Companionship - beyond flesh

Three hundred Pillows

"Two hundred and ninety-nine. Three hundred. There, that should do it." Max Jones placed the last pillow and stood back to admire his construction. The bio-light from the plants in the room gave the pillow cave a green tinge. He marvelled at how something as simple and mundane as a pillow could play such a vital role in his survival -- a building block for his refuge and escape from the craziness around him. The room shook, and he heard the groan of metal twisting somewhere deep within the outpost. The tremor wasn't strong enough to make him lose balance or knock down his pillow cave, but it was unsettling. He couldn't help but think about the violent, heavy metal gas storm that raged beyond the spherical outpost and could imagine the gaseous metals flooding through the corridors and into his room following a breach. Death would be quick at least, he thought.

For the past couple of weeks, it seemed that the Orr Refinery had been changing around him. The creaks and groans were like the muscle stretches of some great dragon waking. The shaking had only started in the past couple of days. Hence the need for a hideaway, built from pillows that he had scavenged from the other apartments in the outpost. He knew that if the room collapsed the pillows wouldn't offer any protection, but inside he could hide away from everything -- if only he didn't see the imprint of dead faces on the lumbar supports as he had placed each puffy white brick into the structure. Yes, Death would be quick at least, here in my tomb.

Max had hidden in his apartment since the Churchman disappeared. He had enough of the weirdness, and his Emma had once more stopped communicating with him. It wasn't that she was mad or bored with him, it was more like she was pre-occupied with something else - he guessed that the sounds were her building. But he was happy not knowing and being left alone, welcoming the isolation and wondering if he could only ever be happy alone. He considered whether the twelve years he spent alone in space would prove to have been the best years of his life. The room shook again, more violently this time and coinciding with a large snap and momentary sensation of falling. Max imagined the outpost being ripped in half.

Well no time like the present to test this out, he thought as he bent down on all fours and crawled into the box-shaped cave-of-pillows. He had placed four extra pillows inside the structure so that when he entered he could plug the entry from the inside. He found it difficult to insert the last pillow at its place without pushing the whole front section down, but with a little persistence he found a way. Inside, it was just as he had hoped. Pitch black and soft. He had lined the floor with pillows too along with a few soft blankets. He closed his eyes and let the green stain marked by ambient light fade from under his eyelids

In the darkness, Max felt more at ease. I could stay here until the end, he thought and chuckled to himself, 'The End' isn't too far away.

His mind wandered to his Emma, and he wondered what was next. He knew that she was evolving -- after all, for her, humanity was just a starting point. He kept telling himself that he was happy with the changes that her growth was natural. But he stilled worried about the fact that, while she was changing, he wasn't. Today he was still the useless dumbass that he would be tomorrow and the day after that. How could he still be useful to her? Or, importantly, how could their relationship survive while she grew into some mighty powerful force of nature while he was happy building a fort out of pillows.

Churchman was gone, and he hadn't heard anything from him since Emma stole him away with the promise of transformation. He missed the random and seemingly unlimited stories and tidbits of wisdom that Churchman would share. But most of all, he missed Churchman's playful grin and how his whole face would seem to light up when he smiled. If Churchman had been a violent man, Max couldn't imagine it. In fact, Max couldn't remember ever feeling at peace or as fond for anyone as he did for Churchman. He worried about what had become of his friend.

Max had made friends before; he thought of Peter Grimes, also lost and somewhere in the Antares system. He had met Peter at the academy during training for the mission; they were both awkward odd-balls and so found a natural attraction between themselves. While Max had lost complete track of the passage of time, he guessed that Peter would have been in the system for a couple of months at least. He genuinely liked Peter, but he couldn't talk or express his feelings to the aloof Grimes, who had always seemed more interested in himself. He considered that he probably never had a real conversation with Peter, at least not at all like the discussions he had with Churchman.

Thinking about Churchman and his need to talk with someone made him miss his friend more, so curling up into a ball in the dark, he thought that the only other person with whom he could talk -- the ghost of Emma Yee. But she had not returned to his dreams since his embarrassing mishap where he had unintentionally fondled her breasts and figured that he had scared her off. He tried concentrating and thinking of her in an attempt to summon her spirit. But that exercise just made his head hurt, and he was surprised that his Emma hadn't picked up on the extra energy and focus his mind pattern would have been emitting. The fact that he hadn't roused his Emma confirmed his idea that she had given up on him. Both Emmas had; he was sure.

"Narrrp," he whispered to himself as he took a dose of doze and pulled up a blanket. The outpost offered another groan. He had hoped that the pillows would have filtered out the sound, but it seemed nothing could stop him from hearing the world break around him.

***

Max awoke to a new sound. It was faint, muffled by the pillows, but he could tell, the origin of the sound was close. It sounded like a wounded cat crying, "Ar-ber". His eyes were open, but he couldn't see anything, he began to panic before remembering the pillow cave in which he had been sleeping. "Arber," came the sound. Max's heart jumped into his throat, and he froze solid.

And again, "Arber". Followed by a scratching sound on the outside of his cave. Something was poking at the pillows from outside. The something issued a new creepy sound and, for an instant Max thought that the sound were the words, "are you here?"

"Churchman?" Max whispered, hoping beyond hope that Emma hadn't warped his friend into some misshapen monster whose pitiful form was crawling zombie-like and seeking him out so that he may put the tortured soul out of its misery.

"Kno hurshman." came the reply.

Max understood the words and felt relief that whatever out there was not the fate of Churchman, but still he had a bad feeling about this. Gently, he pulled one of the pillows away from the wall in the direction of the sound, making a hole so that he could see through. He whispered, "Emma? What is going on?"

Emma did not reply.

Max looked out of the hole and into the dim green plant light of the room. Directly before him he saw the legs of something that looked like a giant spider. He could feel the adrenaline rush throughout his body as he pulled together the courage to look again. The word it spoke, not being muffled by the pillows was clearer, but still scratchy and distorted, "Far-ther."

Father? The word made Max think of the alien tree in the garden. He looked again, motioning the room into full light. The light hurt his eyes, and it took a few seconds to adjust -- the spider was still there, waiting.

Max studied the creature. While its colour was like skin, it had that same beautiful pulsating sheen that he knew from his Emma, he relaxed a little, "Very funny Emma, you scared the bejeezus out of me. You can change back now."

The spider had six legs, the forelimbs terminated at the floor with sharp points and were much longer than the short length of leg that suspended a rectangular body above the floor. The body was was regular, looking as if it was the man-made product of a machine. Headless, small globes of colour floated around the body on stamens; Max thought that the globes could have been eyes, but there was no pattern to their arrangement that he could make out. It stood, its body swaying slightly from side to side, "Far-ther."

"What are you?" Max responded, pushing aside more pillows, curious.

"It is your off-springz".