I was assured that we would talk more when the sun had set and ordered to force suicide from my mind, at least until I had heard all the facts.
It was becoming too hot to think. I was encouraged to sleep which suited me fine; I didn't want to hear any more, I didn't want to think. All I wanted was to wake up.
If you fall asleep in a dream you wake up in your bed I thought. I prayed I would.
Curling up into a ball and squeezing my eyes shut brought me some comfort, I forced myself to imagine I was somewhere else, but after a short time I became so hot and irritable I thought I might explode. The sun was indeed as powerful as had been promised; it hit the shelter and the tin expanded with sharp creaks and clicks. The temperature soared instantly to uncomfortable heights, my levels of anxiety soared alongside it.
I sat up and opened my eyes in a panic, expecting to see the red glow of molten metal but found that aside from the tiny pin-holes where the excessive sunlight forced a narrow beam through, most of the light was blocked by the tin-can shingle roof.
The doubles were all lying down, most flat on their backs with their eyes closed. I lay back down slowly when their features became visible, as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I agreed my coping mechanism hadn't found a way to deal with them quite yet and pushed the image out of my mind.
Much of the day’s activity was involved in patching vicious holes that appeared in the roof when the wind blew too hard. It seemed after every gust someone would get up and tinker with the roof. I squeezed my eyes shut. The thought of seeing one of their faces in plain daylight became an increasingly frightening prospect.
The heat of the day intensified, so did the wind. A gust in the right direction would lift selected shingles a crack and scold those unfortunate enough to be underneath with a frightful awakening.
As the others slept in bursts, I lay awake in a terrified slow-bake, trying to wake myself up. But, gust by gust, the disturbing reality of my absurd situation became more and more evident; the wind swept me up and sent me tumbling, end over end, up into the heights of grief and delirium.
'Am I really here? Why haven't I woken up yet?' I asked myself over and over.
'I am lost and this is madness.' I repeatedly answered back.
'Why? Why? Why?' I asked. 'What did I do that was so wrong?'
I feared I was being punished, but what crime could fit this punishment, I couldn't imagine.
The heat finally forced me to sleep in bouts of blackness.
Spirals of madness, broken by planes of black.
I awoke in a panic when I became aware of movement around me and the smell of cooked meat. I dared myself to open my eyes, mostly out of thirst. I readied myself for the disappointment of not awaking to Good Samaritans in the park.
I was still in the shelter.
The wind had died down and a dim orange light had found its way in.
I could see the feet of the doubles walking around the sandy floor. My shoes.
One of them sat down next to me.
“How ya feeling?” He asked, as I glanced up to a frightening, knowing grin.
“I..” I began.
I broke down into tears.
“I just don’t know why this is happening,” I told him, though most of my tears were for the fright he had given me for sitting so close, and in such a casual manner.
“Yeah, that’s the big question I guess,” He said looking around.
I tried to sit up.
"Are you hungry?" He asked.
I shook my head.
“Here, come outside, you have to see this.” He said, passing me a partially filled water bottle.
"What.." I began, distracted by the water.
I drank eagerly; still disturbed by the cool hard reality it affirmed, but not quite to the point of blacking out again.
"I'm 63, by the way." He said jumping up easily. "Soon you'll be able to tell us apart."
I tried to sit up again. But my arms were anvils.
"You take your time, just.. don't take too long," He said ducking down to exit the shelter, "it's important you see this."
Alone in the shelter, I took a moment to collect myself, swallowing another gulp of the disturbing reality.
I rolled over and onto my knees. After a long hard stare at the sandy ground I began a slow crawl to the exit.
I was hit with a hot wash of strange gold and blue light as I exited timidly. I stood up slowly and painfully observed, through the gaps of my fingers and in the far edges of my peripheral vision, the last remnants of the hellish sun setting below a line of indefinable, distant mountains.
I looked away from the sun to regain my sight and took in the sun-bleached, grey dunes; dunes I had stumbled blindly over the night before; great rolling ranks, as far as the eye could see; all riddled with the burnt out husks of what were once trees.
"What is this place?" I said quietly to myself, fighting the urge to cry again.
The great vastness of the dunes was dwarfed as I looked up at the giant wave of heat and power that loomed above; the tail end of the forbidden and unforgiving day was slipping away. I could have screamed at it if I wasn't such a wreck. It was evil, I thought. It was pure suffering.
I turned back to find the last edges of the sun’s unveiled form disappearing behind the mountains. I allowed a small ration of relief, as the burning glare was instantly lifted from all around.
The sweat on my body cooled and I drank in a breath of fresh air that quickly became a gasp of awe, for on leaving, the sun had bestowed upon the mighty mountain ridges a lavish, razor-sharp, trim of molten gold so unbelievably bright and radiant I had to put my hand up to stop staring.
It was like all of the sun's evil powers were locked up in the chest of mountains and, suddenly realising their betrayal, they were screaming to be released.
Born from the gold plated edges, between each mountain peak, godlike streams of light shot out. They wavered and were lost in the hostile heat-waves still lingering between us and the mountains. I followed them through the evil shroud to see them break through and reach out in victory, out into the new brilliant blue spectrum of sky that had been revealed above and behind me.
I sensed movement above. I strained my eyes at the rich blue and tried to decide what I was seeing.
My eyes were dazzled by the brightness, but what slowly came into focus appeared to be aurora; impossible greens and purples, charge after charge, in great ribbons of energy, they entwined and wrestled across the sky.
The sun wasn't locked up at all; it was as free as always.
I was forced to sit down with a thump, yielding to the sublime display of unmatched, uncontainable glory.
My breathing was a suspended gasp. The brilliance of the sunset drove down me like a freight-train, knocking the wind out of me and all other thoughts from my mind until the backs of my eyes begged me to avert my focus.
“What is this place?” I asked myself again in panting whisper, remembering to breath.
“When the stars come out, you’ll see that it’s not Earth.” 63 answered back.
He was standing next to me with his hands on his head, bent backwards, staring up at the sky. I became aware that most of the others were watching as we were, not two steps behind us.
I might have gone on forever quite happily in denial, if not for the unavoidable glimpses throughout the long day in the shelter. But now, overhearing my doubles talking quietly amongst themselves behind me, I realised that all along it was obvious.
I took a glace behind me to see them all gazing into the sky. As insane as it felt, I considered that maybe I wasn't so alone; maybe I could trust them, maybe I had to. Because there must be some way home, there had to be; just as easy as I arrived, I'd leave I thought. Easy as that.
I considered the argument with a sudden glow of optimism, until the survivalist in me induced an sharp pang of fear as to ration my hope for the tough times ahead.
“You said we’re being watched.” I said, turning to 63, avoiding his eyes.
“If you wait a few more minutes, you’ll see them.” He said as he sat down next to me.
"What, where?" I asked alarmed.
Suddenly I was incredibly anxious, my mind went wild with the stuff of science fiction.
Trying to remember to breath, I scanned the dunes for any sign of movement.
“Where am I supposed to be looking?” I begged, increasingly desperate for understanding, feverish with the anticipation.
I turned to 63, he was looking up, suggesting that the answer might show up at any moment, and from the sky.
I looked up quickly. I had made up my mind that the attack would come from the ground.
I searched wildly to see a few stars had appeared behind the aurora. The greens and purples in the sky glowed brighter as the sky grew darker. Between the ribbons of energy I noticed more stars had joined the ranks.
Being a person relatively uneducated in astronomy, I'm surprised by how quickly I discerned the stars to be completely different from my own. I was constructing constellations I knew I had never seen before.
Just as I was having a nervous breakdown in trying to figure out why the stars were different, 63 suddenly threw his hand up, pointing out into the horizon.
“There.” He announced.
In between heart attacks I searched the section of sky he was pointing to. It was only twenty or thirty degrees up from where the sun had just set; where the sky was still hanging onto its last coppers and greens.
I allowed my eyes to adjust and found a handful of stars, barely visible. I eagerly surveyed each one.
“There!” I said with a fright. “That star is moving!”
“It’s not a star, it’s a satellite.” Said 63 with confidence.
“We think.” Someone added behind him.
"There's another one." Someone behind me said casually, pointing past my ear out to the left of the mountain range.
It was heading straight for us, I realised, and with a speed I instantly interpreted as cruel resolve.
“But it could be anything right? What makes you think they're not pieces of asteroid or something?” I asked 63 nervously, trying to distract myself from my own worst fears.
He made no reply except by looking up, to suggest that it would be best if I saw for myself.
I looked up and braced myself for the answer. It was seconds from passing directly over us. I was becoming increasingly fearful and feeling foolishly exposed out on the sand. I had no reason to dismiss their theory that this bright object racing through the sky was watching us and entirely responsible for everything that had happened; for plucking me out of my calm and peaceful world only to hurl me onto this mad and evil place. I feared what it might do next with its dark and twisted power. Every part of my being wanted to tear a hole in the sand beneath me and fall in.
The satellite slowed and came to an abrupt stop directly above. I froze, paralysed with fear. This isn't natural, I thought, this isn't right.
I wanted to hide, anywhere. I finally mustered the nerve to cover my face with my arms and let out a small cry, anticipating pain.
“Don’t worry, ” Said 63 reassuringly. “It doesn’t do anything but watch. Trust me, I’ve sat and stared at it all night long. It just stares back. At least until the sun falls beneath its line-of-sight, and then it just fades into the black of space.”
“It comes every night?” I asked sitting up, careful not to look up.
“Every single night, it sits right there and watches.” 63 confirmed.
He tilted his head back, as if remembering something.
“75 said he caught it acting funny the other night though, didn’t you 75?” he asked.
“Yeah, it just flickered a half a dozen times, that’s all, nothing really.” 75 replied, the larger part of him distracted with the sky.
"There's the other one!" he added soon after, with a jolt of enthusiasm.
The satellite I spotted was making its way along the horizon to the right of the mountains, gradually it faded and fell out of view.
The one 75 discovered soared away behind us, and grew small and dim until it was lost in the uncharted sea of stars.
"You'll have to leave soon." 63 said to somebody behind me.
"Leave? where?" I blurted out.
"Do you remember what I told you last night?" He asked.
I pretended to remember, but I was distracted by the sense I was being watched by the satellite above.
"Every night someone appears." He insisted. "They're going to the clearing."
63 pointed out a bright star; brighter than all the others in what I would refer to as the western sky.
I looked at it, worried I was being introduced to yet another thing to be frightened of.
"Every night it's there." He said. "It's a planet I think. But either way, shortly after it falls below the horizon someone appears in the clearing, same as you did." He told me, as if it were the first of many things I was to memorize before a test.
One of the doubles came and sat next to 63, holding something. It looked like fabric; wrapped around a frame of sorts. I remembered the mask.
"Why the mask?" I asked, taking the opportunity to gain a grain of understanding; to clarify in any small way the blurry chaos of the night before.
"The order states that if we were to attack without a mask, we would have too great an advantage over the new-arrival." The double with the mask replied, as if reading from the text.
"The element of surprise we have already," elaborated 63, "combine that with the absolutely paralysing shock they'd be given if they realised who the attacker was; it would tip the scales too heavily in our favour. For the good of the order, the fights must be as fair as possible."
I remembered the knife.
"But what's so fair about sneaking up on someone from behind with a knife?" I blurted out, suddenly very emotional as the distant memory was dragged up.
"A weapon can be turned against the wielder." Replied 63, void of emotion.
"And besides," He continued, "there has to be a blade in play. Otherwise the fights would never end."
He stood and dusted the sand off his jeans. The double holding the mask stood also, with the same dusting action. 63 introduced him for a second time as 67, the second oldest of the group.
"As I've been in this hell the longest, I get the task of supervising the fights every night." 63 explained. "Except when its my turn to fight or go out mapping; in those cases, 67 acts as supervisor.. If I'm killed in a fight, he would lead the new-arrival back to the shelter and, for the good of the order, continue on from where I've left off."
He looked at my blank nod of incomprehension.
"In the event of me being killed," He went on to say, seemingly untroubled by the prospect of dying, "when 67 fights, 75, the next in line to the responsibility, would supervise him and resume the role if he should be killed. And so on, and so on, down the order. Understand?"
"I think so." I replied.
I didn't, well not totally anyway. While I cradled my aching mind, they talked about leaving.
67 approached the group behind us. I couldn't make out what he was saying and turned to 63 for an explanation.
"It's 103's first fight tonight," he said, anticipating the question.
He then looked into my eyes as if to make sure I was listening. My eye muscles spasmed at the intensity and forced me to break contact.
"Your first fights will be the toughest, 112." He assured me. "But, if you win your first couple of fights, you can be sure you'll be here for a while."
"When will I have to fight?" I asked, though I wasn't even considering it.
"Not for another eight nights." He replied. "We each have nine nights of recuperation after each fight. The night before you fight, you'll go out mapping.."
"The sand is cool enough." interrupted 67. "He's about as ready as he'll ever be."
Standing next to him was 103, a nervous wreck, nothing close to being ready for anything other than blacking out.
It seemed he hadn't been on the planet for very long. His clothes were unworn and relatively clean compared with 63 and 67's, and he was terrified; I found it highly infectious.
"Alright 103," Said 63 with a sigh, "its time to do your duty, for the good of the order, alright?"
103 took in a deep, trembling breath while nodding wildly in efforts to gather himself.
"It's my turn to go out mapping tonight," continued 63 to 103, "67 here will take you to the clearing."
He then looked to the western sky to check on the position of the star he had taught me about.
"You should leave now." He agreed after a quick reading.
There were no goodbyes. They made their way down the dune in grim silence.
63 watched them leave with a thoughtful stare that remained long after they were out of sight. He shook off the deep thought with another glance at the setting star, turned, and disappeared into the shelter.
Avoiding looking directly up at the satellite, I looked up at the sky and tried to pray for a way home, but the strange constellations filled me with doubt. I wondered if the satellite could read my mind, if they had heard my prayers.
63 returned after a few minutes and sat back down beside me, playing with one of the straps of his backpack.
"Its my turn to explore tonight," he said, assuming I hadn't heard him tell 103.
He thought for a moment before pointing out toward the barely visible mountains.
"That's west." He declared.
"That's north, that's east, that's south." He added quickly, pointing at each without looking.
"Now, how will you know where's what, when you can't see those mountains?" He asked, anticipating my question.
He turned right, looking north.
"There." He pointed. "Do you see that red star on the horizon just below those three bright ones?"
I searched and found what he was pointing at.
"Yeah, I see it." I answered fearfully.
"Well that never moves. All the other stars, they circle it." He said, making big circles with his arm around the red star.
"That means we're in the northern hemisphere, near the north pole, right?" He asked, not waiting for an answer. "If you head straight for that star, you're heading due north, right?"
"Yeah I think so." I answered, pretending I understood.
He laughed at my transparency.
"All you have to remember, that red star there, that's north."
"OK." I nodded.
"That's lesson one." He said standing up, dusting off the seat of his jeans with one hand and positioning his backpack with the other.
"I have to get moving, see you before sunrise."
"Good luck." I said without thinking.
"Luck? Really?" He asked, walking away.
Luck; I thought about the word. Luck is what brought me here I decided. Luck will kill me.
I looked at the red star as a distraction from the thought.
"North." I said to myself.
Suddenly I felt very lost and alone again.
There were three that remained outside. They sat with their backs against the mound of sand that seemed to hold up the dome of the shelter. With heads bent forward, they switched back and forth from one another in deep discussion.
One of the three looked up from their dilemma to think, and caught me watching.
"Do you have any cigarettes left?" He asked, before I could look away.
I reached inside my jeans' pocket's frantically.
"Yeah, I think so," I answered nervously, pulling out the barely recognisable Soft-Pack. It looked almost as beaten as I felt.
I studied the contents and counted six filter ends staring at me.
"Six?" The double asked.
The other two were looking now.
"Yeah, that's right," I replied amazed for a moment before realising the joke, or at least, the likelihood that everyone appears with six cigarettes.
"Would you like one?" I asked, scared into politeness.
They all gestured in a similar way that they would.
I tried to stand up but my legs collapsed underneath me.
On my hands and knees I gathered my strength for a second attempt when a pair of my shoes stepped into view.
I looked up to see a hand offered to me and stared at it for a moment, unsure.
"Don't worry," the double laughed, "the universe won't implode, trust me."
I took his hand and he helped me up. Very disturbing.
"112," he said, shaking my hand. "I'm 96. That one there is 100. And the one beside him is 101."
We walked over to where they sat as I fumbled with the cigarette pack. I handed them each a cigarette with shakey hands and after finally managing to extract one more for myself, I sat down on the sand in front of them, feeling my pockets for my lighter.
"No lighter?" asked 96, sitting down. "Roughly, only one out of five have lighters on them when they arrive you know."
Instinctively I tried to think of where I had left it.
"On the kitchen counter, next to the house-keys you nearly forgot." said 101 abruptly, apparently he'd had this conversation before.
96 reached into his pocket, found his lighter and lit his cigarette quickly. He then passed his cigarette around so we could all light ours from it.
"I remembered the lighter." He said proudly, putting it back in his pocket.
101 stood up and walked away with his cigarette, obviously upset about something. He sat down with his back to us just out of earshot.
"He killed for the first time the night before you arrived," 96 explained quietly. "He's not coping with it so well."
"Who have you ever seen cope with it well?" 100 shot at him before taking a drag of his cigarette. "It was my first time the night before his remember."
He took another quick drag.
"It'll haunt you forever." He promised me.
I remember regretting sitting down right in front of them. I felt trapped.
"I'm not saying I cope with it well at all, but at least 63 seems to cope well enough." 96 replied to 100's challenge. "But I agree," he added, "I don't know how I could ever get use to it. I mean, killing for one thing, that should be hard enough. But killing someone that looks and acts just like me.. That's where the mind should draw the line. I try not to think about the repercussions of us stepping over it once every ten days, its unhealthy."
Remembering I was the one hundred and twelfth to appear, I did a simple calculation in my head that took so long I nearly gave up on it.
"63 has been here for 50 days?" I asked, "He's killed five, four times?"
"Yeah." Replied 96, suprised. "For someone in your condition, that's some quick math." he laughed.
"It will be his fifth kill tomorrow night." He added, a little more soberly.
He took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled slowly before finally coming to a compromise.
"I guess anything becomes normal after a while." He shrugged.
"No." said 101, flicking his cigarette butt away and walking back to join us, "There is no way this could ever feel normal. Not if you killed every day for fifty days would this feel normal."
He sat down.
"To be honest, I don't think I want it to feel normal." He admitted.
The thought of being here one more day scared me. Fifty days was unfathomable.
"67 is only four day's younger than 63," realised 96 aloud, "I saw 67 crying the other day. I've never seen 63 cry."
I admitted to myself that I had been in a perpetual state of crying the entire time.
"We're not the same person anymore, remember that." Said a voice behind me. "Not since the first moment we set foot on this place you know, because our experiences here have each been totally unique."
I turned to see a double approaching the four of us from the shelter.
"Which is the new one?" He asked.
"I am." I said. "I'm 112."
"112." He repeated with a sigh, sitting down next to me. "It feels like only yesterday we we're in the 90's."
He scratched his beard.
"How long have you been here?" I asked, noticing the weeks of growth.
"You're asking questions already, good. That means you've accepted the truth.. I'm 75." He answered, holding out his hand.
I shook it, this time with a little less hesitation.
"What truth?" I asked, suprised to hear the word 'good' uttered. How could that possibly be used in any context given the situation?
"The truth that this is not just a bad dream to wake up from." He replied simply.
75 looked at 100 who was still smoking his cigarette, and then back to me fidgeting with the pack.
"Do you have any cigarettes left?" He asked.
"Yeah," I replied, wrestling with the pack again briefly before handing him the task in defeat.
He took one out and counted what was left.
"Two left." He said. "Hold on to one. For before your first fight. Believe me, you're gonna want it."
He passed the pack to me and took out a lighter from his pocket.
"You remembered the lighter?" I asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject.
75 studied the lighter in the glow of the first drag of his cigarette.
"No, no I left it sitting on the kitchen bench." He admitted, exhaling. "This lighter belonged to 65. My ticket to ride this crazy train."
The other three were talking amongst themselves again.
I found it a little easier to look directly at 75, perhaps it was because of the beard. He was looking up at the satellite. I stole a glimpse of it but had to look away.
"Do you really think it can see us?" I asked.
"Well," he shrugged, smoking his cigarette, "it deliberately stops directly above us every night, so, why here?" He pointed at it, which freaked me out. "Why not over there, or over there? There's plenty of space elsewhere, if merely space will do."
He blew smoke at it.
"If it is parked there looking down at something," He continued, gesturing around at the dunes that surrounded us, "I don't see anything else here that it would prefer to be watching."
I thought for a moment to consider the implications of some other lifeform, something alien out in the dunes, something predatory.
"Now, I don't pretend to know anything for certain, OK?" He made himself clear. "This whole mess we've found ourselves in, to begin with, it's just way too absurd. To be establishing absolutes on top of absurdity will surely end in collapse." He paused to smoke. "But, we all need something to believe in right?"
His question wasn't rhetorical I realised, as he waited for me to answer.
I thought for a moment.
This satellite was, as 63 had put that morning, the point. It meant answers; a way home; the reason to fight, to stay alive.
"I guess so." I answered, unsure.
"If only we knew what they wanted, of course," he said, leaning back on one elbow, while taking another drag only to blow it out at the satellite again. "That would be handy."
"What do you think they want?" I asked, hoping he had a theory.
He thought about his answer for a moment before blowing another cloud of smoke at the satellite.
"Well, I don't think us dying would be their ultimate goal." He answered. "I mean, why send us here only to die right?"
He paused as if the question was directed at himself.
"No," He concluded. "first things first, if anything, they want us to survive."
"But then what?" I asked, desperately. "Survive for what?"
"I dunno," He finally shrugged, "maybe they want us to build a great monument to their greatness." He laughed, lying down flat on the sand in defeat.
"You dont really believe that do you?" Asked 96, breaking from his own conversation when he overheard 75's suggestion.
75 propped up back onto one elbow and found it had been 96 that spoke. He paused, considering his answer.
"A civilization so technologically advanced they've mastered the wondrous complexities of, not only interstellar, no, but inter-universal travel, and neglected to master their own ego's somehow? A monument? Surely not.." He answered conclusively, lying down again. "But then again," he went on to say, looking up at the satellite, "a civilization cruel enough to thrust the oddities of this world-destroying technology upon innocent, confused and frightened lesser-beings such as ourselves; brutal enough to cast us onto a desert wasteland with a sun borrowed from the pit of hell and force us to kill doubles of ourselves for food and water?" He took a drag of his cigarette. "Ya know what? They might like a monument actually. And they might also like regular human offerings burnt at an altar," he laughed, "but lets hope that's not true."
All were fixated on what 75 was saying. It was all too much to take in.
As if he had suddenly becoming aware of the long silence that followed, 75 sat up curious. He found us all staring, glazed and troubled, into the extremities of our own worst fears.
"Hey, don't you even think about it.." He snapped, pointing his cigarette at us, breaking the silence.
We were all torn away from our dark thoughts with a fright.
"We are not! Building! An altar! Is that clear?" Laughed 75, finally breaking character as he lay back down.
I didn't laugh. I instantly absorbed myself in listing the things that, to the best of my ability, I thought to be real; as an emergency measure against losing my mind completely.
The wind was real, I agreed quickly, as it stuck to my sweat-drenched clothes at that moment.
I looked at the sand that seemed to cover the entire planet. I took a pinch of it to analyse between my fingers. A lot of it was charcoal or ash, ground up by sand into a fine powder. I grabbed a handful of it and let it pour out of my grip like an hourglass.
Lifeless, I thought, as the dust separated from the sand to side with the wind.
I found the star 63 had taught me would mark the appearance of the new arrival. It was undoubtedly getting closer to the mountains; perhaps in half an hour or so it would be gone.
I found the red star and tried to set my natural compass by it. North, I said to myself again, but couldn't stop the needle from spinning wild and indecisively back and forth.
The countless stars and nameless constellations in the sky were real I agreed, not my own, but just as real as anyone could say.
My doubles I sat with, I wondered, were they real?
I thought about what 75 said about trying to establish absolutes on top of absurdities. So I tried my hardest, if only for the moment, to be content with the wind, the sand and the stars.
I breathed in slowly and deeply and noticed how it's reality reaffirming effect didn't choke me up as much as before. Panic made an effort to return eventually. So I grabbed a handful of sand and squeezed it to bring me back to the calming nature of the infinite.
"Are you alright?" I heard someone ask in the distant reaches of my hearing.
I opened my eyes to see 75 looking at me, propped up on one elbow again.
"I'm alright." I admitted finally with a hint of laughter in my answer.
75 looked at me pitifully to suggest I was losing my mind.
"You hold onto that feeling, OK?" he insisted, "A little madness is the only thing that'll get us through this. But if you need to talk, I'm here alright? Because a lot of madness will kill you."
He got up and I realised the others were gone.
"Where have the others gone?" I asked.
"They're around the other side of the shelter. The moons will be rising soon." He said, dusting the sand off his clothes beckoning me to follow.
"Moons?" I asked.
"Yeah, Moons as in many." He answered. "Stay here if you want some time alone or something."
I stood up and followed him around the other side of the shelter. There were five doubles looking to the east. I couldn't work out who was who in the dim green light of the aurora, but saw three sitting and talking with each other and guessed it was 96, 100 and 101.
The other two were sitting each alone either side of the three, chins on their arm-wrapped knees looking vacant. I guessed them to be almost as new as I, based on their relatively clean and not-so dust saturated clothes.
"We're trying to figure out their phases and cycles," 75 told me, "but, funnily enough, none of us are astronomers, and we're finding it rather difficult. The moons pretty much come and go as they please as far as I can tell."
I tried to search for any small bit of knowledge I had on the subject as we sat down, but I came up short of anything useful.
"Most nights there's at least one moon in the sky." 75 went on to say, "Essential for when we're out mapping, otherwise we have to find out way in bursts of green aurora-light, and that's a good way to get lost."
"63's out there now, he didn't wait for the moonlight?" I asked.
"The tracks that lead away from the shelter go north, south, east and west, and are all marked. You can still get lost, but 63 knows the tracks better than anyone and well enough to make a head start."
"Are there any alien things out there? Any other lifeforms or anything?" I asked finally, tense with the strong sense to flee from the answer 75 might give.
"No, not that anyone's ever seen." He told me. "But don't totally disregard the possibility, I mean, keep your eyes open when you're out there."
I relaxed a bit and forced myself to stop imagining the space alien of my worst fears.
"Have you been given 82's blade?" He asked.
"No. Why?" I replied.
"He'll give it to you before you go exploring, if you want it." He assured me. "But, either way, I'd be more worried about getting lost than finding a creature in the dark. So don't get too caught up in what could be lurking in the shadows, you know what I mean? You need to be on the lookout for landmarks. Anything that you could draw on the map."
"OK, sure." I agreed.
There was a distinct reddish glow on the eastern horizon. In two places. I decided that it was the moons rising, before having to ask.
"How many moons are there?" I asked instead.
"Six, we think." Replied 75. "They move at different speeds and in different directions and they're of similar size and shape which is helpful in only making things nice and confusing for us. As if we needed a challenge." He laughed.
We sat down and waited.
The full moons revealed the edges of their solid-peach forms and quickly rose into full view. Too bright to see any definition in either, they looked identical I thought.
The rolling landscape around us adopted a soft yellow blanket of light that brought a comforting warmth with it.
"You should try and sleep." Said 75 after hearing me sigh.
I agreed it would be best, with no resistance at all.
I left the others drawing their interpretations of the moons' behavior in the sand, and fell into the dark confines of the shelter.
I slept. And I dreamed I was home.
It was becoming too hot to think. I was encouraged to sleep which suited me fine; I didn't want to hear any more, I didn't want to think. All I wanted was to wake up.
If you fall asleep in a dream you wake up in your bed I thought. I prayed I would.
Curling up into a ball and squeezing my eyes shut brought me some comfort, I forced myself to imagine I was somewhere else, but after a short time I became so hot and irritable I thought I might explode. The sun was indeed as powerful as had been promised; it hit the shelter and the tin expanded with sharp creaks and clicks. The temperature soared instantly to uncomfortable heights, my levels of anxiety soared alongside it.
I sat up and opened my eyes in a panic, expecting to see the red glow of molten metal but found that aside from the tiny pin-holes where the excessive sunlight forced a narrow beam through, most of the light was blocked by the tin-can shingle roof.
The doubles were all lying down, most flat on their backs with their eyes closed. I lay back down slowly when their features became visible, as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I agreed my coping mechanism hadn't found a way to deal with them quite yet and pushed the image out of my mind.
Much of the day’s activity was involved in patching vicious holes that appeared in the roof when the wind blew too hard. It seemed after every gust someone would get up and tinker with the roof. I squeezed my eyes shut. The thought of seeing one of their faces in plain daylight became an increasingly frightening prospect.
The heat of the day intensified, so did the wind. A gust in the right direction would lift selected shingles a crack and scold those unfortunate enough to be underneath with a frightful awakening.
As the others slept in bursts, I lay awake in a terrified slow-bake, trying to wake myself up. But, gust by gust, the disturbing reality of my absurd situation became more and more evident; the wind swept me up and sent me tumbling, end over end, up into the heights of grief and delirium.
'Am I really here? Why haven't I woken up yet?' I asked myself over and over.
'I am lost and this is madness.' I repeatedly answered back.
'Why? Why? Why?' I asked. 'What did I do that was so wrong?'
I feared I was being punished, but what crime could fit this punishment, I couldn't imagine.
The heat finally forced me to sleep in bouts of blackness.
Spirals of madness, broken by planes of black.
I awoke in a panic when I became aware of movement around me and the smell of cooked meat. I dared myself to open my eyes, mostly out of thirst. I readied myself for the disappointment of not awaking to Good Samaritans in the park.
I was still in the shelter.
The wind had died down and a dim orange light had found its way in.
I could see the feet of the doubles walking around the sandy floor. My shoes.
One of them sat down next to me.
“How ya feeling?” He asked, as I glanced up to a frightening, knowing grin.
“I..” I began.
I broke down into tears.
“I just don’t know why this is happening,” I told him, though most of my tears were for the fright he had given me for sitting so close, and in such a casual manner.
“Yeah, that’s the big question I guess,” He said looking around.
I tried to sit up.
"Are you hungry?" He asked.
I shook my head.
“Here, come outside, you have to see this.” He said, passing me a partially filled water bottle.
"What.." I began, distracted by the water.
I drank eagerly; still disturbed by the cool hard reality it affirmed, but not quite to the point of blacking out again.
"I'm 63, by the way." He said jumping up easily. "Soon you'll be able to tell us apart."
I tried to sit up again. But my arms were anvils.
"You take your time, just.. don't take too long," He said ducking down to exit the shelter, "it's important you see this."
Alone in the shelter, I took a moment to collect myself, swallowing another gulp of the disturbing reality.
I rolled over and onto my knees. After a long hard stare at the sandy ground I began a slow crawl to the exit.
I was hit with a hot wash of strange gold and blue light as I exited timidly. I stood up slowly and painfully observed, through the gaps of my fingers and in the far edges of my peripheral vision, the last remnants of the hellish sun setting below a line of indefinable, distant mountains.
I looked away from the sun to regain my sight and took in the sun-bleached, grey dunes; dunes I had stumbled blindly over the night before; great rolling ranks, as far as the eye could see; all riddled with the burnt out husks of what were once trees.
"What is this place?" I said quietly to myself, fighting the urge to cry again.
The great vastness of the dunes was dwarfed as I looked up at the giant wave of heat and power that loomed above; the tail end of the forbidden and unforgiving day was slipping away. I could have screamed at it if I wasn't such a wreck. It was evil, I thought. It was pure suffering.
I turned back to find the last edges of the sun’s unveiled form disappearing behind the mountains. I allowed a small ration of relief, as the burning glare was instantly lifted from all around.
The sweat on my body cooled and I drank in a breath of fresh air that quickly became a gasp of awe, for on leaving, the sun had bestowed upon the mighty mountain ridges a lavish, razor-sharp, trim of molten gold so unbelievably bright and radiant I had to put my hand up to stop staring.
It was like all of the sun's evil powers were locked up in the chest of mountains and, suddenly realising their betrayal, they were screaming to be released.
Born from the gold plated edges, between each mountain peak, godlike streams of light shot out. They wavered and were lost in the hostile heat-waves still lingering between us and the mountains. I followed them through the evil shroud to see them break through and reach out in victory, out into the new brilliant blue spectrum of sky that had been revealed above and behind me.
I sensed movement above. I strained my eyes at the rich blue and tried to decide what I was seeing.
My eyes were dazzled by the brightness, but what slowly came into focus appeared to be aurora; impossible greens and purples, charge after charge, in great ribbons of energy, they entwined and wrestled across the sky.
The sun wasn't locked up at all; it was as free as always.
I was forced to sit down with a thump, yielding to the sublime display of unmatched, uncontainable glory.
My breathing was a suspended gasp. The brilliance of the sunset drove down me like a freight-train, knocking the wind out of me and all other thoughts from my mind until the backs of my eyes begged me to avert my focus.
“What is this place?” I asked myself again in panting whisper, remembering to breath.
“When the stars come out, you’ll see that it’s not Earth.” 63 answered back.
He was standing next to me with his hands on his head, bent backwards, staring up at the sky. I became aware that most of the others were watching as we were, not two steps behind us.
I might have gone on forever quite happily in denial, if not for the unavoidable glimpses throughout the long day in the shelter. But now, overhearing my doubles talking quietly amongst themselves behind me, I realised that all along it was obvious.
I took a glace behind me to see them all gazing into the sky. As insane as it felt, I considered that maybe I wasn't so alone; maybe I could trust them, maybe I had to. Because there must be some way home, there had to be; just as easy as I arrived, I'd leave I thought. Easy as that.
I considered the argument with a sudden glow of optimism, until the survivalist in me induced an sharp pang of fear as to ration my hope for the tough times ahead.
“You said we’re being watched.” I said, turning to 63, avoiding his eyes.
“If you wait a few more minutes, you’ll see them.” He said as he sat down next to me.
"What, where?" I asked alarmed.
Suddenly I was incredibly anxious, my mind went wild with the stuff of science fiction.
Trying to remember to breath, I scanned the dunes for any sign of movement.
“Where am I supposed to be looking?” I begged, increasingly desperate for understanding, feverish with the anticipation.
I turned to 63, he was looking up, suggesting that the answer might show up at any moment, and from the sky.
I looked up quickly. I had made up my mind that the attack would come from the ground.
I searched wildly to see a few stars had appeared behind the aurora. The greens and purples in the sky glowed brighter as the sky grew darker. Between the ribbons of energy I noticed more stars had joined the ranks.
Being a person relatively uneducated in astronomy, I'm surprised by how quickly I discerned the stars to be completely different from my own. I was constructing constellations I knew I had never seen before.
Just as I was having a nervous breakdown in trying to figure out why the stars were different, 63 suddenly threw his hand up, pointing out into the horizon.
“There.” He announced.
In between heart attacks I searched the section of sky he was pointing to. It was only twenty or thirty degrees up from where the sun had just set; where the sky was still hanging onto its last coppers and greens.
I allowed my eyes to adjust and found a handful of stars, barely visible. I eagerly surveyed each one.
“There!” I said with a fright. “That star is moving!”
“It’s not a star, it’s a satellite.” Said 63 with confidence.
“We think.” Someone added behind him.
"There's another one." Someone behind me said casually, pointing past my ear out to the left of the mountain range.
It was heading straight for us, I realised, and with a speed I instantly interpreted as cruel resolve.
“But it could be anything right? What makes you think they're not pieces of asteroid or something?” I asked 63 nervously, trying to distract myself from my own worst fears.
He made no reply except by looking up, to suggest that it would be best if I saw for myself.
I looked up and braced myself for the answer. It was seconds from passing directly over us. I was becoming increasingly fearful and feeling foolishly exposed out on the sand. I had no reason to dismiss their theory that this bright object racing through the sky was watching us and entirely responsible for everything that had happened; for plucking me out of my calm and peaceful world only to hurl me onto this mad and evil place. I feared what it might do next with its dark and twisted power. Every part of my being wanted to tear a hole in the sand beneath me and fall in.
The satellite slowed and came to an abrupt stop directly above. I froze, paralysed with fear. This isn't natural, I thought, this isn't right.
I wanted to hide, anywhere. I finally mustered the nerve to cover my face with my arms and let out a small cry, anticipating pain.
“Don’t worry, ” Said 63 reassuringly. “It doesn’t do anything but watch. Trust me, I’ve sat and stared at it all night long. It just stares back. At least until the sun falls beneath its line-of-sight, and then it just fades into the black of space.”
“It comes every night?” I asked sitting up, careful not to look up.
“Every single night, it sits right there and watches.” 63 confirmed.
He tilted his head back, as if remembering something.
“75 said he caught it acting funny the other night though, didn’t you 75?” he asked.
“Yeah, it just flickered a half a dozen times, that’s all, nothing really.” 75 replied, the larger part of him distracted with the sky.
"There's the other one!" he added soon after, with a jolt of enthusiasm.
The satellite I spotted was making its way along the horizon to the right of the mountains, gradually it faded and fell out of view.
The one 75 discovered soared away behind us, and grew small and dim until it was lost in the uncharted sea of stars.
"You'll have to leave soon." 63 said to somebody behind me.
"Leave? where?" I blurted out.
"Do you remember what I told you last night?" He asked.
I pretended to remember, but I was distracted by the sense I was being watched by the satellite above.
"Every night someone appears." He insisted. "They're going to the clearing."
63 pointed out a bright star; brighter than all the others in what I would refer to as the western sky.
I looked at it, worried I was being introduced to yet another thing to be frightened of.
"Every night it's there." He said. "It's a planet I think. But either way, shortly after it falls below the horizon someone appears in the clearing, same as you did." He told me, as if it were the first of many things I was to memorize before a test.
One of the doubles came and sat next to 63, holding something. It looked like fabric; wrapped around a frame of sorts. I remembered the mask.
"Why the mask?" I asked, taking the opportunity to gain a grain of understanding; to clarify in any small way the blurry chaos of the night before.
"The order states that if we were to attack without a mask, we would have too great an advantage over the new-arrival." The double with the mask replied, as if reading from the text.
"The element of surprise we have already," elaborated 63, "combine that with the absolutely paralysing shock they'd be given if they realised who the attacker was; it would tip the scales too heavily in our favour. For the good of the order, the fights must be as fair as possible."
I remembered the knife.
"But what's so fair about sneaking up on someone from behind with a knife?" I blurted out, suddenly very emotional as the distant memory was dragged up.
"A weapon can be turned against the wielder." Replied 63, void of emotion.
"And besides," He continued, "there has to be a blade in play. Otherwise the fights would never end."
He stood and dusted the sand off his jeans. The double holding the mask stood also, with the same dusting action. 63 introduced him for a second time as 67, the second oldest of the group.
"As I've been in this hell the longest, I get the task of supervising the fights every night." 63 explained. "Except when its my turn to fight or go out mapping; in those cases, 67 acts as supervisor.. If I'm killed in a fight, he would lead the new-arrival back to the shelter and, for the good of the order, continue on from where I've left off."
He looked at my blank nod of incomprehension.
"In the event of me being killed," He went on to say, seemingly untroubled by the prospect of dying, "when 67 fights, 75, the next in line to the responsibility, would supervise him and resume the role if he should be killed. And so on, and so on, down the order. Understand?"
"I think so." I replied.
I didn't, well not totally anyway. While I cradled my aching mind, they talked about leaving.
67 approached the group behind us. I couldn't make out what he was saying and turned to 63 for an explanation.
"It's 103's first fight tonight," he said, anticipating the question.
He then looked into my eyes as if to make sure I was listening. My eye muscles spasmed at the intensity and forced me to break contact.
"Your first fights will be the toughest, 112." He assured me. "But, if you win your first couple of fights, you can be sure you'll be here for a while."
"When will I have to fight?" I asked, though I wasn't even considering it.
"Not for another eight nights." He replied. "We each have nine nights of recuperation after each fight. The night before you fight, you'll go out mapping.."
"The sand is cool enough." interrupted 67. "He's about as ready as he'll ever be."
Standing next to him was 103, a nervous wreck, nothing close to being ready for anything other than blacking out.
It seemed he hadn't been on the planet for very long. His clothes were unworn and relatively clean compared with 63 and 67's, and he was terrified; I found it highly infectious.
"Alright 103," Said 63 with a sigh, "its time to do your duty, for the good of the order, alright?"
103 took in a deep, trembling breath while nodding wildly in efforts to gather himself.
"It's my turn to go out mapping tonight," continued 63 to 103, "67 here will take you to the clearing."
He then looked to the western sky to check on the position of the star he had taught me about.
"You should leave now." He agreed after a quick reading.
There were no goodbyes. They made their way down the dune in grim silence.
63 watched them leave with a thoughtful stare that remained long after they were out of sight. He shook off the deep thought with another glance at the setting star, turned, and disappeared into the shelter.
Avoiding looking directly up at the satellite, I looked up at the sky and tried to pray for a way home, but the strange constellations filled me with doubt. I wondered if the satellite could read my mind, if they had heard my prayers.
63 returned after a few minutes and sat back down beside me, playing with one of the straps of his backpack.
"Its my turn to explore tonight," he said, assuming I hadn't heard him tell 103.
He thought for a moment before pointing out toward the barely visible mountains.
"That's west." He declared.
"That's north, that's east, that's south." He added quickly, pointing at each without looking.
"Now, how will you know where's what, when you can't see those mountains?" He asked, anticipating my question.
He turned right, looking north.
"There." He pointed. "Do you see that red star on the horizon just below those three bright ones?"
I searched and found what he was pointing at.
"Yeah, I see it." I answered fearfully.
"Well that never moves. All the other stars, they circle it." He said, making big circles with his arm around the red star.
"That means we're in the northern hemisphere, near the north pole, right?" He asked, not waiting for an answer. "If you head straight for that star, you're heading due north, right?"
"Yeah I think so." I answered, pretending I understood.
He laughed at my transparency.
"All you have to remember, that red star there, that's north."
"OK." I nodded.
"That's lesson one." He said standing up, dusting off the seat of his jeans with one hand and positioning his backpack with the other.
"I have to get moving, see you before sunrise."
"Good luck." I said without thinking.
"Luck? Really?" He asked, walking away.
Luck; I thought about the word. Luck is what brought me here I decided. Luck will kill me.
I looked at the red star as a distraction from the thought.
"North." I said to myself.
Suddenly I felt very lost and alone again.
There were three that remained outside. They sat with their backs against the mound of sand that seemed to hold up the dome of the shelter. With heads bent forward, they switched back and forth from one another in deep discussion.
One of the three looked up from their dilemma to think, and caught me watching.
"Do you have any cigarettes left?" He asked, before I could look away.
I reached inside my jeans' pocket's frantically.
"Yeah, I think so," I answered nervously, pulling out the barely recognisable Soft-Pack. It looked almost as beaten as I felt.
I studied the contents and counted six filter ends staring at me.
"Six?" The double asked.
The other two were looking now.
"Yeah, that's right," I replied amazed for a moment before realising the joke, or at least, the likelihood that everyone appears with six cigarettes.
"Would you like one?" I asked, scared into politeness.
They all gestured in a similar way that they would.
I tried to stand up but my legs collapsed underneath me.
On my hands and knees I gathered my strength for a second attempt when a pair of my shoes stepped into view.
I looked up to see a hand offered to me and stared at it for a moment, unsure.
"Don't worry," the double laughed, "the universe won't implode, trust me."
I took his hand and he helped me up. Very disturbing.
"112," he said, shaking my hand. "I'm 96. That one there is 100. And the one beside him is 101."
We walked over to where they sat as I fumbled with the cigarette pack. I handed them each a cigarette with shakey hands and after finally managing to extract one more for myself, I sat down on the sand in front of them, feeling my pockets for my lighter.
"No lighter?" asked 96, sitting down. "Roughly, only one out of five have lighters on them when they arrive you know."
Instinctively I tried to think of where I had left it.
"On the kitchen counter, next to the house-keys you nearly forgot." said 101 abruptly, apparently he'd had this conversation before.
96 reached into his pocket, found his lighter and lit his cigarette quickly. He then passed his cigarette around so we could all light ours from it.
"I remembered the lighter." He said proudly, putting it back in his pocket.
101 stood up and walked away with his cigarette, obviously upset about something. He sat down with his back to us just out of earshot.
"He killed for the first time the night before you arrived," 96 explained quietly. "He's not coping with it so well."
"Who have you ever seen cope with it well?" 100 shot at him before taking a drag of his cigarette. "It was my first time the night before his remember."
He took another quick drag.
"It'll haunt you forever." He promised me.
I remember regretting sitting down right in front of them. I felt trapped.
"I'm not saying I cope with it well at all, but at least 63 seems to cope well enough." 96 replied to 100's challenge. "But I agree," he added, "I don't know how I could ever get use to it. I mean, killing for one thing, that should be hard enough. But killing someone that looks and acts just like me.. That's where the mind should draw the line. I try not to think about the repercussions of us stepping over it once every ten days, its unhealthy."
Remembering I was the one hundred and twelfth to appear, I did a simple calculation in my head that took so long I nearly gave up on it.
"63 has been here for 50 days?" I asked, "He's killed five, four times?"
"Yeah." Replied 96, suprised. "For someone in your condition, that's some quick math." he laughed.
"It will be his fifth kill tomorrow night." He added, a little more soberly.
He took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled slowly before finally coming to a compromise.
"I guess anything becomes normal after a while." He shrugged.
"No." said 101, flicking his cigarette butt away and walking back to join us, "There is no way this could ever feel normal. Not if you killed every day for fifty days would this feel normal."
He sat down.
"To be honest, I don't think I want it to feel normal." He admitted.
The thought of being here one more day scared me. Fifty days was unfathomable.
"67 is only four day's younger than 63," realised 96 aloud, "I saw 67 crying the other day. I've never seen 63 cry."
I admitted to myself that I had been in a perpetual state of crying the entire time.
"We're not the same person anymore, remember that." Said a voice behind me. "Not since the first moment we set foot on this place you know, because our experiences here have each been totally unique."
I turned to see a double approaching the four of us from the shelter.
"Which is the new one?" He asked.
"I am." I said. "I'm 112."
"112." He repeated with a sigh, sitting down next to me. "It feels like only yesterday we we're in the 90's."
He scratched his beard.
"How long have you been here?" I asked, noticing the weeks of growth.
"You're asking questions already, good. That means you've accepted the truth.. I'm 75." He answered, holding out his hand.
I shook it, this time with a little less hesitation.
"What truth?" I asked, suprised to hear the word 'good' uttered. How could that possibly be used in any context given the situation?
"The truth that this is not just a bad dream to wake up from." He replied simply.
75 looked at 100 who was still smoking his cigarette, and then back to me fidgeting with the pack.
"Do you have any cigarettes left?" He asked.
"Yeah," I replied, wrestling with the pack again briefly before handing him the task in defeat.
He took one out and counted what was left.
"Two left." He said. "Hold on to one. For before your first fight. Believe me, you're gonna want it."
He passed the pack to me and took out a lighter from his pocket.
"You remembered the lighter?" I asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject.
75 studied the lighter in the glow of the first drag of his cigarette.
"No, no I left it sitting on the kitchen bench." He admitted, exhaling. "This lighter belonged to 65. My ticket to ride this crazy train."
The other three were talking amongst themselves again.
I found it a little easier to look directly at 75, perhaps it was because of the beard. He was looking up at the satellite. I stole a glimpse of it but had to look away.
"Do you really think it can see us?" I asked.
"Well," he shrugged, smoking his cigarette, "it deliberately stops directly above us every night, so, why here?" He pointed at it, which freaked me out. "Why not over there, or over there? There's plenty of space elsewhere, if merely space will do."
He blew smoke at it.
"If it is parked there looking down at something," He continued, gesturing around at the dunes that surrounded us, "I don't see anything else here that it would prefer to be watching."
I thought for a moment to consider the implications of some other lifeform, something alien out in the dunes, something predatory.
"Now, I don't pretend to know anything for certain, OK?" He made himself clear. "This whole mess we've found ourselves in, to begin with, it's just way too absurd. To be establishing absolutes on top of absurdity will surely end in collapse." He paused to smoke. "But, we all need something to believe in right?"
His question wasn't rhetorical I realised, as he waited for me to answer.
I thought for a moment.
This satellite was, as 63 had put that morning, the point. It meant answers; a way home; the reason to fight, to stay alive.
"I guess so." I answered, unsure.
"If only we knew what they wanted, of course," he said, leaning back on one elbow, while taking another drag only to blow it out at the satellite again. "That would be handy."
"What do you think they want?" I asked, hoping he had a theory.
He thought about his answer for a moment before blowing another cloud of smoke at the satellite.
"Well, I don't think us dying would be their ultimate goal." He answered. "I mean, why send us here only to die right?"
He paused as if the question was directed at himself.
"No," He concluded. "first things first, if anything, they want us to survive."
"But then what?" I asked, desperately. "Survive for what?"
"I dunno," He finally shrugged, "maybe they want us to build a great monument to their greatness." He laughed, lying down flat on the sand in defeat.
"You dont really believe that do you?" Asked 96, breaking from his own conversation when he overheard 75's suggestion.
75 propped up back onto one elbow and found it had been 96 that spoke. He paused, considering his answer.
"A civilization so technologically advanced they've mastered the wondrous complexities of, not only interstellar, no, but inter-universal travel, and neglected to master their own ego's somehow? A monument? Surely not.." He answered conclusively, lying down again. "But then again," he went on to say, looking up at the satellite, "a civilization cruel enough to thrust the oddities of this world-destroying technology upon innocent, confused and frightened lesser-beings such as ourselves; brutal enough to cast us onto a desert wasteland with a sun borrowed from the pit of hell and force us to kill doubles of ourselves for food and water?" He took a drag of his cigarette. "Ya know what? They might like a monument actually. And they might also like regular human offerings burnt at an altar," he laughed, "but lets hope that's not true."
All were fixated on what 75 was saying. It was all too much to take in.
As if he had suddenly becoming aware of the long silence that followed, 75 sat up curious. He found us all staring, glazed and troubled, into the extremities of our own worst fears.
"Hey, don't you even think about it.." He snapped, pointing his cigarette at us, breaking the silence.
We were all torn away from our dark thoughts with a fright.
"We are not! Building! An altar! Is that clear?" Laughed 75, finally breaking character as he lay back down.
I didn't laugh. I instantly absorbed myself in listing the things that, to the best of my ability, I thought to be real; as an emergency measure against losing my mind completely.
The wind was real, I agreed quickly, as it stuck to my sweat-drenched clothes at that moment.
I looked at the sand that seemed to cover the entire planet. I took a pinch of it to analyse between my fingers. A lot of it was charcoal or ash, ground up by sand into a fine powder. I grabbed a handful of it and let it pour out of my grip like an hourglass.
Lifeless, I thought, as the dust separated from the sand to side with the wind.
I found the star 63 had taught me would mark the appearance of the new arrival. It was undoubtedly getting closer to the mountains; perhaps in half an hour or so it would be gone.
I found the red star and tried to set my natural compass by it. North, I said to myself again, but couldn't stop the needle from spinning wild and indecisively back and forth.
The countless stars and nameless constellations in the sky were real I agreed, not my own, but just as real as anyone could say.
My doubles I sat with, I wondered, were they real?
I thought about what 75 said about trying to establish absolutes on top of absurdities. So I tried my hardest, if only for the moment, to be content with the wind, the sand and the stars.
I breathed in slowly and deeply and noticed how it's reality reaffirming effect didn't choke me up as much as before. Panic made an effort to return eventually. So I grabbed a handful of sand and squeezed it to bring me back to the calming nature of the infinite.
"Are you alright?" I heard someone ask in the distant reaches of my hearing.
I opened my eyes to see 75 looking at me, propped up on one elbow again.
"I'm alright." I admitted finally with a hint of laughter in my answer.
75 looked at me pitifully to suggest I was losing my mind.
"You hold onto that feeling, OK?" he insisted, "A little madness is the only thing that'll get us through this. But if you need to talk, I'm here alright? Because a lot of madness will kill you."
He got up and I realised the others were gone.
"Where have the others gone?" I asked.
"They're around the other side of the shelter. The moons will be rising soon." He said, dusting the sand off his clothes beckoning me to follow.
"Moons?" I asked.
"Yeah, Moons as in many." He answered. "Stay here if you want some time alone or something."
I stood up and followed him around the other side of the shelter. There were five doubles looking to the east. I couldn't work out who was who in the dim green light of the aurora, but saw three sitting and talking with each other and guessed it was 96, 100 and 101.
The other two were sitting each alone either side of the three, chins on their arm-wrapped knees looking vacant. I guessed them to be almost as new as I, based on their relatively clean and not-so dust saturated clothes.
"We're trying to figure out their phases and cycles," 75 told me, "but, funnily enough, none of us are astronomers, and we're finding it rather difficult. The moons pretty much come and go as they please as far as I can tell."
I tried to search for any small bit of knowledge I had on the subject as we sat down, but I came up short of anything useful.
"Most nights there's at least one moon in the sky." 75 went on to say, "Essential for when we're out mapping, otherwise we have to find out way in bursts of green aurora-light, and that's a good way to get lost."
"63's out there now, he didn't wait for the moonlight?" I asked.
"The tracks that lead away from the shelter go north, south, east and west, and are all marked. You can still get lost, but 63 knows the tracks better than anyone and well enough to make a head start."
"Are there any alien things out there? Any other lifeforms or anything?" I asked finally, tense with the strong sense to flee from the answer 75 might give.
"No, not that anyone's ever seen." He told me. "But don't totally disregard the possibility, I mean, keep your eyes open when you're out there."
I relaxed a bit and forced myself to stop imagining the space alien of my worst fears.
"Have you been given 82's blade?" He asked.
"No. Why?" I replied.
"He'll give it to you before you go exploring, if you want it." He assured me. "But, either way, I'd be more worried about getting lost than finding a creature in the dark. So don't get too caught up in what could be lurking in the shadows, you know what I mean? You need to be on the lookout for landmarks. Anything that you could draw on the map."
"OK, sure." I agreed.
There was a distinct reddish glow on the eastern horizon. In two places. I decided that it was the moons rising, before having to ask.
"How many moons are there?" I asked instead.
"Six, we think." Replied 75. "They move at different speeds and in different directions and they're of similar size and shape which is helpful in only making things nice and confusing for us. As if we needed a challenge." He laughed.
We sat down and waited.
The full moons revealed the edges of their solid-peach forms and quickly rose into full view. Too bright to see any definition in either, they looked identical I thought.
The rolling landscape around us adopted a soft yellow blanket of light that brought a comforting warmth with it.
"You should try and sleep." Said 75 after hearing me sigh.
I agreed it would be best, with no resistance at all.
I left the others drawing their interpretations of the moons' behavior in the sand, and fell into the dark confines of the shelter.
I slept. And I dreamed I was home.
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