The Test

Foreword

Space is a dangerous place. The fleet is the hammer that strikes into the darkness to enforce order in chaos. There is much glory to be found, but there is also much death, especially among those who bear the brunt of the assault.  On the world of Prime, the fate of both local Primers and Luners, surviving refugees from the moon, is determined by the outcome of a single terrifying test. Marek, a Luner, is on the verge of undergoing his.

Part 1

Marek and the others followed the female Sergeant down a series of long hallways honeycombed with numbered doors, each adorned by a single solid red light above the handle. The sound of their footfalls dominated the otherwise silent corridors. The Sergeant came to an abrupt halt in front of two adjacent doors, marked by blinking green lights. She directed the Luner in the red jacket to her left, and Marek to her right with mechanical jabs of her finger. "Step inside. Your test will begin shortly."

Marek stole a glance at Lewis and Linden. Lewis winked and Linden mouthed good luck. Room 73. He reached for the door knob, and it twisted open with a soft click. As he pressed the door open, darkness spilled out. The room was black, but for a soft square of dim light at the far end of the room. If there was an end... It was too dark to see the walls. He stepped inside, and released the door, which crept shut, leaving him in pervasive darkness.

Marek stood in silence, squinting at the faint window of light. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to discern the outline of an object between him and the light source. A hemisphere or a bowl appeared to be suspended in mid-air, upside down, close to the light. Marek inched forward, holding his hands in front of him. The bowl was held by a thin wire, which extended upwards towards the ceiling. He noted a large rectangular object at ground level, just below the box of light. The light was familiar. It seemed to be a computer screen embedded in a console. His eyes were drawn to the screen. It was blank, but for a small black symbol in the lower right hand corner.

He continued shuffling towards the screen, his attention focused on the symbol. Was it just a rectangle? But no, not a rectangle. He drew closer, placing his hand on the large object opposite the console and squinting at the symbol. Recognition registered on his faintly illuminated features. He muttered to himself, "An eye?"

It blinked. And then everything went white.

Light burst from the console. Marek threw his hands up to cover his eyes, which were unable to squeeze out the intense light. He was blind. But only for a moment. The light ebbed away, leaving his eyes throbbing in a pool of darkness once more. He opened his eyes a sliver and stretched his fingers apart. The screen had reduced to a warm glow, but instead of a symbol, featured a single word: Sit.

He lowered his gaze, keeping his hands in front of his eyes in case of another burst of light. The object he'd noted was in fact rectangular, extending from the ground up to his waist. It was hardly a place to sit. He lowered one of his hands, bringing it to rest on the object. It was warm. And he could feel a low hum in his finger tips. The hum became a throb. And a sound like a howling wind leaped into the room. Marek pressed his hand to his face, tightly closing his eyes in anticipation. Yet it remained dark. He opened his eyes and shifted his fingers. The message on the console still read the same. But the rectangle had split, revealing a padded seat.

Marek inched his way around to the front of the retracted chair and lowered himself down into it, keeping his eyes partially closed. As he sat, Marek noted a subtle shift in the light. The message had changed: Put on the helmet.

He looked up. A helmet? But for what purpose would he possibly need it? The helmet stared down at him from directly above; its concave interior was covered in circles of reflected light surrounding its apex, hidden in shadow. He rose in his seat and grabbed hold of its sides. It was smooth and cool to the touch. Something about the helmet filled him with foreboding. But he had little choice. The test was his future. Marek pulled down gently. It refused to move. Marek exhaled deeply. You'd think putting on a helmet would be easier. He braced himself and gave a sharp pull before releasing it. The helmet began to slide downwards - and then stopped. Marek grunted in frustration. He grabbed hold of the helmet once more and yanked it roughly, sustaining his efforts. It's like dragging a body. He exhaled. Why did I think of that? Selawa, it's been a rough day. After a moment of effort, the helmet came to rest on his head, loosely covering his forehead and his ears.

The room burst with light once more. Marek threw his hands to his eyes. A whirring noise sounded in his ears. And there was sudden pressure on his forehead - but not just his forehead. The whole top of his head was being squeezed, along with his ears, and his chin. He reached one hand out to grab hold of the helmet, except that it was changed. It was bigger. It was around his neck. He clawed at the edges, trying to find a way to relieve the pressure. He felt dizzy. And then sick. And then... nothing. The pressure was gone, replaced with a warm feeling where the helmet touched his skin. The light dimmed. And he opened his eyes.

The console screen had changed once more. It now displayed a single image: a basket of Sanger fruit, the skin of each ranging from a ripe orange color to a freshly fallen sour black. What kind of test is this? He explored the helmet with his hands. It was seamless. There wasn't much he could do but play along. Marek reached out and poked the screen with his finger. And in the place of the one basket, there were now three. He muttered to himself. "This is how our futures in the fleet are decided?" Marek sighed. He examined the images. They were all similar, but only one of the three had the same arrangement of fruits as the first he'd been shown. He pressed his finger to it.

The fruit disappeared and was replaced with a cityscape. It was foreign to him. The stars were different. And the skyline was wrong. The architecture was different. The buildings on Prime were more stunted, more blunt. There were dozens of buildings. They were tall, elongated spirals and horns, each different from the next. Marek examined the image for a moment before pressing the screen once more. This time the one image was replaced with ten.

Ten buildings were before him, all variations of the spiral and horn shapes in the previous image. He inspected each in turn. That one was too tall. That other twisted too sharply. Some others lacked the right markings. Marek selected his choice and was rewarded with a new image: a portrait.

 

He was middle-aged, perhaps 20 cycles in age, and clearly from Prime.  His hair was cropped short, black and curly. His eyes were brown and narrow, hugging close to his snub nose. Most distinctive was his mouth, which curled into a cruel sneer. Confident in his observations, Marek touched the screen. But instead of a group of portraits, he was presented with a busy square, filled with hundreds of people. It resembled Pahalial Square, but lacked the distinctive leviathan monument. Most shocking of all, they were all wearing masks over their mouths and noses. Marek rubbed his forehead. It wasn't so easy after all. He closed his eyes, and pictured the previous image: the lines on the forehead, the creases below the eyes, the arrangement of the curls. The Primer clearly in his mind, he returned to the challenge before him. After poring over the image, he narrowed it down to two. The problem was that neither matched exactly. One seemed right, but was looking in a different direction. And there was something subtle about the shape of the eyes of the other that seemed wrong. Well, it's only my future... He shook his head, and touched his finger to the Primer facing the wrong way.

The screen went black. And with it, the room was enveloped in darkness.

Had he chosen the wrong one? Marek reached for the helmet. It was still locked in place. What now? He spoke out into the darkness, "Hello?" There was no answer. However, his eyes detected needles of light. He looked towards the computer screen. It was still black. Is it even still there? He couldn't be sure. But the wall and what he could see of the ceiling and the floor were covered with pinpoints of light. He was sitting in the middle of space, surrounded by stars. If he hadn't walked into the room, he would not be certain that there had been walls or a floor.

Marek pressed his head against the helmet, hoping to see the wall to his side and was surprised to find that the chair he was sitting in moved with him. He leaned his head back, and was pivoted around to look at the expanse of stars depicted on the ceiling. Some stars were bright and some stars were distant, shining dimly in the background. He pressed his head to the left, spinning the chair around the room. There were literally thousands of stars. And there was no sign of the door that he came in from. If not for the effect of gravity holding him in the chair, he would have no idea of what was up and what was down.

As he spun around the room, examining the canvas of stars, the console screen caught his attention. It was lit once more and covered with small stars, both dim and bright. In the bottom right corner was a depiction of the chair he was sitting in, spinning slowly around, periodically pausing. And as it spun, the stars in the center of the screen moved with it. He watched the stars intently as the animated chair underwent two full rotations. They didn't seem to match what he'd seen. He rounded the room once more. They definitely don't match.

The image continued its circuit while Marek sat and stared, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. This was not the test he had been expecting. He reached forward and pressed the screen. A cluster of thousands of stars materialized, shown in a 3-dimensional perspective. Ten horizontal planes sliced through the cluster, of which one was much brighter than the others. As Marek touched it, a 2-dimensional star map appeared to the right of the cluster, divided into a 10 by 10 matrix of sectors. As was the case for the plane he'd chosen, the upper left region was highlighted. He pressed it. This time, however, nothing happened. Marek lifted his eyes to examine the room, but nothing appeared to have changed there either. However, when he returned his gaze to the screen, the eye symbol had returned.

It blinked. Marek shuddered. It was a stupid reaction. It was only a simple cartoon of an eye. But the blinking was... unnerving. He rubbed his eyes. At least it hadn't blinded him this time. Focus, Marek. You can get through this. Marek pressed his finger to an adjacent sector and his universe was doused in night. The console and the stars in the room winked out, only to be reborn a moment later. But something felt different. Marek pivoted the chair around the room. The stars appeared similar, but the placing was... off.

As he examined the room, he noted that most star arrangements were familiar. Some stars were brighter, others were dimmer, and some seemed entirely unchanged. Only a small fraction was completely out of place. Nonetheless, very little of the starscape resembled the image the console had shown him. Marek groaned. Am I supposed to check each sector one by one? There are literally a thousand of them! What does this have to do with flying a starship, anyway? He sighed. Focus.

Marek selected a sector on the opposite side of the grid. Again, the universe blinked in and out of existence. He examined the stars. This was not the right sector either. But he noticed a pattern. Stars that were bright in the previous sector were all dim or out of place. Thus, bright stars were within the same plane he was examining. This probably should have been obvious, he thought. Where is Linden when I need him? He also noted that certain arrangements of the dimmest stars were the same in all of the sectors he had seen so far. These were clearly in different planes.

Marek closed his eyes and reviewed the images he'd seen on the console. He had always had a good memory for pictures. It certainly hadn't helped him outside ARC, but it was essential now. He noted a number of the dimmest star clusters and proceeded to search the existing sector for them. They were either much brighter or even absent, both in this sector and the adjacent sectors. It was the wrong plane.

He touched his finger to different planes in series, repeating the process of examining star brightness, ultimately deciding on one that fit his memory. From there it was easy. Marek flitted between the various sectors, relying on his memory to identify the correct one. After a cycle round the room, he was convinced. Finally. He tapped his finger on the correct sector once more. There was no place to submit an answer. But nothing happened. He rubbed his forehead. He was exhausted. He tapped the symbol of the eye, causing it to blink. It was disturbing, but otherwise ineffective. "It's this one," he muttered. Marek raised his voice, "Can anyone hear me? It's this one!" His words were met with silence. He closed his eyes, and laid his head back, causing the chair to turn him away from the console and towards the ceiling. This is right. What is the problem with this pl-

His thoughts were interrupted by a booming voice, which rumbled through the room like thunder. "HELLO MAREK!"

Marek jumped in place, his head coming forward and jerking the chair back into the upright position. His breath caught in his throat. Marek spun the chair around, expecting to find the source of the voice. But there was no one. "Hello", he whispered.

There was a quiet whirring noise. But it isn't just a noise, is it? Marek strained forward, struggling to resolve what he was hearing.

"...visual memory is exceptional. The best I have watched in cycles." the disembodied voice buzzed. And the voice changed again, becoming louder, but gentle and feminine, "Tell me Marek, who were your instructors at ARC?"

He turned in his seat, spying a gap in the wall, a strange absence of stars. Was there someone there? He squinted at the space. Was it moving? As he looked, he recited names. "Janelle Frelen, Weapon systems. Delan Vertel, Mechanics. Gareth Boyle, Aeronaut-"

The voice leaped at him from his right, "Yes. Very good memory." But it was no longer one voice, instead similar to three voices combined, sharp and disharmonious. He twisted his seat around, but found no one. "This one is much clearer." The voice was coming from directly in front of him, and yet he saw no one. As he listened, it jumped again, speaking in a familiar raspy voice from behind him. "Much better than the others". Marek spun his chair around, expecting to see shadows, but was confronted with a man in League uniform. His deeply lined face was dominated by sharp and beady eyes peering out from behind a prominent brow, a short upturned nose, and a mouth that appeared far too large for his body. He recognized him immediately. It was Gareth Boyle: Gargoyle.

"C-Commander? Commander Boyle?" Marek stammered. Even though the room was illuminated by no more than starlight, Boyle was clearly visible. He seemed almost to radiate light.

Boyle spoke into his hands. "Excellent. I'm glad to see that this..." He paused, examining his outstretched fingers, "is consistent."

Gareth Boyle's eyes traced the single red line that marked both his rank and the left sleeve of his grey League jacket. His uniform was as immaculately maintained as Marek remembered from training. Despite an active position instructing recruits in basic maneuvers within the lower atmosphere, his clothing was always suspicious pressed. The only wrinkles one ever discovered on Gargoyle, as he was affectionately known, were located on his face.

Gargoyle turned his beady eyes upon Marek, a smirk creeping across his ashen pallor. His unnaturally large mouth gave him an even more ghastly appearance, as if he was poised to devour a side of his own face.

"I usually have to go through many rounds of refinements..." Gargoyle revolved his smirk up and to the left, away from Marek, keeping one of his narrowed eyes focused on him, "to achieve this level of clarity". Gargoyle pressed his hand against his neck, and a popping noise resounded through the silent room. He turned his face back upon Marek, the smirk replaced with a frown. "The others... The vapid fools can't even see their own hands while looking directly at them."

 

Marek stared silently at Gargoyle. Something about the man seemed... wrong. He seems too young. Gargoyle grinned, his mouth a grave of teeth, as white as polished bone. Marek blinked. Why were they so bright? A flush of warmth suffused Marek's face. His eyes drifted back across Gargoyle. Something was different. More dull. And was it his imagination or did the man seem older? Was there grey in his hair before?

"Well, no memory is perfect. But it is refreshing to create something so..." Gargoyle brushed a colony of lint off of his collar, "lifelike." As Marek stared, Gargoyle seemed to darken. Could he see stars in his face? Gargoyle's smile dissolved. "Well, within the limitations of technology."

Marek puzzled. Was this an electronic transmission? It would explain why he hadn't noticed anyone else in the room with him. Marek struggled to frame a question. "Commander...?"

"Gargoyle? Isn't that your name for me?" Gargoyle leaped into a snarl, baring his teeth, and burying his eyes in lines of clenched muscle. He threw his hands up into the air, penting his hands into claws, and a low growl escaped his lips.

Marek jumped in place, the helmet and chair restraining him. And Gargoyle vanished. Marek paused to take a deep breath. Just a transmission, he told himself. He stiffened, pressing his back into the chair. "N-no," he stumbled, his voice growing in power. "No sir! Or course not, sir!"

A low whine grew in intensity behind him, began to warble, and exploded into a sound of cackling laughter, which died into a hiss of static. Gargoyle's voice, singed with a crackle, emerged from the ashes. "Haven't you figured it out yet?" Gareth Boyle, dressed in a ceremonial blue suit reserved for affairs of state, emerged before him. He ran his hand, now enclosed in an iridescent white skin, down the line of his sleeve, his eyes rapt upon the shifting ripples of blue light dancing across his glove. The sharp black beads of his eyes pierced Marek, a large frown overwhelming his face. "No, of course not. Your memory may be strong, but the rest of your mind..." Gargoyle rolled his eyes.

"I'm an A.I." He paused, examining Marek. But all Marek could do was blink. Gargoyle opened his mouth as if to swallow him, before choking on a laugh, his teeth jarring up and down, mauling the air. He closed his mouth with a whine and a cough. Gargoyle grinned and tilted his head to regard Marek with a single eye. "Artificial intelligence," he continued. He held up a hand to his face, shifting it back and forth in the light of the stars, causing blue waves to rise and fall across its surface. "Though there is nothing artificial about it."

An A.I.? So that's what this is... Marek sat in silence, his eyes drifting back into his head. No one ever said anything about-

Gargoyle's voice cut through his thoughts. "Ah, you've heard of my kind." Marek looked out again, meeting the projected eyes of his former instructor. "You saw my symbol when you came in." Gargoyle, or whoever he - or it was - gestured to the console. Marek followed the line of his hand to the screen. The center of the display was filled with a single word, Eye, and in the bottom right corner sat the symbol, blinking. Gargoyle's voice emerged from the console, seemingly from the symbol itself. "You can call me Eye," it said.

Gargoyle's voice returned to his projection. "Or Gargoyle. I realize that this is hard for your... types." Gargoyle lowered his head, shaking it back and forth. He stopped in mid-motion and turned his head up, narrowing his eyes, a smirk eating into his face. "In fact, you can call me whatever you like." He disappeared.

And in his place, immediately in front of Marek, appeared a woman. She was tall, with long auburn hair, and a flowing translucent white silk gown hugging close to the curves of her hourglass figure. Her large green eyes matched her painted forest green lips and the verdant crescent tattoo on her forehead that marked her lunar origin. Marek had seen her in the one of the holovid broadcasts; it was some minor role, but it was unusual enough to see a Luner onscreen that Marek had noted her. She placed her hand on his thigh, a smoldering look in her eyes and the faint hint of a smile on her lips. A pulse of warmth entered his leg. He felt himself shift. She spoke, but her voice was a rasp. It was wrong. "As long as you call me". It was Gargoyle's voice. She - he - it winked, and then disappeared. Marek shuddered. Get through it, Marek. You can do it.

Gargoyle re-appeared immediately in front of him, still attired in his blue formal uniform with the white gloves. A grin crawled across his face. "I don't suppose you would have seen the likes of me before."

Marek shook his head. Definitely nothing like you.A bead of sweat shifted, and ran down his forehead. The room was getting very warm.