read by Paul Case
18th March
Tomorrow's the day. Well, today technically since it's 3am but I couldn't lie around in the dark any longer. Got out of the bed and out of the room before Gemma woke up. She's a light sleeper and I can't deal with her questions right now.
Made coffee and paced the house for a while. Eventually sat out on the porch and looked out at the fields and stars. Have always found the stars to be comforting, it's nice to know they're always there. And somewhere in all that space is that asteroid, and somewhere on that asteroid is the probe, just waiting for its wake up call.
Still … I wish she hadn't told me that.
Well, I guess it's time.
Time to go and be Orpheus.
Later on.
I went to the station as early as I could. Am running on coffee and adrenaline and feel truly sick. Three calls from Gemma but haven't returned any of them. My entire career depends on this probe calling back to us when we call to it.
My entire fucking career.
Still later. We called. Eurydice did not call back.
Doctor Lawrence is absolutely furious. He knows how important it is to the project – no, the whole station – that this probe calls back to us. He sat us all down, said “We're not fucking NASA here, people, we're a very poor space centre in Swindon and we can't afford this shit” and then promptly demanded solutions. Everyone, naturally, turned the blame on me.
“Jim's the signalman,” Holly said as soon as she possibly could. Trust that bitch. “He wrote the Lyre programming, and it's got to be the programming that's at fault. So it's his responsibility.”
Doctor Lawrence fixes me with a look. “Well sort it the fuck out, won't you Jim?”
And thus I have been tasked with the job of sorting it the fuck out.
19th March
Haven't been home. Ten missed calls from Gemma. Don't have time to ring her, I'm working harder than I ever have before. The programming should be water tight, it should. Still no reply from Eurydice.
What do you when you call out to someone and they don't answer?
20th March
Got it. Approach it scientifically. Three trials.
So. Question: What do you do when you call out to someone and they don't answer?
Answer: Simple. One: you call louder. Two: you go after them. Three: you try an alternative means of contact.
21st March
Orpheus Trial One: call louder. I fiddled with the programming a bit even though it's not wrong, fuck you Holly, then boosted the signal and flipped all the right switches. Now I'm sitting in the dark watching the lights flickering around me and waiting, waiting, waiting. It's about half ten and everyone else has gone home. I think some of them have given up already. But I haven't. I won't.
It's so strange. Here I am sitting in a tiny room in a tiny station on a tiny planet and yet I'm also millions of miles away, singing out across the stars to my Eurydice.
I pray to God – well, all the gods really, I'm not religious and I'm not picky right now – please, just ... answer my call.
Just got a text from Gemma demanding a phone call. Didn't I call her the other day? I thought I had.
22nd March
No answer. Fell asleep on desk after five Red Bulls in a row. Doctor Lawrence and the rest came in and made calculations and tutted and sighed. Doctor Lawrence mentioned 'a possible Jodrell Bank situation' in tones of grim resignation. He sat me down and talked at length about the amount of money we've wasted, the unlikelihood of future funding, money, failure, money, failure, blah blah blah. Like I'm not under enough pressure. Somewhere in the universe is a hunk of very expensive metal clinging to an asteroid, waiting to be woken up. And I can't get her to wake.
23rd March
Orpheus Trial One – failed. Forget it, keep going.
Orpheus Trial Two: you go after them. So, if Eurydice can't come to me, I'll go to her. Easy. A few calls to different departments in NASA, a few more bribes and threats, and I'm bouncing the signal off one of their big ugly satellites that's closer to where Eurydice should be. Now I'm floating across space, reaching out with both hands as far as I can go. I can get no further than this, Eurydice. I can get no further.
Wake up. Please wake up.
24th March
Text from Gemma reminding me in no uncertain terms that it's been almost a week since I was home. I don't think I even remember the way back any more. I'll text her back in a bit, just need to call some bastard at NASA. They're kicking up a fuss already, the privileged sods.
25th March
No reply. Begging, bribing and threatening NASA has stopped working. They're snatching back their satellite like a spoilt rich kid snatching back his favourite toy from his poor cousin. Which means Orpheus Trial Two is also a failure.
I need more coffee.
26th March
All right. Keep going.
Orpheus Trial Three: alternative means of contact. Believe it or not, I'm only fucking texting a space probe. Well, sort of texting anyway, it's more complicated than that, but that's the gist of it. If all goes well, the probe is programmed to reply to me with hello world.
Here goes … everything.
27th March
Nothing. Email from Gemma, which was basically a rant. I'm sure she didn't mean half the stuff she said. I'll get a grovelling text at some point, mark my words. She knows how important Eurydice is to me.
28th March
Still nothing. A group of people in suits came to look around the station, Doctor Lawrence trailing behind them talking frantically. They didn't seem to like the look of me. Can't imagine why, I've only been cooped up in this place for ten fucking days.
29th March
Nothing. Got the expected apologetic text from Gemma: Jim, I only want to help. Please call me.
I would, it's just … she can't help. No one can.
30th March
Nothing! Three trials and nothing, nothing at all. Nothing! I'm finished. My career's finished. This station is doomed and all my work … all my work …
31st March
Contact! Fucking contact! Came at about 4am this morning!
It's strange though. No, not strange. It's wrong.
The probe should reply with hello world. That's what it's programmed to do. But that's not what it said.
What is said was, who are you?
It's later on. Have gathered up everyone. We are all completely lost.
Holly said, “Could it be broken? Could it have an error? Is this your programming gone wrong again, Jim?” I really hate her.
Doctor Lawrence said, “It's coming from the asteroid, it's in exactly the right place where we landed it. It's got to be the probe.”
I said, “But there's none of the data we wanted coming from it. Just those three words. Who are you? What the fuck does that mean?”
Holly said, “It's got to be an error.”
Even later on. Maybe Holly is right. It must be an error. I'm going over everything. Everyone else has gone home.
Alone again.
1st April
Gemma texted me with: the April fool's joke here is that you haven't made contact with me for almost two weeks. Jim, what the hell? Didn't reply. Have decided to do something a little bit crazy.
I replied to the probe. Same signal, but added some words.
I said, Are you Eurydice?
2nd April
Got a reply. Oh my God, I've got a reply. It replied!
It said, No.
3rd April
I think I've finally gone mad. I think the coffee and the dark and the flickering lights and this fucking place have finally got to me. Because I haven't told anyone about the reply.
I know it's real. It's recorded. It may be one word, but that word is concrete and real. I've called out to my own probe and something else has called back.
I should tell someone. I should tell everyone.
Why am I not telling everyone?
4th April
Replied to the ... to whatever it is. I said, who are you?
5th April
I need sleep. I haven't slept. When was the last time I slept?
Got reply early today. It said, I can see you. You are on that planet. The one with the atmosphere.
I wrote back, Are you on the asteroid?
6th April
There is no one here. Where is everyone? I've been in this place for days and I haven't spoken to anyone except … that thing. Gemma keeps texting but I don't – I can't – I mean, what the hell do I say?
It wrote again today. The thing. It said, I am where I am. I am with your creation. Who are you?
In a moment of madness, I said, My name is Jim. Who are you?
7th April
It replied. It said, I will destroy you, Jim.
8th April
Doctor Lawrence gathered us all in for a meeting. I don't think I've spoken to actual people for days.
I feel all wrong.
“They're closing us down,” Doctor Lawrence said. “Of course they are. We've got nothing to show for all that money except the wrong response to a last-ditch attempt at contact. Face it guys, the trials didn't work. Eurydice is lost and so are we.”
I remembered what Gemma said. About the legends. Orpheus failed. Eurydice was gone forever. He reached out and he almost got her, but not quite. Now I am Orpheus. Except I reached out and I got … well, not Eurydice. Something else entirely.
I should tell them what I've found. I should show them all the records. This is momentous, right? A momentous occasion. I should tell the world.
But it said it would destroy me. And I haven't replied - I'm too fucking terrified to. If I don't tell anyone … if I just deleted everything … maybe it won't find me. This whole thing could just be a mistake.
I made an error talking to that thing. The biggest error yet. I should have just given Eurydice up for lost.
9th April
I've made a decision. Errors can be rubbed out, right? And what if -
Well, what if it's just me? What if I had too many nights on too little sleep and too much coffee and
I made the whole thing up? What if I wanted Eurydice to call back to me so much that I just made up these replies? What if I'm mad?
How can you tell when you're mad?
10th April
Okay, I've done it. Deleted everything from the past few days. Now what's left are all of my trials and none of my errors.
11th April
The last day. The men in suits turned up with clipboards and briefcases and said a few things to Doctor Lawrence, and then we packed up all our stuff into a van and the centre was shut down and closed up.
“Well,” Doctor Lawrence said when the men went away. “I suppose it's time to go home.”
Gemma texted with call me now. Thought about replying but decided I'll surprise her instead. I probably should have contacted her before but hey, plenty of time to talk now, I'm on holiday.
Permanent holiday. Ha.
12th April
I am home.
The house is empty. When I turned up, I discovered that all of Gemma's stuff – and Gemma herself – was gone. I should have – I mean, I should have –
She left a note. It says, Isn't it the worst thing in the world when someone doesn't call back?
So I guess I made an error there too.
Usually I go to the porch when I need comfort, watch the stars. But instead, tonight, I – well, it's all very well watching the stars but it's not so great when the stars are watching you. So I've stayed inside. Drawn the curtains, you know, kept quiet. But I can't help it, I think of that thing and my mind keeps going back to Trial Two.
Question: What do you do when you call someone and they don't call back?
Answer: You go after them.
(c) Jennifer Rickard, 2015
Jennifer Rickard lives in London, and is a freelance content writer by day and a more interesting writer by night. Her first novel was written aged six and was a tale of epic adventure starring her guinea-pigs. She still writes epic adventures but with less guinea-pig.
Paul Case has been a storyteller and performance poet since 2008, mainly performing under the pseudonym Captain of the Rant. He has performed at major festivals such as Secret Garden Party, and internationally in Germany, Thailand and Australia.
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