Transmigrant - Chapter 19
Copyright © 2024 Stephen B. Anthony
We arrived with shattered dreams, burdened by a silent gate and the stillness of a failed cradle. The land before us was barren, unforgiving—a world that defied our hopes. We toiled under alien skies, knowing we would never see the fruits of our labor, and that our children’s laughter would never echo through these valleys. We were the last of our kind, planting seeds for a future we would never know. I am the last of us. I leave behind a world of future hopes.
—Elias Mossley, The Last Pioneer
CHAPTER 19
Alain Bradford settled into the bed in his apartment at Mossley Landing, feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks. Despite his recent sleep troubles, today had ended better than he could have hoped. Two fleet officers and an android had approached him with a solution to his problem. Finally, he was going to get the artifact, and finally, he would get the recognition he deserved. Niruku could not steal the artifact from him after all.
But the revelation that there was another artifact, if true, meant that maybe they had already produced all the technology. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to repeat Niruku’s success with innovative technologies, but he could still prove the existence of a sapient alien race, answering a millennia-old question about humanity’s solitude in the universe.
Despite the promising news, that same sinking feeling settled in his stomach, a constant companion each night. An alien artifact was sitting in sixty meters of water, just a few kilometers away. As much as he liked to boast that Niruku would never find it, it wouldn’t take long for someone else to stumble upon it. Colonists had been on this world for seventy-five years without finding it, which tempered his fears, but the possibility still haunted him.
Just as he had drifted into sleep, a sudden jolt pulled him back to reality. Harsh lights blazed in his apartment, and rough hands grabbed him. He yelled out, confusion and panic clouding his thoughts, only to be punched in the face twice, stars exploding in his vision.
His assailants dragged him down the hall, his mind reeling, and threw him into a lift that descended to the first floor. He tried to protest, but a swift kick to the stomach knocked the wind out of him, leaving him curled into a fetal position, gasping for air.
They forced him into a bare room with a metal chair, securing his arms and legs with zip ties. His wrists were bound to the rear legs, forcing his shoulders up and back in an unnatural, painful position. Bright lights shone on his face, blinding him. They left him alone in the room for what felt like hours.
Bradford’s mind raced, trying to grasp what was happening, the pain in his stomach a dull throb compared to the fear gripping his heart. He triggered the recording on his VRD with a subtle flick of his eyes, praying it would capture enough to help him later.
His desperate calls for a bathroom break or a drink were ignored, the silence suffocating. When the door finally opened, it was a twisted relief, though the stench of his own soiled clothes filled the air.
“It stinks in here,” said a voice, calm and cold.
“You can’t do this—” Bradford began, his voice shaky.
“But we are doing it,” the voice replied with chilling calmness. “And we’ll continue until I get what I need.”
“Who are you?” Bradford demanded, his fear giving way to anger.
“I am nobody,” the voice said. “The kind of nobody you can’t quite see in your nightmares. The kind of nobody that takes care of problems in the real world. You, Dr. Alain Bradford, are a problem in the real world.”