Daedalus

Do you know of space?

The archivist found himself pausing after the statement’s beginning, ears picking up on a commotion outside his office. Debating between stopping the recording or not to deal with the escalating situation, he rose from his seat. In a sudden clap of thunder the argument ended, leaving his ears ringing and the remaining member of the conversation in pained grumbles. Resetting the recording equipment, he waited for the ringing to stop, straightening the papers on his desk again. He knew exactly who was to blame for this, but he didn’t want to bother them. They reluctantly agreed to help him and he didn’t want to risk ruining that.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered the papers up, looking them over one more time. With a flip of the on switch the recording started anew. He cleared his throat, “Statement from Daedalus, no last name given, supposedly on the depths of space. While on a statement form, writing appears directed at either me or one of my assistants. Statement begins.”

Do you know of space?

We don’t mean what you look up and see at night. Not the stars or the planets or even the far off arms of your galaxy. Not even what those buzzing about in Arcane’s observatories admire when they peer through their fancy telescopes. We mean what lies beyond the comfort of your atmosphere. That space.

We suppose you’ve seen countless statements pass by your desk about those experiencing the emptiness of open sky to an extent. Consumed by the endlessness of the air they traverse. The fleeting ground below them. The panic and fear of never touching solid earth again. We’ve heard stories of such things ourselves. But this is not space. Not as you and the rest of your kind perceive it.

We’ve been up there. The endless sky those fear is nothing compared to the absolute emptiness of space. The sister planets to your own are impossibly far away, let alone the stars that tempt you with their twinkling. It’s as unbearably cold as it is distant, and there’s nothing to hear your cries for help. Sound does not carry up there, and to try and breathe in the void is a death sentence. Everything up there wants you dead, and your kind would never know in the comfort of the sphere you call home.

We can hear your queries. Those burning questions on how we know all of this. Well, it turns out your kind isn’t completely hopeless in terms of traversing the cosmos. You’ve sent at least one brave soul up there, and we appreciate them. Far more than you did her. She was alone, barely trained and sent adrift as if paradise awaited her past the clouds. That she’d be able to spread her wings and fly free, no boundaries to get in her way.

We watched her decline as reality hit. How she was trapped with no safe way out. Her brittle feathers freezing in open the merciless expanse around her as she curiously left the comfort of her ship. The panic and fear of how no one would know of her experiences as signals couldn’t reach home. How it dawned in her mind that her planet seemed infinitely far away, but the rest of the space around her, those celestial bodies she once admired and adored, were even farther, unfathomably so.

And then we approached. We watched her breaking point as she no longer looked on in fear, but in acceptance of whatever was before her. We took her in like the rest of our brethren. A new host. A new form. One to aid in exploring this new habitable world. Arms open, she did not scream or squirm as we burrowed within her. We were warmly welcomed in such a body, something we had never experienced before in previous life forms.

Curiosity ate at us as we observed the world below in our new form. Writhing excitement gripped us knowing an entire world that knew nothing of being such as us resided under the clouds. Our form and attire decided, we descended, many eyes soaking in the lush scenery as it came into view. We explored to our heart’s content, feasting on new sights, knowledge, and flesh.

We had made preparations to depart from your world when we came across this….institute of yours. That is the word you use for this place, yes? Regardless, we have you to thank for our stay. Until now, we had seen hints of our master having visited this place once, but the collection of your knowledge....yes, they’ve been here a while now, haven’t they? And no one would know that better than those residing in the deepest depths of this place, stowing away such secrets from public eye?

I do hope my ‘statement’ finds one of you well. We have no name by which to call us, but I’m sure our host’s will suffice. She was a brave soul in the end, experiencing the vast emptiness that lays above all of you. We wish to honor that. We look forward to your future finds, both in this fascinating place and within your future endeavors in space explorations.

Sincerely,

One which you would call a Parasite.

“Statement Ends.” The archivist was well aware of Project Aerborne. Word on the Isle’s spacefaring projects had long since become public after the debris of the project crashed near the Behemoth, nearly causing a full-out war between the two flights. Once public and the remaining pieces were recovered, the details were released worldwide, ensuring something of that caliber wouldn’t happen again. He didn’t know if they still worked on such extreme pursuits, and this statement did little to aleve his curiosity.

Of course as he flipped off the recording equipment he found himself aware of their new projects. He knew better than to attempt and focus on something he didn’t know. Given enough thought and focus and he could know anything he set his mind on. Caring enough to use such information was a different story. He sighed, wishing the ability worked the same on abnormal individuals. The best he got on this ‘parasite’ was a vague location of residence and that there were a total of fifty-seven individual organisms in the collective inhabiting the remains of Daedalus.

He took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the inevitable meeting he’d have with his assistants. There was another new threat, and they all needed to know of its existence. He learned a long time ago not to keep this sort of thing from anyone.