Sol of the Damned

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say... : o

Bruce

He looked up at the handwritten note taped to a stainless-steel pole beside his head. He saw the words but had no idea what they could possibly mean. His brain was confused, hazy.

What was going on?

He turned his head and let out a little ‘oh,’ then grabbed the back of his neck, massaging the muscles that occasionally shoved the protruding disc into nerves, especially if he didn’t have his own pillow. He squeezed the flesh, like a lion holding its cub, and managed a look at his completely unexpected surroundings.

This was a gurney and the pole the note hung from, standing straight out like a Jolly Rodger, was an IV pole.

To his left, about ten feet away, was the patient table of an MRI system positioned in front of the bore tube. Unlike most systems, it was the ‘hole in the wall’ variety. Instead of being cased in the manufacturer’s iconic brand covers, it was architecturally built into the wall. Typically patients in this kind of version tended to feel more claustrophobic, like they were entering a crematorium.

Across the room, he could see what was probably a window, but it was covered with blinds, so he couldn’t be sure. To his right was the typical impressively expensive door on all MRI systems that kept electrical signals from leaving or coming into the scan room.

Naturally, he had been in many MRI rooms over his years of working in the field of MR system development, but he didn’t recognize the location of this one.

He reached up to grab the note, but instead flung his hand spastically into the metal rod. Something was wrong with his muscles, besides being sore and stiff. He looked down and saw a strap connected around his hips, keeping him on the gurney. He popped open the buckle and pushed himself up, but instead of going to a sitting position, he launched himself to the ceiling, somersaulting as he went. He flailed vainly trying to control his movement as if he were falling. When he hit the ceiling he pushed back, seemingly not very hard, yet he sped back down towards the ground, flailing again without effect. Apparently, the stretcher was stuck down because it didn’t move when he grabbed onto the handle at the end to stop his wild gyrations.

I’m dreaming.

That thought alone would normally have been enough for him to awaken, rearrange his pillows and go back to sleep, but here he was, hanging onto a gurney like a helium balloon in a toddler’s hand. It was only a matter of time before he would drift around the room again. But still, might as well try to go where he wanted.

He pushed himself away from the stretcher towards the blinds and grabbed onto the piece at the bottom. His thumb punched through the flimsy gray material as he clinched it much tighter than was necessary. He pivoted slowly around the window, twisting the blinds into a mess, but he could see... stars in the sky—brighter and clearer than he ever remembered seeing them. When he was above the window, he saw it. It was just like the images they showed in documentaries about space, a great sphere with lights shining up like a population density map. The east coast was easy to recognize from the pattern as it was still in darkness. He was in space.

His mind jumped back to the note. ‘Bruce’, it said. Grossman? He hadn’t seen Bruce in a few years since he gave him a short report on the cheapest way to have an MRI in…space.

Then it (mostly) fell into place. He shook his head. He had to be, somehow, in Grossman’s new space retreat.

He pushed gently off the ceiling, aiming at the big lever-shaped handle on the door out of the MRI room. He grabbed hold of it and was preparing to turn and push against the wall to open the door when a tablet-size screen switched on right beside his face.

There was Bruce, laughing, his eyes scrunched up and his mouth wide open. He was reminded of Herman Munster, except Bruce wasn’t nearly that big.

Bruce managed to choke out, “That was hilarious. You’re doing great though. Lots of people end up bloody and bouncing back and forth like a pinball. You always were pretty agile, Rod. You still got it; not bad for an old man.”

“Bruce! What the hell?”

“Relax Rod, just a little prank. You had it coming...a long time coming. I never managed the dump-off in China, but you gotta admit, space is really cranking it up a notch, right? It was worth the wait.”

Randall furrowed his brows in a combination of anger and looking inward, searching his memory for the reference to China. Then he remembered…fifty years ago, almost to the day, in fact, Bruce had giggled about how funny it would be to get someone drunk or high and fly them to somewhere remote, like China, and just have them wake up with no memory of what had happened. Randall hadn’t thought it was very funny then, but university guys talk a lot of crap, and he had probably nodded and smiled. Now, he didn’t think it was remotely funny.

“Bruce, in exchange for not bringing kidnapping charges…pretty sure this counts as being over state lines, I want to go home. Now,” Randall said, trying to remain as calm as possible.

Bruce frowned. “Rod, this is the experience of a lifetime—I’m going to be charging millions for this in a few months. Besides, the word of a billionaire with an army of lawyers versus you? Regardless, there's a rocket scheduled for next week—no way to be any faster. It’s impossible.”

Next week... Shit! Damn!

“You had no right!” Rod felt his face get hot as adrenalin pumped through his system. “You left my family without me…this week of all times. Damn it!”

He turned away from the screen determined not to let Bruce see tears or the rage behind them. He tried to take deep breaths. There was nothing he could do right now. He felt like he was in a straitjacket.

“Sorry, Rod. What’s the big deal?”

He tried to collect himself for a moment, then asked, “What did you tell Carol about me being gone?”

“Carol, who’s Carol?”

Rod turned back to the screen barely holding back the urge to punch it and smash it to bits. He saw Bruce’s ‘joking’ face as he heard the laugh.

“Relax. Just kidding. You told me all about her when we worked out the space-cooled MRI. Don’t worry, I texted her from your phone to let her know you wouldn’t be in touch for a while because of a top-secret science briefing with top brass at the Pentagon. I said they take your phone for the whole time you are there for security reasons.”

“No way she’d believe that. She doesn’t really even believe my theories on science. She probably thinks I'm hooking up with wife number three and dumping her.”

“I said it was because somebody important read the article you wrote about the coming micro-nova.”

“Right. Well, basically no one with any clout paid any attention to that, unfortunately.” He paused trying to maintain his ability to speak. “So, forgetting how stupid the idea is, why now? Why this week?”

“It’s our anniversary, dude. Fifty years since we first met in East Hall dorm, plus or minus. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there—too much going on down here. So, you’re welcome. Enjoy the view. Oh, there are some great telescopes in the viewing hall. One of them has a filter and processing so you can look at the sun close-up. You’re welcome, again.”

So, that was it. He would be alone when it all happened. He tried to slide down the wall and collapse, but of course that didn’t work—he just stayed stuck there.

“Ok, bye then Rod. I’ll turn on the rotation now…it will take a few minutes to simulate gravity. See you in five days.”

“No, I won’t see anyone ever again,” he barely managed to choke out as he fumbled for the button to turn off the screen.

“Get a grip, dude, it’s…” The link terminated.

He wouldn’t have wanted to be in a Pentagon briefing. He wanted to be with Danny, Rory, and Carol. If they were to die immediately from crustal shifts, or plasma discharges, or earthquakes, at least they would be together. If they survived the first onslaught and had to try to manage in the neo-paleolithic ice age, he was as ready as he could be. He’d known this was coming for over a decade—unfortunate that knowledge wasn’t really power. A few people had listened, but no governments and no large scientific organizations had accepted the findings.

He felt a force beginning to pull him down the wall and he let himself collapse onto the floor.

“In space, no one can hear you cry,” he thought as he broke down into open-mouth sobs. He relaxed into it, not trying to squelch his emotions as he usually would have. He thought about Danny and Rory and what they would have to face, and Carol would be devastated that he wasn’t with them at the end. It wasn’t fair.

He curled up on the floor. There was no way to fix this. It was the end. They weren’t ready. He was supposed to be there. He had to be there.

Sure, he had tried to prepare them, without scaring Carol or the boys. He’d taken them on hikes in Norway with a pro survivalist, and they’d learned to make a fire with an ice lens. They knew how to fish. Maybe they could survive if they were already out at their cabin. But, no, they were in the middle of a city of 2 million. What about after the first week or two, when the hordes of hungry desperate people had forgotten the unspoken rules of civilization? That was the biggest danger, and he wasn’t there to help them. They were just 10 and 12 for God’s sake.

He began sobbing again. Damn it, Bruce! The article clearly explained how to predict the most likely time for an electronics-age-ending solar flare…and it was for the next three days.

Why didn’t you pay attention? Obviously, Bruce thought he was a crackpot, just like most people he explained it to.

Even when he avoided mentioning that the legend of the destruction of Atlantis was likely due to the last solar micro-nova, and just focused on hard facts, people turned away from the idea of a predictable recurring earth catastrophe. The Mayan prediction was also clear about the devastation the sun would bring, and they were only off by two solar-cycles—2034, not 2012. But no one could see it; Randall was just another doomsday cult leader…except he had no followers.

A thought came to him…maybe he could reach Carol and the boys on the screen. Maybe Bruce could patch them in. Sure, he could, at the very least hold his cell phone up to the screen and could talk to them one last time. Could he face them? He was sure he wouldn’t even be able to talk, though. He couldn’t speak at his father’s funeral and that was a long time coming, with plenty of time to grieve and mentally prepare for the end.

Still, he had to. He couldn’t leave them thinking that they weren’t the most important thing in the world to him and that he didn’t love them. Maybe this good cry would have gotten enough out of his system so that he could keep away, for a few minutes at least, the intrusive images of dirty men armed with the leg of a chair or a machete, closing in on his family, and the look of horror and abandonment in his children’s eyes. Maybe he could at least manage to say “I love you.”

He shook his head, wiped the tears from his face, took a few deep breaths, and turned the tablet on.

The communication app was still open. He fiddled around for a minute until he found the call log and tried to return the last call.

Come on, come on!

Nothing was happening. Had he done it right?

He tried to find a way to directly enter a phone number, but no, this was some kind of direct satellite communication. He didn’t know if Bruce wasn’t answering or if the call wasn’t going through.

Shit! Could it be happening now? Radio communication would be the first thing to go.

He opened the door to the MRI suite and hurried out to find the viewing hall. He left the door open so he could hear if Bruce called him back.

Thank goodness, it was almost next door, with only a food station between.

He yanked open the door and looked for the labels on the instruments—there, 193 Angstroms. That was for watching solar activity.

He sat down and put the VR facemask over his eyes.

There was the sun. It was, as always, beautiful and mysterious, like an enormous ocean world but made of fire. It was no wonder early people treated the sun as God. It was surely as close to God as anything in man’s direct experience. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away.

The sun seemed relatively calm. Had it already happened?

He took off the VR set and looked down at the earth again. He could see lights on where it was still night. He relaxed a little. At least the big surge hadn’t happened. Maybe something else was wrong with the communication. Or maybe he was too dumb to figure out how to activate the app.

He put the mask back on and stared at the sun. There was a medium-sized coronal hole in the south that reached all the way to the solar equator, but that wasn’t too unusual. More troubling was an enormous sunspot almost directly facing earth, but it had a strange character, not the usual bipolar structure; this looked more like three sunspots connected together. He watched it intently, knowing it could erupt at any time. That could be enough to blast earth back to the stone age, but it wasn’t the micro-nova he feared and predicted. At least he didn’t think so.

He realized that he might be able to record what happened. Though it seemed unlikely anyone would ever find the record, at least he could put it in written form just in case. Almost certainly nothing on earth would be recoverable when every electronic device and memory was blasted. It was his scientific duty to record it. Besides it would keep his mind off what he couldn’t control. He’d try calling every thirty minutes or so.

Maybe he was off on his prediction, and the big event wouldn’t happen until he was back on earth.

He went back to the MRI suite and grabbed the logbook and a pen. He pulled a Coke out of the refrigerator, plus a carton of Pringles. He popped the tab of the coke can and took a long deep swig, only then noticing how empty his stomach was as he felt the cold liquid hit the bottom.

He sat down, dumped a bunch of the chips on the table, and put the can beside them on his left. He put down the logbook and grabbed the pen in his right hand.

He put a whole chip in his mouth, then put the VR set back on his head.

He stopped chewing. What the hell?

The seas of plasma suddenly had order and form. Both above and below the equator, maybe thirty degrees away, were features that looked like giant hurricanes except with more of a hexagonal structure, and he thought he could see both rotation and counter-rotation in rings within them.

He began blind contour sketching what he was looking at, except just drawing one of the structures positioned on the sun’s surface, and then began furiously writing relevant descriptions of shape, number of objects, position, rotation speed. Anything he could think of.

He felt his pen drop off the bottom of the logbook, so he turned the page, felt for the top left of the book, and continued writing. He hoped it was legible enough. Of course, who knew…if anyone did ever find this record, they might not even know the language. It might be in another five or ten thousand years before civilization recovered.

There were now six hexagonal plasma hurricanes in the north and six in the south. They appeared to be very synchronous and similar. He had no idea what was going on. It was like nothing that had ever been seen on the sun, though he knew that Saturn’s north pole had a similar-looking feature.

It looked like all of the hurricanes had some plasma outflow, but it was hard to know how much energy they were emitting. This wasn’t like a random pop of an ember from a fire. This was more like gas stove-top burners all set at the same temperature. How there could be such order was beyond him.

And then something happened which turned his wonder and curiosity into icy apprehension. A jet black line had appeared on the equator, and it was growing. It was almost like these hurricane structures were gears ratcheting the solar plasma away from the equator to the north and south. It looked like curtains of fire being pulled towards both poles, revealing the dark and cold interior.

Was that another sphere inside? Like a planet?

He realized there were half-chewed chips sitting in his gaping mouth as he watched. He chewed them hastily, moved his left hand slowly around until he found the coke, and took a swig to wash them down.

He scribbled some more, trying to describe this unbelievable transformation of the sun. He wondered what the visible spectrum looked like. What did people on earth see?

It must be sunrise, or nearly so in Hamburg. Were any of his family watching it? He often took the boys down to the lake to watch the sunrise and join him for a short work-out on the park equipment. He hoped they were seeing it. These changes were definitely the stuff of legends. Once every 12000 years or so…not many people would ever witness it. He wished he were there with Carol and the boys—the ache in his heart threatened to make his eyes unable to continue to bear witness to Sol’s transformation.

The dark line was now wide, like a giant blindfold across the sun’s face. He wondered if the technology of the Atlantean civilization had allowed them to see what was happening to the sun.

“Enlarge,” he said, and the VR screen responded and zoomed to greater magnification. He repositioned his head to see a close-up of this equatorial hole.

And then he dropped his pen and stared. He let his brain process...maybe he was interpreting incorrectly. Surely what he was seeing was impossible.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them.

They were still there. Hundreds, or thousands of spaceships emerged from the black void, like bats from under a bridge…and they seemed to be heading directly towards earth.