and Space Station Omega. Before long the entire Galaxy is before your feet, and then the entire Universe.”

Before long I begin to see a vision of myself, but it wasn't me... It was another me swimming along in the vast galactic infiniteness. Riding imperceptible waves of psychic energy.

“Come along?” I see me ask myself.

My feet still firmly planted on the moon. Other me freely in control of their movements, but lost to their connection.

“No!” We echo back to one another. Except her mouth doesn't move. It's just in my mind.

My act of defiance causes me to start shrinking back down to the surface of Enceladus. Then finally back down into my room. I come to as a sharp “BING” noise alerts me that there is someone at my door.

“Madam, please make a lunch selection so that the kitchen can prepare something and have it sent to your room.”

Confused, having not spent much time examining my room the night before, “and where exactly would that be?” I question the disembodied voice.

“The interface on your nightstand. Just activate it and select an interface.”

AH, yes of course, just like every other hotel that I've ever been to. “Right! Thank you, forgot about that.”

“No worries, madam.”

It was hard to imagine that it was lunch time already. Which means that I had been in a meditative state for quite a long time, and not much had happened. The reverse of the dream state.

IX

Surprisingly—to me at least—I assume we were supposed to be in our rooms all day. There was another meditation session scheduled for the afternoon, but the computer let me bypass it, and since there were no other items on the calendar or the agenda I just decided to keep to myself.

I did spend a brief moment walking around the hallways before dinner, but they were surprisingly vacant. I suppose most everyone else decided to take part in the afternoon meditation session rather than skipping it like I did. I wasn't sure exactly how I felt about the the whole program thus far. I was hoping for more pomp and circumstance, or legitimate theatrics to help guide the experience. The letter made this sound like a much more grandiose affair. Isolating myself was downright depressing.

When I woke up the next day I decided to skip the first meditation session and do some more exploring.

Again, no one in the halls, or anyone anywhere on the premises of the property. Probably all off meditating, enjoying their boring isolation.

While I did have a decent experience the first time seeing myself, face-to-face, it was a little unsettling as well. I suspect that we're under surveillance of some kind, just to make sure that no one looses their mind. By the same token there weren't custodians in the hallways, or anywhere around the facility managing the guests or trying to enforce any rules or regulations on me. So, wander I did.

Although the building itself was simply a large rectangle with a square jutting from the center (ornate decorations and filigree lining the moulding and columns aside), some of the hallways were quite labyrinthine and maze-like. Different doors were labeled in different ways, but I deduced that all of the numbered rooms were living quarters of some kind. While there were only ten or so of us who arrived at the same time to the island—Marquis and Astrid being the only two that I formally met and spoke with—and only four or so support staff that escorted us from the entrance... The highest number that I saw was thirty. Whether or not all those living quarters were filled, I couldn't tell you.

Other rooms were labeled in practical ways; “Closet” or “Equipment”. All the rooms were pretty decked out with features, so I imagine there had to be somewhere to store the systems handling that sort of accommodation and luxury.

It was the door labeled “Antique” that really caught my attention though. Such an odd name for a door. Why not the plural? Or, for that matter, why would some place like this even have a room for an antique?

What was the antique? What purpose did it serve?

The longer I sat and stared at the label on the door, the more questions I had.

“Well you can't seem to sit still, young lady. Care to take a gander?” The voice was as mature, smooth and Transatlantic as the voice in my head. Turing around my eyes met Lady Adair's. Her scarlet regal French twist updo was all the more distracting when combined with her accent.

Continuing, she said, “would you like to see, then? Clearly you aren't as entertained as our other guests.”

“So that's it then, we're supposed to just be sitting in our rooms by ourselves?” I questioned.

“Quite certainly. You didn't enjoy your... mental journey? Didn't you uncover any memories you had forgotten? See a long lost love? This is the process, my dear, and you're not like ninety percent of our visitors or residents here.” Her frustration was hidden in her hospitality, but I could feel it.

Sighing, I released an honest response. “I just expected more, I guess? Also, I just had a crazy vision toward the end of the first meditation session that sort of put me off to the whole idea.”

“That's what I figured. Come on here darling, let me show you something.” Lady Adair reached past me and opened the door labeled “Antique.”

“Here, take a look for yourself.”

As the door slowly swung open I was shocked to see Enby, caged in a glass dome! There they were, but not aware of our presence, though. Still floating and changing colors, but noticeably absent.

A hood leading to a duct above the glass dome was spilling some sort of smoke or fog-like essence on to the glass dome that was encapsulating and housing Enby. As the fog touched the glass sphere enclosure it would transform into a plasma like substance that was beaming it's way into Enby, almost as if they were somehow absorbing the fog.

X

Something within me stirred, and I just couldn't help but feel that I had some sort of a positive emotional connection to Enby. Despite the fact that they were oblivious to my presence in the moment, we had connected before. So I felt that there was a reason for that.

I looked back toward Lady Pembroke. Her essence started to feel dark. There was reason and purpose to Enby's captivity. I couldn't quite parse all of what was going on, but I knew I could tell the difference between light and dark.

Exploding with a bit an internal rage, I threw my balled fists down onto the glass dome in an attempt to crack the containment!

“No! You stupid girl, what are you doing!”

“You've got it caged! They're a prisoner!”

“NO! It must have gotten to you! Damnit!”

”...What? What are you talking about?”

The glass dome splintered and started to spider. From a few small circular fractures in the center, the fissure soon rending into a few large cracks which coalesced along the bottom of the half-sphere before popping in a violent concussive wave. An overwhelming white light encompassing the entire area.

A loud “THANK YOU” pulsed through my head.

Lady Adair was so impressed with my ability to ignore the calls for meditation, she failed to calculate that maybe I wasn't acting of my own free will.

Enby was more than happy to pass along an entire mental download that explained everything... Or maybe I just sensed the clarity of my own internal vision. There was no reason why I should want to unleash this unknown force into the world.

Time seemed to dilate in the second the white light hit my face.

I saw myself, the same version of myself that swam past me in the infinite. She said to me, “they want us to share.”

The first few memories that I did get back during my time on the island... They weren't my own. They were hers, my others, both of ours. But my lost memories from before I came to the island must have went to another us from a different time.

Lady Adair's voice slurred to a crawl, “you fool, I had it contained! It was serving us.”

The intrigue and the compassion I had for Enby withered in an unpredictable decay. It was both the sense of loss as much as it was betrayal and despair. Enby shot out of the room labeled “Antique”, through the roof, and off into the night sky. The further they got the more it became apparent that I was being manipulated.

Lady Adair Pembroke had trapped Enby for her own purposes, and although Enby was caught in a slumber of sorts, they were able to reach out some of us on the plane of our dreams. And so they called to me, and I made the journey.

Enby had reduced my existence down to a chemical formula of emotions, and used that to manipulate me... And Adair, and the entire staff on the island, all in a clever and calculated way to plot its escape.

Lady Adair Pembroke sat and wept. Unsure of what the ramifications would be when Enby made contact with their own kind again. Would the local authorities on Enceladus care or even understand the nature of the crime? That didn't matter as much as her knowing the truth of her own transgressions.

EPILOGUE

I stayed in touch with Marquis and Astrid. Marquis told me about how the Jovian Oligarchy took an interest in Lady Adair's business venture with the Island of Perfect Memories. Turns out there is a council of wealthy individuals who are interested in protecting humanity in its current incarnation, and they are concerned that she may have invited malicious retaliation from a species we've never had formal first contact with.

Astrid was able to provide a little context for me as to why this might be important. The way it was explained to me is that if the species that Enby is a part of ever does come back to exact revenge on humanity, we don't stand much a chance because they understand quite succinctly how to manipulate our perceptions and emotions, not to mention interact with alternate dimensions. If Lady Adair had gotten away with it, she would have harnessed the ability to manipulate anyone and at any time, in any location.