The Cataract

Transmissions from the Cataract Research Center

Hey everyone. Sorry it’s been so long since the last blog post. Haven’t been in the right mindset for writing and really fell out of the groove. Moving forward I really want to post more regularly, even if they’re smaller pieces. If they’re smaller I likely won’t push them into your inboxes, but every so often I might include a reminder to go back and check the blog posts that don’t get sent out.

Below is some short fiction I wrote as a springboard for a Mothership module that’s floating around in my head. I got this idea after listening to “Little Dipper” by Hum. Music is a fantastic source of inspiration for writing of all kinds, and I have some thoughts about that I’ll be putting into words soon as well. I got some good feedback on this but I haven’t made any changes yet. This is something I think is further out in the future but I’m excited for it. I hope you enjoy this small piece.

//OS Cataract—STATION LOG//::

//Atomic Year 31952, Month 10, Day 17//::

If you are reading this, then it is too late for us. I’m sorry we couldn’t be here to greet you, to warn you. The storm outside doesn’t stop. Oh, we know it doesn’t seem bad from the viewports. Some rain lashing against the glass, a flash of lightning here and there. Those roiling clouds in the distance? That is the real storm. We thought we were safe here, with just a little bit of wind and water. We didn’t know the storm was pregnant. Oh yes, it births creatures that come out of the clouds and up from below. We finally sealed the hatches, one at a time coming from the orbital lift dock. We left the last creature’s corpse as a warning to the others: don’t come here again.

//End//::

//SRV Ride—SHIP LOG//::

//Atomic Year 31944, Month 6, Day 12//::

This is Captain Doan. We tried to dock at the orbital lift platform but the storm is too strong right now; its intensity has increased in the intervening years since Cataract’s inception. Instead we landed at the surface and sent our first crew up the lift. Unfortunately, the storm’s discharge patterns interfere with our communication devices so contact has been lost. This is proving to be a costly endeavor, as the high-pressure system requires special suits, even in the orbital lift before it passes the energy field. Our crew will make contact with those stranded in the Cataract and devise a contingency plan for evacuation.

//End//::

//OS Cataract—OUTGOING TRANSMISSION//::

//Atomic Year 31931, Month 7, Day 3//::

MAYDAY. MAYDAY. This is Ensign Gareth sending a distress signal from the OS Cataract. Some of our cryo pods malfunctioned and opened early, far too early. It only happened to a few of us. We have enough water and food stores to last until help gets here, but you’ll have to send someone as soon as you can. We have to call off the research. The energy field readouts are strong, and we’re still getting power from the storm’s static discharge. Enough to keep the station going, and to keep everyone else in cryofreeze, provided there are no more malfunctions. Please, send help as soon as you can. We have to abort. Over.

//OS Cataract—STATION LOG—VOICE DIARY EXCERPT//::

//Atomic Year 31952, Month 3, Day 8//::

Don’t worry, my babies… I won’t let them hurt you. They keep trying to get in but we won’t let them, will we? They try to trick us. We asked for help years ago and no one ever came. They forgot about us here. And we’ve been so alone. I could wake you up, but I don’t want to break your slumber. You look so peaceful under the glass. I wonder what you are dreaming about? I’ve been putting them in the incinerator, oh yes, and ejecting the ash back into the storm. Hulking things, mechanical and menacing. They would scare you so, if you saw them. But I won’t let that happen. I’m trying my hardest to be sweet for you. But they’re making me angry. My curiosity got the better of me, in my anger. I took off one of their helmets. They learned to mimic us. Their faces looked like ours. But I know. I know.