Captain Noel Tayak went from unconscious to panicked as soon as he opened his eyes. It was a toss up, actually, as to which he became aware of first: the cold steel table under his naked back, or the thick leather restraints at his wrists, ankles, waist, and forehead. Along with the aseptic, professionally clean odor of the pale blue room, these physical sensations told him he was in big trouble. He had been piloting scientists around this solar system and others long enough to know a laboratory when he saw it. Or, in this case, felt and smelled it. He knew what went on in those labs.
The light gradually increased and Noel heard voices. Unable to turn and look, he simply had to listen and wait. Voices was too generous a term. It was a sound like the gobbling of turkeys broadcast on a poor quality AM radio. Undulating, unevenly pitched, yet purposeful sounds. The speakers paused, and two sets of footsteps approached.
Noel could feel the presence of who, or whatever, stood nearby. There was a spate of purposeful clucking noises, then silence. An eggplant purple, ovoid head leaned in over top of Tayak’s face. The top of the skull, where it began to taper to a point, was covered in a fine mesh of silken fibers that twinkled like water in sunshine whenever the creature moved it’s head. There was nothing he would consider eyes, and only layer upon layer of thin, rose petal pink flesh where humans would have a mouth. It appeared to have no sensory organs whatsoever. When it spoke, and the gill-like veils of flesh move like curtains in a breeze.
The other one wheeled a machine over, and lowered a large metal ring on a spring loaded arm over the captain’s chest. It emitted light in the form of green cross-hairs, which were lined up, near as Tayak could tell from his restrained point of view, right over his heart. The sweat stung his eyes, and he nervously clenched and unclenched his fists. The first one, the talker, reached for his face. Three short tentacles, the underside leathered and gritty like the paw of a small dog or house cat, touched Noel’s face.
The Ovoid pulled at Captain Tayaks’s cheek, exposing the bloodshot underside of his eyeball. He felt the dryness of the room in his tear ducts and began weeping.
Noel Tayak had worked on developing the SSPS, or Solar System Positioning System, while an undergraduate. When he was offered a position in flight school, fast-tracked and with full scholarship, it was a no-brainer. What boy doesn’t grow up wanting to be an astronaut? The sheer thrill of it all eclipsed the whys and wherefores of the situation. The Universal Territories space program regularly sent Mary, a recruitment officer, around to chat with him at least once a month. In his second semester, full of caffiene and enthusiasm, Noel had explained the subject of interstitial matrices, and the identification and cataloging of polydimensional time-space coordinates. Mary smiled, and asked if he would mind if she took the napkins he had written his diagrams and equations on. “I got ‘em on the computer at home. You go right ahead,” he had replied.
Noel didn’t know it, but right after that meeting she dialed a number at Universal Territories. It went to voice mail, and she left a five word message: “He’s the one. He’s ready.”
The fear gradually subsided, and he lost track of time. Hours? Days? Months? He had no idea how long he’d been captive. Long enough for weight loss to make the restraints loose. Long enough for their turkey-talk to sound normal, almost pleasant. Long enough to not be scared of dying. If they wanted him dead, it would have happened by now.
He slipped his arms out of the restraints, and fumbled with the forehead brace. The waist strap had gone limp against his shrunken abdomen, and he easily unbuckled it with his leathery tentacles. They were much easier to control than he would have thought.
He missed his eyes the most, but quickly adjusted to the all encompassing awareness that replaced his human senses. He simply experienced his environment through the silky antennae fibres on the crown of his skull.
Others entered the room, talking the turkey talk. This time, he understood it.
“Our efforts were not in vain,” the companion replied.
Noel spoke his new language, using the one word that had bounced around his head the whole time he was restrained: “Why?”
“We do not breed, we convert,” the shorter informed him. “We needed a collector. Your experience with SSPS made you the prime candidate.”
“And what will I collect?” Noel asked.
“Others from the interstitial zones. Those who live between, the Connectors. They are of the most value. Now that they have been discovered, they must be protected from your previous species, and others like them.”
“Because,” Noel paused, “without them, nothing moves. All points are distant, remote, and diminished. The whole cannot be greater than the sum of it’s parts if there is no way to sum the parts, correct?”
The shorter turned to the taller. “She was right,” it spoke, “he is the one.”
trev..this one is OUT there! wild great descriptors and feel. one of your very best.
Wow, Trev, this was…can I say out of this world and really mean it? Your descriptors are fabulous. I especially liked “the gobbling of turkeys broadcast on a poor quality AM radio.” Loved it.
This is freaky goodness. “It was a sound like the gobbling of turkeys broadcast on a poor quality AM radio.” Man, I can hear this so clearly in my head. I love the story, Trevor. My suggestion is to submit this to 365 Tomorrows. They would gobble this up.
Thanks, you est early birds! This was a fun one to write – glad it is found some fans.
Trev,
This is like a juicy lovecraftian bradbury novel wrapped into a flash. The turkey talk got me. This story mixes senses with science…only a recipe the great sci fi chef can come up with!
I loved it! My brother-in-law was named Noel. Now I know understand the things he did, heh.
Well done.
Loved it! Your physical descriptions were so vivid I could imagine the strange creatures. The last line was a killer twist!
You know why I loved this story? Besides the well-done suspense and twist with the way their species procreates…you’ve touched on one of my favorite subjects with the Connectors. The “space in between”. It’s not the individual nodes in life that are magical, it’s the connection between them, the relationships. I would love to see a story about the Connectors! Very nice flash.
Hey Shannon – glad that concept resonated with you. It’s one of my faves, and pops in ways large and small in a lot of my stories.
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Laura Eno and Michael Solender. Michael Solender said: rt@3S_stories The Collector, by Trevor Mcpherson http://tiny.cc/B47LP you will not be disappointed! [...]
Fresh idea. I love the transformation from one species into another species. Darwin would have fits. I also liked the sensual details of this piece, especially the tentacle that felt gritty like the paw of a small dog. Well done.
Great detail in your writing, but just enough – you don’t overdo it. I enjoyed reading this from start to finish. Also liked the premise that a Collector should have first-hand experience of what some of his future collectibles may soon go through.
It’s sometimes difficult to find that balance of detail when writing. Everytime I hit ‘publish,’ I cross my fingers that I didn’t bury the reader. Thanks for the specific feedback.
Love it – “We do not breed, we convert”: great concept
Excellent story. Very neat concept.
I was admittedly worried about Noel and thank you(!) for making me feel as if it was a promotion to a better life. This is such an amazing and thought-provoking concept.
Now this is really very good. This sounds like just the kind of thing they’d like to read out on Drabblecast. You should submit it to them.
Great science fiction piece. Very original and well executed. I had no idea where it was going, and loved the end.
~jon