Solutions: The Dilemma of Hopelessness, James Gerard [free children's ebooks online .txt] 📗

one launched by NASA and, subsequently, malfunctioned.  Furthermore, it has been concluded that the satellite in question is under the influence and control of an unidentified extraterrestrial(s) life form.”

 

“If you read further you’ll see someone, or something has sent a voice message using the lost satellite, which did not operate through voice communications—it received wirtten commands via computer.”

 

“So it can talk,” said Timothy sarcastically.

 

“No, you’re missing the point,” said Charles.  “It’s being controlled by something.”  Charles stood and leaned over Timothy, tapped a finger to the report.  “There, read the message yourself.”

 

“…request you send a representative to discuss your future.”  Timothy looked up at Charles and laughed.  “Me?”

 

“You.”

 

“Why me?  I’m no diplomat.  There must be someone more qualified—anybody who would be more suited for this.”  Timothy laughed.  “Or am I the bottom of the barrel?”

 

Charles shook his head.  “No, you’re my first choice, my only choice.  I need someone who can survive in isolation.”

 

“Survive.  What’s the big deal about surviving?”

 

“You’re here.”

 

“Yeah, so what?”

 

“You’ve survived.”

 

“Yeah, so have lots of people.  And it doesn’t mean I’ve enjoyed it.”

 

“But you’re here Timothy.”

 

“Okay already.  So I’m here.”

 

Charles smiled.  “You know he mixed the medication in with your food.”

 

“Impossible.  I still remember everything.”

 

“For some reason you have a highly sensitized survival instinct.  Your mind has overcome every pill you’ve tried prior to coming to this place, and every pill since.  And even if you do wind up in a mental center, the memory exterminators would have no affect on you as well.  The personality medication just doesn’t work on you.”

 

Timothy laughed.  He knew, at least believed, the pills never fried his mind because he refused the effects.  But, even if his mind, subconscious maybe, had been able to counteract the effects, he could not understand how that alone could halt the loss of memory.  He looked to Charles.  “How can you be certain about my mind?”

 

“You can sense when others are watching you, even from a camera.”

 

“Hypersensitivity.”

 

“No, because your mind refuses to forget—to let you die,” said Charles.  “They figured you were more valuable as a test subject.  Figured if they could find a combination of drugs to break your mind, then they could save the cost of the mental centers, shape you into what they wanted you to be.  That’s the reason Johnson never turned you in for flushing the medication.  That, and trying to use you as a trained assassin.”

 

“Assassin!” Timothy laughed out loud.  “But what does any of that have to do with going on this mission?”

 

“The satellite is ten years away.  I need someone who can survive.”

 

“Ten years,” Timothy whispered as he raised his chin towards the ceiling.  “And you want me for this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But if they know I’ve been faking it, how can you be sure they’ll let me go?”

 

“I told you I don’t work with Dr. Johnson.  And as far as he knows, the inhibitors have worked on you.”

 

Timothy laughed.  “Funny.  As long as I’ve held in that secret, I probably would’ve blown it and told him so if he had ever talked to me, at least listened to me.  He could have least figured out that by walking out of the room when he had the camera on me that something was wrong.”

 

Charles smiled.  “You did good Timothy.”

 

“Ten Years?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Aren’t you talking about a twenty year round trip?”

 

“Well, I’m positive that we can get you there safely, however, I really can’t say for sure you’ll be returning.”

 

Timothy froze while contemplating that fact in a moment of silence.  What did he mean about the uncertainty of returning?  He intently stared at Charles.  “But if you send me there, you certainly can get me back?”

 

“The problem with that has to do with the size of the ship I’m proposing,” answered Charles.  “It would be impractical, too time consuming to construct a ship from scratch to carry that much fuel and supplies.”

 

“But we have the technology now don’t we?”

 

“True, but we are pressed for time.”

 

There it was, thought Timothy, the condition, that if mentioned first would have ended the conversation at once.  But now he felt he was more than intrigued with the risk the voyage offered—a minor one at that.  He handed the report back to Charles.  “A suicide mission?  That’s why you’ve come for me.”

 

“Of course not,” answered Charles.

 

“Then how do I get back?”

 

“I’m hoping that whoever, whatever you’ll meet out there will return you.  Look at it this way: If they’ve gone through this much effort to contact us, request a representative, then there’s no reason at all for not bringing you back.”

 

“How important is this mission to you?”

 

“It’s very important.  I’m hoping it will lead to a positive solution for the threat we’re facing.”

 

Timothy was amused at the proposition, the words spoken by Charles.  “Strange talk for a pessimist.”

 

“I didn’t say I was.”

 

Timothy stared at the appearance of a smile on Charles’s face.  Once again he could not be sure if he was serious or not.  In a way, it did not matter.  All of a sudden his own smile turned into a chuckle, which turned into a laugh.  “What the heck, I’ll do it.”

 

“I have to warn you though,” said Charles.

 

“About what?”

 

He looked at Timothy.  “In the event they do return you, the ones deciding this mission will more than likely try to censure you.”

 

Timothy detected a hint of worry in Charles’ tone.  He  heard what sounded like sadness in his voice.

 

“Censure!  I take that to mean they won’t be giving me pills?”

 

“If you’re successful and return,” Charles looked into Timothy’s eyes, said, “they’ll kill you to keep anybody from finding out about this solution.”

 

“Solution!”  That made sense to Timothy.  The operative word at the Capitol, he thought.

 

“Timothy.”

 

“What?”

 

“Are you listening?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“As far as we know the message was only sent to us, and it wasn’t very specific,” said Charles.  “We can’t be sure if they intend on giving us technology that would benefit us to the point where we can eliminate the threat, or if they intend to do it for us.”

 

Timothy raised a hand to his face then rubbed his fingers over the eyes.  “Why should I trust you?  How do I know you’re telling me the absolute truth?”

 

“You’re holding the evidence in your hand,” answered Charles.  “Also, if you choose to decline, no one will know that I even proposed this to you.  We’ll be the only ones that know what has transpired here today, so they won’t have any reason to harm you.”

 

Timothy stared at Charles intently.  Wait, he thought, what do I care?  “What the heck I’ll do it.”

 

“Then I’ll tell you what,” said Charles, “when you’re returned I guarantee you’ll not be harmed.”

 

Timothy smiled.  “Why worry about that now.”

 

“There’s only one thing I ask of you.”

 

“What?”

 

“If they do accept you for the solution, then they may want to talk with you.”  Charles stood, extended the report in front of Timothy’s face.  “If they do, under no circumstance tell them that you’ve seen this report.  In fact, don’t tell them anything other than the offer to send you on the mission.  If they suspect you know more than you should, they won’t allow you to go.  They’ll kill you.  I will be unable to stop them.”

 

“But you just said….”

 

“But I wouldn’t even have a chance to stop them from doing it while you’re down here.”

 

“Understood,” said Timothy as he bowed his head.  “When do I leave then?”

 

“I first have to submit the proposal.  Then if all goes well, two weeks and you’re out of here.  Off to training.”

 

“Do I have to stay here until then?”

 

“Don’t worry.  I’ll talk with Johnson and tell him to lay off you, to keep you safe.  That means no cameras, questionnaires, or interruptions.”

 

“Where will I train?”

 

“Probably at the International Space Station.”

 

“How long will I have to put up an act?”

 

“Seven, eight months at the most.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.  That’s the time that’s needed.”

 

“I suppose I can do it.”

 

“Don’t suppose.  For you own safety you better be sure you can do it.”

 

Even if I do screw up, thought Timothy, it would be no big deal.  But Timothy began to think that it could be fun just to go up there and play in a weightless environment.  “Don’t worry about it Charles,” he said confidently.

 

Charles smiled.  “Then I’ll inform Johnson of your decision.”

 

As they both exited the office and clicked their heels down the hallway, Timothy suddenly felt twinges of excitement flow through his body.  The excitement also tingled in the mind at the thought of finally leaving the center.

 

“Here’s my cubicle,” said Timothy as they came to a niche in the hallway.  “I better get back down there.”

 

“Are you still sure you want to do this?” asked Charles as he extended a hand.

 

Timothy looked down, “Sorry, I don’t have to pretend with you do I?”

 

“Understood,” Charles answered, smiled as he retracted the gesture.

 

“When will you be coming for me?”

 

“I won’t be escorting you to the station.  Someone from the station itself will probably be doing that.”

 

“Ah, that’s no problem.”

 

“In the meantime,” said Charles, “just take it easy.  Remember, if you change your mind let me know.  Just have Johnson call for me.  Even if you just want to talk.”

 

“Sure,” said Timothy.

 

Timothy watched Charles stroll up the hallway as a cool breeze swept over his face.  He exhaled the tension from tensed muscles.  Dull sensations swirling in his stomach, of blood draining from his already paled face, his limbs limping, his mind numb, shoved the tension back into the body.

 

He stood there silent and contemplated his decision as he watched Charles take a right turn and disappear.  “A meeting,” he whispered.  “I think I can do that.”

 

All of a sudden he grinned.  The tension floated away.

 

Three

 Charles twisted, turned, and coughed from the stench rising from hot spots created by his own body.  It had been nineteen days since the proposal's submission, and he had yet to receive notice as to when the meeting would take place.  But no way, he thought, it would be disapproved.  But then why has it taken so long?  He knew that question only plunged the stabbing pangs of anxiety deeper into his mind, yet it was a valid point in suspecting she was scheming to spite him.

 

“Come on,” Charles shouted as he peeled his naked body off the cot then rushed to the shower and washed away the grimy sweat and the unrelenting heat from tender skin.  As he dabbed the droplets off his body, applied soothing suave to ease the irritation caused by prickly heat, he felt he had to do something.  Anything at this point to relieve the frustration was more than welcomed.  He quickly dressed and exited the cubicle.

 

He stood in the silent hallway and sniffed the breeze that carried a putrid stench from throughout the pit.  He thought of descending to the basement to see Timothy, but figured that might be too suspicious.  He reasoned that she might have already suspected something—and if she did, he would have ceded more control and power to her.  With that in mind, he instead marched through the tunnels meandering to the left, the right, up and down, cutting a path to the cafeteria.

 

On his way, Charles found it comforting to know that at least fellow personnel thought of him as a sincere, relaxed, smiling figure who was always available for disturbed confessions from those he believed felt the stress of their own aching muscles and inflicted frustration from restless nights in