Novak's Last Theory, Part 8: Markers of Memory

I've spent several days talking with the old man now. He wants to meet at the dome daily, but I'm not going today – I've heard enough from him. I want to see the boy again.

The boy seems to be better at finding me than I am at finding him, so I sit by the storage lockers and wait. Is he my past? Is the old man my future? I'm more inclined to believe that they're manifestations of my sub-conscious. But I can't decide how to interpret them. Latent traits? Conflicting desires? Dissociative personas? I think the old man is right about another thing though: everything is fragmented in the loop. Even me.

The boy finds me sooner than I expected. He leans around the corner and whispers my name, looking very serious. "Nwovock." He motions for me to follow him.

We snake through the corridors, heading in the general direction of the bridge. As we go, the boy seems increasingly troubled. His pace slows, and he drops back next to me, then takes my hand. Presently, we stop. We're standing next to an unremarkable service door. He looks up at me from beneath his matted locks, an expression of sorrow knit across his brow, and points at the door.

As though in a dream, I open it and step through...

...into the warm twilight of a summer evening. The rasping song of cicadas, or something like them, fills the air. I'm standing in the middle of an empty street flanked by houses. Golden light spills from their windows. Where am I? This must be a small village; it's so quiet. I start wandering up the street, looking in windows as I pass. I see people going about their routines. A couple eating dinner. Parents laughing with their small children.

The street curves gently up a low hill, and nearing its top I see a park. I stroll in across the lawn, appreciating the complete serenity of the place. There's some kind of sculpture up ahead. Or a statue, rather, facing the other way. I walk around to the front and stop, stunned.

It's a memorial. To me.

There's a plaque at the base. I manage to scan a few lines: Arik Stokowski Novak... Captain of the UFSS Amaranth... his life to save his passengers and crew... establishing the first settlement on Metari... remain in the hearts of all...

I feel dizzy. This isn't real. It can't be. Suddenly I'm running. I weave through trees and shrubs, plunge through a tall hedge –

– and I'm skidding to a stop in a corridor of the Amaranth. The boy is nowhere to be seen.

What was that? A vision of the future? That's impossible. If the boy is a part of me, he can only show me things I would be capable of knowing myself. So it was a hallucination. Or a possiblity I'm considering sub-consciously.

Or the boy isn't part of me at all.

[Jump to part 9: A Pattern of Threads.]