Out of Deep Time

The man floated through space in his cryo-tube, slumbering in a deep dream where years passed in seconds. The cryo-tube's self-contained generator did not produce much electricity from its decaying power core, but it did not need much to perpetuate adiabatic demagnetization and keep his body at near absolute zero within the gel-filled pod, insulated by the perfect vacuum that surrounded it for millions of miles and holding him in quantum suspension.

It had been attached to an interplanetary transport bound for Jupiter Station Two, but most of the ship had long ago been shredded and scattered across the solar system. The pilot and co-pilot could do nothing but send a distress signal when the meteor shower began to perforate the hull. The initial explosion brought a mercifully quick death for almost all of the people on board, most of whom were in cryo-tubes for the two year journey.

Recovering wreckage and searching for survivors from thousands of possible trajectories was expensive, and before long the search was called off. Influenced by constantly shifting gravitational forces, the sleeping man drifted in erratic elliptical orbits around the solar system...until one day, his cocoon of steel and titanium wandered too close to the gravity well of what was once known as Earth.

After spiraling in an unstable orbit, the wreckage descended at a shallow angle. The extreme heat of friction against the atmosphere burned away the scraps of ship around the cryo-tube, until the titanium pod itself was heated to a dull red, glowing in the night. The ancient sensors of the machine knew something was wrong, and began the emergency wake-up process.

The pod's angle of decent was almost parallel to the slope of a mountain, and it touched down against the volcanic pumice of the crumbling slope. It plowed through the pebbles and coarse sand, then gradually slowed as it skid down to the base of the mountain. At last, it came to a stop against the trunk of a scrub oak, and the lid of the pod popped open.

The man's hand shot up and pushed against the metal lid. It creaked against his strength and he slipped out over the side of the capsule, spilling himself onto the upturned, dusty ground. He expelled viscus fluid from his lungs and coughed, gasping for breath. He shivered, still cold from his long sleep. He was naked and covered with goo.

He wiped the goo from his face. He couldn't see. Had he gone blind? No, it was dark, but slowly some visibility came to his eyes. He felt over his head, ran his fingers through the sticky tangle of his long, wavy hair that stuck to his shoulder blades. No head-wounds. He squinted upwards. There were stars in the sky. The silhouette of the short, scraggly tree stood against his cryo-pod.

Slowly, he realized this was not right. He had been on a ship. He looked up at the night sky. Where had he been going? He could not remember. He sat in the dirt and hugged his knees, the relative warmth of the ground and the desert air warming his chilled flesh. He tried to remember something. He couldn't. Nothing surfaced in his mind to give him context for his situation except that he had been in cryo-sleep on a ship. He couldn't remember the name of the ship, his destination, or why he was going there. He felt something on one of his fingers. It startled him at first, but upon feeling it he realized it was a ring. A wedding band.

He was married? Who was he married to? Then it dawned on him that he couldn't remember anything about himself. He tried to remember his own name, grasping for memories that he was sure must be there, but he couldn't find them. How long had he been asleep? Despair and grief of loss crept into him, and he began to wheeze and weep. He clutched his knees and tried desperately to remember something, anything from his past.

A haunting howl reached his ears, then another, and he sat up straight to listen. A chorus of howls in the night echoed off the mountain. Stiffly, he got to his feet, staggered, found his footing. This was not good, he thought. There would be time to remember later, if he survived. He was disoriented and it wouldn't do to go running off into the dark, he thought, so he needed to make where he was safer. He needed fire.

He circled around the immediate area, treading carefully. He gathered up dead sagebrush by starlight and felt for dry twigs under the tree, then scraped them together into a pile. All he needed was a spark. He inspected the scarred and pitted cryo-tube. The back of it had exposed, twisted wires from where it had been attached to the ship. The rubber had all melted away, so he got a stick and jostled them. They sparked against each other!

He moved his tinder bundle close and manipulated the wires against it. It took a few tries, but the sparks ignited sagebrush seed-fluff and a little flame resulted. Hastily he pressed the tinder bundle upon the flame, and it spread. Once it was confidently aflame, he dragged it away from the pod with a stick and threw more twigs on it. Soon he had a small fire that illuminated his surroundings.

He examined himself. His skin was the color of freshly carved wood. No wrinkles, a fair amount of muscle with a thin layer of softness. There was a slight swirl to his bellybutton. His abdominal muscles felt strong and faintly visible against his soft, damp skin, and his thighs were thick but lean. No tattoos or scars that he could see. He was uncircumcised. Still slick with goo, there was short, soft and curly brown hair around his public region and on his arms. He wasn't cold, but he worked at keeping the fire going. If it was this warm at night, how hot would it be during the day, he wondered? He was surely on Earth, he thought. At least he remembered Earth, even if he couldn't remember having a life on it.

He spotted animal eyes reflecting the fire's light between sagebrush. Hastily, he grabbed a stick from the fire, its end aflame. The eyes receded into the shadows. Just then, a wind picked up and blew out the little flame on the end of the stick. Billowing dust swept over the area, and the gusts were growing stronger. Perhaps it was not the flaming stick that drove the creature away, he thought.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, lighting up the sagebrush plain with sporadic displays. It revealed a fast approaching dust storm. HIs fire was blown out. He climbed back into the cryo-pod, submerging his body into the goo once again. He scooped out enough of the fluid to leave an air pocket in the capsule, then left the lid open a crack so he would not suffocate. The goo was lukewarm, still retaining some heat from the wake-up sequence. Despite the pleasant temperature, he was not comfortable, and the exterior of the pod whined from abrasive sand in the gale-force winds, and the cracked lid whistled loudly.

After what must have been a couple of hours, the storm passed, and it wasn't long after that before the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. He emerged from the pod and wiped off the fresh coat of transparent jelly from his skin. He reasoned that if he went downhill, he would eventually find water, so that was the way he went as soon as he could see the terrain. He was also eager to find shelter, or people, whatever came first.

The thornless ground was kind to his bare feet, but after mid-morning the sun made the landscape unbearably hot. A scorching wind picked up and pelted his skin with sand and grit, and though some stands of scrub oak offered shade, the fallen leaves of the trees were sharp and spiny. There were fallen acorns on the ground, and though a nutty snack appealed to his empty stomach, he wondered if they were safe to eat. He noticed large paw prints in the sand, and decided to keep moving.

He came upon a gorge and was filled with hope at the sight of buildings set in the cliffs. He climbed down a ravine, getting scraped up in the process. The sun-scorched rocks were sharp, and they burned like hot coals. He made it to the bottom, which was a dry riverbed. It was sheltered from the wind and was much cooler than up on the plains. He climbed stone-carved steps to the cliffside buildings. They looked primitive, except for a dust-covered solar panel that served as an awning for the largest building, and a tall, spindly antenna that clung to the cliffs above the ruins. The buildings themselves were a ruin, apparently devoid of life except for lizards and birds.

There was a rusty metal box mounted on the wall under the solar panel. He lifted a latch and opened the box, revealing a breaker switch and what he guessed was a battery. It looked old and corroded, but not as old as the ruins themselves. He flipped the breaker switch down, then up again, but nothing happened. He searched between the two nearest stone structures for something useful, and found a wooden ladder. He leaned it up against the solar panel awning and climbed. It creaked with age under his weight, but it held firm. He brushed off some of the dust covering the panel so that the late morning light could strike it. He tried the box switch again. Still nothing.

There was a metal conduit that went from the breaker box into the wall. He ventured deeper into the ruins. The shadowy buildings offered respite from the heat, but contained only lumps of rust and wooden furniture that had long since rotted into useless heaps. He tried prying one apart, hoping to find tools or something to wear, but he was rewarded only with skittering cockroaches the smell of countless generations of mice.

He was so thirsty. Peeking inside one of the structures, he smelled something musky, and spotted a large nest of woven sagebrush. Perhaps a bear den, he thought, and he became anxious to leave.

He considered his next move. If he followed the dry riverbed downstream, he might find a spring. As he turned to leave, however, against the back wall of the cliff alcove he saw a well with an intact windlass. Elated, he ran up to it and pulled the rope right away. It felt heavy, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

When the bucket came up, he scoffed at the sight: it was full of sand. He let it drop down to the bottom and a deep thud echoed out of the well. A shiver ran up his spine. If his hairs hadn't been sticky with dry goo they would have stood on end. Something was looking at him.

Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder. A hunched, furry bulk rose up on its hind legs, tall as a grizzly bear. It hissed, and bared yellow teeth from a masked face. It was a giant raccoon. It grabbed a chunk of stone as big as its own head and threw it. The man barely dodged aside as the stone broke against the well. He ran. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he darted down an alley, leaping over rusted metal. He rounded a corner and tried to circle back to the stairs that led out of the ruins. He emerged from the alley but slid to a halt.

The giant raccoon had headed him off and was blocking his exit. It had another stone in its hand, and it seemed to grin in triumph. Suddenly, it yowled in pain and surprise, then whirled around. There was a tranquilizer dart with red fletching sticking out of its rear by its poofy tail.

The man watched in astonishment as a floating ship came into view as it descended from above the cliffs. Its hull was a bright silver metal, sleek and narrow with a deep keel below, round and wide with a buoyant dirigible ballon on top. The streamlined silver ballon had a rigid metal frame that connected to the hull of the ship below, with a walkway and railing around the latter. A hazelnut woman in gold and brown stood on the walkway with the wind in her purplish hair and a crossbow in her hands. Dark framed glasses held reflective lenses over her eyes, but the smoothness of her face showed youthfulness. She pulled a lever and the crossbow reloaded itself.

The giant raccoon hurled the rock at her. The woman leapt to her left as the rock dented the hull, and she aimed her crossbow below the railing. She sent another dart into the creature, the hypodermic needle connecting with its shoulder. The raccoon snarled and began to retreat towards its den, took a few awkward steps on all fours, then collapsed into a forced slumber.

"Thank you!" The man called out, and he waved. He smiled, happy for the rescue, and also happy that he remembered how to speak.

The woman stood up and looked at him with a puzzled, then a fearful expression. She reloaded her crossbow and aimed it at him.

"Uh—I'm unarmed!" He held up both hands.

The woman seemed to consider him, lowered her crossbow, then removed the tranquilizer dart from it. He lowered his hands and breathed a sigh of relief. She tucked the dart into a pouch at her hip, then pulled out a shorter dart, loaded it.

"Wait," he said. "There's no need to—"

She shouldered the crossbow and fired it. A sharp jab of pain at his naked thigh. He looked down at the dart that had just drugged him. "Ow," he said, and he pulled the dart out. He looked at the sharp needle, then back at the woman. She kept her gaze fixed on him while she loaded another, even shorter dart. "Now just hold on!" He cried, and held out a halting hand. "That really isn't...necessa...sary." He crumpled, and all went dark.

He awoke slowly, feeling a metal floor beneath him. He was laying on his side. He became aware of voices behind him, two women talking to one another. He cracked his eyes open, just enough to see through his lashes. He was in a metal cage. The bars were thick, and parts of it were bent by something much stronger than he was.

He was still naked, and judging by the feel of grit between his thighs, he was still covered in dust and dried goo. His cage was in an oval room packed tight with workbenches, equipment, and metal cabinets, with only narrow walkways between them. He could not see who or what was behind him without turning his head, so he tried to listen.

"Libban de êow smêan it forespraec?" Said one, her voice low and melodious.

"Nânne sîene edwihte onlic sê," said the other, her high voice prickled with excitement.

He turned his head cautiously to look at the source of the voices. The two women were standing next to his cage, but they had their backs to him. They were looking at his cryo-pod, which was strapped to the floor next to a swivel crane and a cargo bay door that doubled as a ramp when lowered.

He took the opportunity to examine his captors. The one who had spoken in the quiet voice was unmistakably the woman who had tranquilized him. Her wavy purple hair came down to her shoulders. She was wearing a short, golden-orange leather vest with white fur at the collar and long, dark-brown leggings of an elastic material with a silver honeycomb pattern on them. Between the short vest and her leggings he could see the hazelnut brown of her skin at the lower part of her back where it curved in most, and he noticed a scattering of freckles.

The other woman was a little shorter and had remarkable rose-red skin with milk-white, striped tattoos on her exposed arms and legs. She wore a green, knee-length skirt and a white top which complimented her short platinum-white hair, which seemed oddly fluffy, like rabbit fur. She had no shoes but dark green stockings, whereas the taller woman wore sturdy brown boots.

"Tôhwega—" The rose-toned woman began, and turned her head to cast their captive a casual glance, but at once she met his gaze, and there was a spark of mutual surprise. Her face was beautiful and earthy, as if shaped from smooth red clay. She seemed to his eyes to be in her mid-twenties. She lightly smacked her companion at the shoulder. "Scêawian, daege pro waeccende." She gestured to him.

The purple-haired woman turned and regarded him cooly for a moment, baring his witness to her stunning features, save for her eyes, which were shielded behind her glasses. She walked to a table across the room, picked up a book, and returned beside her companion. She opened the book to one of many place-markers.

"Quién eres tú?" She asked him, but it also carried the tone of a command.

He propped himself up, still a little woozy from the drug. He gave her a confused look and shook his head. He made a drinking gesture with his hand, asked: "Water?"

The women looked at each other and the purple-haired one gave the other a nod. The rose-toned woman left, then returned with a tin canteen full of water. She passed it to him through the bars and he drank from it deeply.

The rose-toned woman lowered herself into a squat by the cage and tapped her fingers on it to get his attention, said: "Gwenbel," and motioned to herself. She motioned to him; an invitation to introduce himself.

Except he could not remember. He gave her a pained expression and touched his temple, then shook his head.

"Sê nay bedencan," she stated up at her partner.

"Sacc," the purpler-haired woman said, pointing back at the cryo-pod. Then she pointed at him.

"Yes," he replied. "My pod...I was inside it, I was on a ship." He pointed up, then used his hand to represent the pod falling and crashing on the floor of the cage.

"Eow settan waegn gai," said Gwenbel, pointing to him.

"Uh, yes, I am a guy." He pointed to his genitals, and he was instantly embarrassed. He glanced down and noticed that his scrotum and penis were shriveled from contact with the cold metal, and he shifted his leg to hide them. The two women exchanged a confused glance with one another, clearly not understanding his meaning.

"Rakken," Gwenbel said, and made claws with her hands. She made a hissing sound.

"Racoon!" He said with understanding.

"Gêse, Rakken. Rakken innan gai."

"Hominu," said the purple-haired woman, pointing to herself then Gwenbel. She pointed to him, asked: "Hominu?"

"Hominu..." He repeated, "Human, yes, I am human." He nodded.

"Fêra," She pointed again to herself and Gwenbel, then tapped her finger below her exposed bellybutton. She pointed toward his genitals, said: "Magodegn."

"Woman," He responded, pointing back to her, then to Gwenbel. He gestured to himself, said: "Magodegn. I am male. A man."

"A-man," both women said at once.

"Yes, a man." He smiled, pleased to be making linguistic progress.

"Aman," the purple-haired woman said with a nod. "Karris." She gestured to herself.

"Karris," he repeated.

"Karris," she said again, pressing her hand to her chest. "Aman." She pointed to him.

"That's me, I guess." he sighed.

**************************

They gave "Aman" a sponge and a bucket of soapy water to clean up, and he was relieved to no longer be crusty with old goo. Karris gave him an extra pair of stretchy, purple leggings. It stretched enough, but without a crotch-pocket, his reproductive organs bulged to one side or the other of the center seam. Still, it felt nice not to be so exposed. He was given a bowl of warm mush to eat, and he was so hungry that he ate it too ravenously to tell if it was actually good or not.

He was also given a small pillow and two blankets, one to lay on and one to cover him. The nights were not very cold, but the soft fabric was comforting and helped him sleep. He was given a jug to urinate in during the night, and was escorted to the toilet during the day. When he was let out of the cage, both women kept crossbows in hand. Karris was cordial with him, and Gwenbel was outright friendly, but it was clear they did not trust him. It was understandable, he thought, and so he showed no animosity toward his wardens.

He had time to take in the sights of the ship's compartment. The arrangement of papers, scrolls, books, and oddities of equipment suggested that the room's purpose was for research. The large cage he was confined in looked like it could be moved with the rail winch, and he wondered how transporting animals fit into the women's work.

Some memories started to come back to him. When he glanced at his golden ring, he recalled someone. The memory was vague, but he remembered her face, with winsome blue eyes. He still could not remember her name, or his own. It was like trying to remember a dream that had not been thought about since it had first been dreamt, long ago.