The Crew
Eddy Taylor
Entry 3504-26073095
We’ve called it ‘The Spire’. A twisting monolith in the middle of space, directly in our flightpath. We’ve been running on auxiliary power for almost a year and now this thing appears. Without warning. Avan reckons we’ll collide with ‘The Spire’ in eight days unless we alter our trajectory, which I’ve already begun calculating. But the scale of the thing makes such calculations more complex than the rest of the Crew might expect. Preliminary scans suggest the rough shape, like two scaled tails coiling around each other both approximately six hundred by four hundred by twelve hundred miles in diameter. To put that in perspective that’s more than three hundred times the size of the Shedia. Light years from any solar system and yet there it is. Completely stationary. No propulsion or speed or its own gravity as far as we know. Over a century with only the occasional asteroid or passing nebula to keep us entertained and now this? And we can’t even investigate; it’d take too much time. So, we go around and leave whatever this thing is to the void of space, likely never to be seen or heard of again. Potentially the first real proof of alien life and we just pass it by. For centuries we looked to the stars for something, anything like this and now that we’ve found it, we just swerve out of the way. I’ll finish my calculations within the hour and pass them over to Avon for approval, then adjustments will be made and that’ll be all. Anything we might learn about this spectacle will be pulled from the long-range sensors, maybe some pictures from the windows as we pass it by for scientists and scholars to drool over for a few centuries. Nothing more. Survivals a bitch.
Entry 3505-27073095
My calculations were correct. I know they were. The maths was right, Avon said so. Yet it’s still in our flightpath somehow. I’ve checked over my work, my calculations were right there’s no doubt. I’ve written up a new flightpath for Avon’s approval; if my first set of navigations were wrong, which they weren’t, then these are absolutely flawless I’m telling you.
Entry 3506-28073095
It moved. It fucking moved. That’s what Avon said, and they don’t make mistakes. It’s moved into our flightpath. How? Don’t ask me. Avon doesn’t even know and that’s made half the Crew shit themselves. We’re going to try altering course again, as if that’ll do anything. It’s already moved twice then it can do it a third time. This is giving me a headache, I’ll need another caffeine supplement to help clear my head. I better get back to the bridge. This is going to be a long day.
Entry 3507-01083095
Altering course did nothing. I’m not even surprised. In a little over five days, we’ll collide with ‘The Spire’. Avon’s still trying to find a way around it but most of the Crew have resigned ourselves to the fact we’ll be saying hello in the not-so-distant future. Once we’re a day out we’ll have to slow the engines so that we don’t get crushed.
Bradly brought up another imminent existential question. What do we tell The Belly? Can’t exact hide the fact we’ll be slowing down from the old man. There will be questions and they’re not likely to believe us. They can’t see past their own noses since we agreed to remove the Old Histories from their curriculum. Now they just believe whatever the old man tells them, and he doesn’t like anything we say. Hopefully Ickle can get him onside or at least amicable towards our suggestions, that’d be nice.
This is only going to make my head worse I bet.
Entry 3508-02083095
Cattle went extinct today. Perfect timing.
Question for you, when confronting a madman what news do you give him first: The bad news, or the mad news? Though I’m sure that would make an exciting philosophical debate I’m going to do you the luxury of answering it for you. In an ideal scenario you tell them nothing, they come to their senses and there’s no news at all, so you just sit in a circle, have a few caffeine supplements and sing songs till the stars go out. Of course, the real answer is we tell them the bad news and then hope the mad news doesn’t sound so mad. I’m really looking forward to this.
The old man likes his steak and if there’s only a few hundred left in storage then he’s gonna make sure he gets them. I warned Avon about expanding The Belly’s food privileges but then that’s not my jurisdiction, is it? No, I’m just the bloody navigator, which feels rather redundant now given the certainty of our destination.
Ickle reckons giving the old man the news in person might help alleviate some of the tension, so we’re sending Bradley in along with Mak and Cylus since they’re our best negotiators. Not a job I’d want but I hope everything goes smoothly for them. I need a lie down.
Entry 3509-03083095
Bradley’s dead. Which is kind of a good thing. I never liked his face, or the sound of his voice or his weird sense of superiority, so that’s some consolation, I guess. He’s dead. Bradley is dead.
Whatever, we have bigger concerns now. The old man doesn’t even think ‘The Spire’ is real. Because you know we’d just make that up, just invent a monolith floating in the middle of space beyond all comprehension for a laugh. Any way for us to achieve a peaceful discourse died when the old man found out about the cattle problem. That’s what got Bradley killed and now The Belly’s riled claiming it’s their right to whatever’s left in storage. But that leaves nothing for the Crew and Avon’s ordered for us to follow protocol which means that food shared between the two divisions needs to be divided equally. The old man’s not going to like that. He’s already killed Bradley what’s to stop him decapitating the rest of his team?
Three days then we collide with ‘The Spire’ and we’ve lost a crewman, The Belly’s gone mad and we’re dealing with an extinction event. Wonderful. This is doing nothing for my head.
Priority one: We need to get Mak and Cylus out of The Belly and back to The Head. Marcey and Ickle have a couple ideas. Good luck to them, maybe she can avenge her ex-lover while she’s down there playing hero in the old man’s kingdom.
Two: Somehow, we placate the old man, so he doesn’t try anything stupid. Avon hasn’t exactly been useful on that front, but I reckon all he’s after is a bigger share of the reserves. Avon won’t like that idea, but I don’t see anyone else coming up with a better idea.
Three: Try again to convince the old man that ‘The Spire’ is real. Ickle’s gonna need to do the heavy lifting there. If anything, it’ll make whatever happens after our arrival slightly easier.
Four: We reach ‘The Spire’ safely and start figuring out what the fuck it is and how to get away from it.
Five: Someone cures this fucking headache.
Sounds easy, doesn’t it? Not.
Entry 3510-04083095
I’ve never watched someone die before. I’ve heard about it, seen a dead body. Never seen the moment it ends though. I liked Marcey, even if she was a bit stupid sometimes. I liked her hair, wished mine was that shade of black. I kissed her once, years ago for a dare. It was nice. Now she’s dead. One of the old man’s brutes smashed her head open while we all watched. I didn’t do anything, just stared at the screen. She was sweet, and now she’s dead.
I went to Marcey’s room after it happened, we’ve decided to lock it up, leave it as a memorial for her, same things being done with Bradley’s room. They’ll stay closed until this mess is sorted.
The old man’s demanded the remaining beef reserves, we’re going to give it to him. We should stuff them full of toxins and slaughter the fucker along with the rest of the brutes. That’d solve one problem at least.
We’ll reach the spire tomorrow. Avon’s no closer to figuring out a way around it. We’ve already started to slow the engines which has at least given me something to do aside from going over my calculations for the umpteenth time. Some of the Crew are meeting outside Marcey’s later for a drink so we can celebrate her memory. I should pop along but I don’t know if I’m up for it. Might help with my head a least.
Entry 3511-04083095
We’ve been passing a nebula for the past three months. It looks like an apple, or a pepper maybe. It’s a kind of red circle but with ridges at the bottom, flanked by blue gas clouds millions of miles in size with maybe a hundred stars inside. From the infirmaries window it looks close enough to touch but in reality, it’s untold miles away from us. If we changed direction right now and headed towards it, it’d be another decade before we reached its farthest edges, and by then we’d be dead. Make for a pretty funeral.
I cried today. I tried not to.
Avon’s reassigned our ration program to account for a month’s delay. We’ll be eating less than anyone ever has since the Schedia left earth. Which’ll only cause more problems with The Belly.
Ickle wants a full report on all our attempts to avoid ‘The Spire’. Says it might help with the old man. I’ve sent him all my calculations; doubt he’ll understand it.
By now the old man will know we’re slowing down, apparently, he’s been out preaching to rest of The Belly about the Crew’s treachery. Same nonsense he’s been spouting for years. Wonder where he gets his ideas.
I miss Marcey. Wish I’d known her better.
Entry 3512-05083095
We’ll reach ‘The Spire’ in less than two hours. I went to the window to have a look at it. That hideous tower intertwined with itself, curving round and round into the depths of space. Darker than the darkest black, a smooth obsidian statue. Does this monolith in the dead void of the universe have some kind of purpose? Who would make such a thing? What could make such a thing? A civilisation more advanced than ours but then why leave it here? Beyond any star system or habitable planet just waiting in the dark for what? For us? How is it there. This thing in the middle of the vast nothing of space just hanging there devoid of life or energy. Black metal in a black galaxy, a megastructure that’s just waits. Why? Is it merciful that we don’t know, can’t know what it is? What it’s for? I don’t know. I just sat there looking at it. The way it pierces the night. If something like that can be built, devised by some creature however unknowable then what else could they achieve? What else could be out there? I felt cold just looking at it. Cold and small. Like a speck of dust under a lamp. You know the strangest thing, when I looked at it my headache started to fade, I felt calm despite the terror that now begins to swallow the Schedia. That begins to swallow us all.
Cylus sat with me, and we watched it together. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t move. I don’t know what the old man did to him, but it can’t have been pleasant. He was there when Marcey died, didn’t just see but felt her blood on his cheeks, heard her bones crack in his presence, not just through a speaker but his own ears. Saw it with his own eyes. Maybe it’s finally getting to him? He’s been silent since he came back. He watched ‘The Spire’ with me until I left. Wonder if he’s still there.
Avon’s told us to investigate it. Good luck finding a volunteer. Maybe we can send the old man, that’d really piss him off. Make my day just to hear that bastard scream.
Final checks will be made in a moment, so I need to return to the bridge. Then a lie down, I think.
Entry 3513-05083095
Avon’s gone quiet. Still operational but they went silent the moment we finally came to a stop. No one understands why. Now no one knows what to do. Without Avon we don’t have anyone to guide us, so we must get them back, but no one knows how. We can’t reboot them, if we were to shut them off it’d shut the whole ship down. But we can’t do anything without them beside carry out the most basic operational procedures. The coms are dead, completely dead you can’t even call someone’s personal quarters. It’s like the whole ship has gone silent. After Avon disappeared everyone just faded a little, like a fire blazed violently for a moment before becoming an ember.
We need to know what’s happening in The Belly. Whatever the old man’s up to we need to find out, so someone needs to get in contact with Ickle. Mak of all people has volunteered. Says he knows the layout better than the rest of us. The habitation district has been turned into a fortress according to Ickle’s old reports. A series of winding corridors cornered off by various checkpoints ran by the old man’s low-ranking cultists. I wished Mak luck before he left, we all did, he’s going to need it.
‘The Spire’ hasn’t changed as far as we can tell, though surely it had something to do with Avon’s disappearance. What and how we don’t know but it must have had something to do with it. Our systems are telling us nothing so there’s no way of knowing what it did to Avon, or if it’s still doing something to them.
I’m going back to the window; my head is burning.
Entry 3514-06083095
I can’t sleep. No one can. The only time I feel calm is when I go to the window. Maybe the fear of ‘The Spire’ is enough to overwhelm my other senses. I’m worried about Mak too. There’s no word from him. Maybe he’s dead. If he is I hope it was quick. That’s how I’d like to go. Just fall asleep and then nothing. Falling asleep would be such a sweet death, better than how Marcey went, no one deserves that, except for the old man.
The old man, the king of The Belly, whatever you wanna call him. A mad fool who turned a bunch of mules into angry wolves. If he had his way the Schedia would be his palace, floating through space for all eternity. People like him weren’t considered when we left earth. Avon wasn’t designed to deal with fanatics and murderers. But then the journey was never meant to be this long, nearly six generations now, two more than what was planned.
Is this where it ends? I need to lie down.
Entry 3515-06083095
I went back to the window. Cylus has gone. No one knows where he went.
Fuck.
Entry 3516-09083095
My head is burning. I can barely even stand up. Cylus is still missing. No word from Mak and Avon won’t come back. Avon, please come back! What do we do? What do I do? What’s happening to the rest of the ship? What’s happening at all?
I watched ‘The Spire’ for an hour today, maybe more. I needed to see it to calm my head. I think it was watching me too. I could feel it like many eyes staring out through the window and into my head.
No that’s not right. I’m just tired. Just tired that’s it I just need to sleep, please Avon come back so I can sleep. I can’t think anymore.
It stared at me. I know it did. It was looking right at me. Into me. It saw me.
We need to get out of here. Avon come back so we can get out of here. I don’t want to be here anymore I just want to go to sleep.
Entry 3519-10083095
Cylus. I found him. I wish I hadn’t. I found what was left of him by the airlock. It was still him. Somewhat. The face was his. What was left of it. He tore himself apart. Hands buried in his head like he tried to tear his brain out of his skull. Skin scratched deep enough to draw blood. I think he tried to tear his chest open. I just looked at him. I looked for so long I was paralyzed.
Help us Avon. Come back Avon. Please.
Entry 3520-10083095
The old man thinks we’re going to open the door for him just because they’ve got Mak. Things must be really bad down there for the old man to want to leave his little kingdom. They can go to hell; they all went mad years ago as soon as the old man took over that pit they call home. Now they want out because their madness has finally caught up to them. Let them die I say. They killed Marcey, they killed Bradley they’re going to kill Mak and Ickle, if they haven’t already. They can all perish, only thing their good for anyway.
I’ve been trying to get Avon back, but nothing’s working. The rest of the Crew have given up but there must be some way of bringing them back. Avon wouldn’t just disappear they have to be in there somewhere, locked in a subroutine or something. All I can hear is the old man banging on the doors, let him and his fanatics tire themselves out. With any luck they’ll have died of exhaustion by the time I find Avon.
My head is on fire. I need to go to the window but that’s where everyone else is. They’re scared that if they stop looking, they’ll end up like Cylus but if we can just get Avon back then they solve this. They can take us away. That’s why they left, to find a solution it must be. They’ve had plenty of time.
My head. Oh, my head. Maybe just a quick look. Five minutes nothing more. Then Avon. Save Avon. Save the Schedia. Save Avon save the Schedia. Save the Schedia save my head. Save my head save humanity.
Entry 3521-11083095
No luck. Avon’s gone. Gone forever. We’re all alone now.
The old man has finally stopped banging on the door. I don’t know if that’s worse. Now the only sound is my footsteps. The rest of the Crew just stare in silence at the window. I wish I could join them, but I can’t bear to keep looking at it. I need just to go to sleep. All I want it sleep.
If the banging has stopped then are they all dead right? Is The Belly empty? I wonder.
Entry 3522-11083095
Have you ever wondered how much blood is in a single person? There’s more than a gallon of the stuff. There are one thousand people in The Belly, so one thousand gallons of blood. On the walls, on the floor, on the ceiling, the beds, the tables, the windows, the desks, the doors. So much blood. I’ve never seen so much blood. They looked like Cylus. Bodies ripped apart with their own hands. Some of them lay in their rooms, others on the floor, or clawing and the closed windows. Some of them had been killed, they had sharpened metal rods piercing their chests, their heads, the old man must have had an armoury down there. Who closed the windows? It wasn’t the Crew we can’t operate that part of the ship from The Head without Avon. So, who did? Ickle? Mak? The old man?
They were still alive when I found them. Ickle had gone mad. The old man had stuck him to the wall, but it hadn’t killed him, not Ickle. He was tough son of a bitch. He was choking on his own blood when I found them, trying to tear his heart out. I snapped Ickle’s neck. He deserved that much; probably the only good man left in The Belly.
I watched the old man scream. It felt good. One of his arms had been broken and he was using the other to cut himself open. He didn’t even look at me, don’t think he knew I was there. After I’d broken his good arm, I cut the tendons in his ankles so he couldn’t stand up. Then I watched him scream. He screamed for so long; it was like music at first, but then my head started to explode, and I knew if I stayed there much longer, I’d end up just like him. I wanted to watch the life drain out of him slowly. A long life deserves a long death, but he got lucky. I needed to see him die. I had to feel him die then and there. I took his eyes first, pressed them with my thumbs till they popped, I’m not that strong so it took a little longer than it should have, that felt like justice. Then I drew a blade from the head of one of his dead fanatics and hacked off his neck like he’d done to Bradley. I felt happy killing him, actually took away my headache somewhat. It’s what he deserved. But soon my head started to feel even worse. I could feel it pounding through my body. It ached through every fibre of my flesh. A beat in rhythm with my skull.
The view cured me. But not like that moment when I killed the old man.
Avon. Must get Avon. First, I need to go back to the window. Then Avon. I need to save Avon.
Entry 3523-12083095
I can see it properly now. It’s not metal, its flesh. A corpse buried in the stars, and we are here to bear witness to its funeral. It takes the pain away. I could watch it for eternity, and I’d be happy. The others are just watching out of fear, but I can see the truth. I see its beauty. I will teach them it’s beauty. True beauty is the beauty that is most desired and we best desire what we cannot have. I’ll close the window and then they’ll understand.