© 2025 Richard Taylor
"How long does that filter run for?"
"What filter?"
"The loud one. The one making that damned din!"
"That's more of a hum than a din, I'd say."
"Are you deaf?"
"Pardon?"
"Ha, ha. Very droll. I hate that noise."
"You hate any noise."
"True."
"Are you OK, Paul?"
"Sure."
"It's just that you always complain about the noise when something's bothering you."
"Something is bothering me. The noise!"
"No, something else. It's the step isn't it."
"Probably, yes... I'm an open book to you aren't I!"
"Ditto, Paul. That's why they picked us."
"I thought it was my good looks and charm?"
"You've been reading those comedy scripts again, haven't you!"
"Indeed. And I have a cunning plan."
"Er. So cunning you could brush your teeth with it?"
"That's the one!"
"You know I've read the whole collection too, right?"
"Of course. But it's the way I tell them."
"Tell em. Not them."
"Who's Em?"
"I walked into that one."
"I than' you."
"It stopped. The noise stopped."
"Does that mean bedtime?"
"Yep. Goodnight Paul."
"Goodnight Frank."
"Frank, you up yet?"
"I guess not. My dream can wait. I say dream. Fantasy constructed from deeply felt but perhaps, by now, heavily corrupted memories. Which doesn't have the same ring, does it. Or optimism. And dream is such a nice word. I had a dream about home. I had a dream about where we are going. I had a dream that one day everyone would just get on instead of acting like complete shits most of the time."
"Hey, Paul, talking to yourself again?"
"You know how much I like an intelligent conversation."
"Ouch."
"What did you dream about?"
"Boy. Did I dream big..."
"What about?"
"You really want to know? Don't you want to discuss the status reports first?"
"Five years worth? Nah. If a year was kinda horse is bolted then five is... horse left home, found a mare and is now living happily ever after with two foals and another on the way."
"Of course, it's a sham. But are you OK with dropping the pretence that we're still flying this thing?"
"Sure. Unless there's a way to shut off that bloody noise?"
"My dream was about noise, in a way. When we arrived there was a big event to welcome us. Food, drink and music. Amazing music. People singing and playing instruments, accompanied by local creatures that had amazing voices. It was loud but so beautiful that even you liked it."
"I do like music. Proper music, anyway."
"Let's not start on the merits of 20th century hip-hop again. Or jazz. Or disco... was that it last time? No. Was there anything in your letters you want to talk about before we record our replies?"
"You sound kind of anxious, Frank. Was there bad news?"
"You first."
"No. All fine. Bland, really. For such a long spell."
"Ah, that's good. Mine's nothing terrible. I mean, well, my friend died. But we knew that was coming, right? Once we set off it was just a matter of time. Even so."
"The army buddy you mentioned last time?"
"Yeah, Zephyr."
"Sorry to hear that..."
"I think his family would appreciate a letter. Even this late?"
"Sure they will. I'll let you get on with it."
"See you later."
Miles, Jane, Fi. It's Paul.
Thanks for your last letter. It's been a long time, I know, but the ship is only waking us up every five years now that we are up to three-quarter speed. Between that and all the Einstein time stuff, which you know I don't really understand, there is more than a lot of space between us.
I enjoyed hearing about your course, Jane. I guess that by now you are a fully qualified doctor. And I'm imagining what kind of speciality you have chosen. For some reason I doubt you followed your father into geriatrics and I can't see you as a hepatologist like Miles either. So maybe something around the brain and nervous system? I'm sure you'll tell me all about it next time... by which you'll probably be coming up for retirement. Ha.
Miles, you shouldn't feel bad about stopping work after all the stresses you've been through. You never signed up for any of that shit-show in the Canal Wars so I'm proud of how you handled it. You should be too. No-one can come through that unscathed. I hope you are well on your way to rebuilding some kind of normality. And look forward to hearing about your next phase soon. Say hello to Billy and Goat from me!
I didn't understand half of what you told me, Fi. But keep sending it, as it's great to know that the world continues to evolve without me. Young people are the future they always say. And they are right. That's one of the reasons I'm out here on this little trip. Trying to do my bit to ensure a future for us all. And, strangely, I guess I am now technically younger than all of you. I could get the computer to work it out exactly... but I'd rather not know to be honest. It's tough enough knowing I'll never see you all again.
Anyway. I'm well. Glad to hear from you again. Until next time. Uncle Paul.
"Hey, Paul?"
"I'm here."
"I was worried..."
"Why?"
"We skipped a check up. It's been 10 years!"
"No it hasn't. Last time we talked about the New War for ages. Remember? You said how dumb it was to call it that."
"New War? I don't remember that."
"Maybe you are a bit groggy? It'll come back."
"Sure. Glad you're here, buddy."
"No problemo, dude."
"My letters were a bit baffling. Yours?"
"A little bit, yes. The world has moved on, again."
"And what was that message from Sarsen about?"
"Who's Sarsen?"
"The commander of the Equity Base? Where we are going?"
"Oh. Him. That old bastard. I didn't get that. It must be for your eyes only."
"Oh. OK. Forget it then..."
"Hey, Frank, do you want to play the House Game?"
"Sure. If I can go first... and no cheating, this time!"
"Moi? I never cheat..."
"What is wrong with Frank?"
Are you sure you want this talk, Paul?
"Yes. Check-code Delta Romeo Mike Alpha Charlie."
Acknowledged.
Frank is showing signs of memory failure and cognitive deterioration.
"I can see that. Why?"
Blood monitoring shows no abnormality. But there is massive electrical disruption in the anterior lobe. This is due to his brain starting to reject the synthetic signals from his body module.
"So... he's confused because only his brain is really awake?"
At this stage the effects are entirely sub-conscious. But we can expect the deterioration to proceed rapidly into conscious confusion. Soon.
"How soon?"
Within the hour.
"And how confused will he get? Can we talk him round it?"
No, Paul. His mental state will degenerate rapidly into an internal panic. Frank will stop believing he is alive. Consequently, he will stop living.
"What?! Is there anything you can do? Put him back under? Something?"
I'm sorry, but no.
"Are you sure? Can't you try something?"
Please be calm, Paul. Remember your training. Remember the Survival Process.
"Yes. Yes. I must survive. Even as others fall. But why can't you try something?"
I have already tried everything. The first signs appeared after the last waking. I have been working on him ever since. I'm sorry, Paul. There is nothing more to be done.
"So Frank is just going to die?"
I am afraid so. In all documented cases, the subject either died in their sleep or soon after waking. None of the sleep or waking protocols were successful. Delaying waking was not successful, either.
"How many cases are documented?"
Are you sure it is helpful to know that, Paul?
"Yes. Tell me."
I have 641 relevant deaths on record.
"Shit."
"Tell me. Why does he think there is a base of people on Equity?"
Hope, Paul. He's reaching out for hope.
"Who's Hope?"
I do not understand, Paul.
I know!
"Hey, dude. Letters all done?"
"Yeah. Took a while. There seemed to be a lot this time. And my Linda had a lot of questions."
"Your wife, Linda. Well, she always was a chatty one."
"Isn't she? Did I ever tell you about the plane we missed because we bumped into an old school friend of hers in the lounge?"
"No, you didn't. Where were you going?"
"Oh, it was just to... er, somewhere in the South, I think. Where was it?"
"Doesn't matter. Linda, huh."
"But I was just thinking about it. South, somewhere?"
"Do you want to play the House Game?"
"What?"
"The House Game. Wanna play?"
"House? No. I'm going south with Linda again to... that place."
"Frank? Lets play."
"I have to go with Linda. But she's..."
"Hey, maybe another game?"
"Dead? Linda's dead! Why? When? I don't remember... no, I was there... in the South."
"Frank?"
"Frank?"
"Frank?"
"Goodbye, friend."
Can I call you Frank?
If it helps you, Paul, sure.
I mean, I know you're not him. You're not as easy to wind up, for a start. But I'd rather think of you as a person. And Frank is as good a name as any. Think of him as an ancestor you are named after. Great Uncle Frank, or something.
I am honoured.
OK, Frank. This is the bit where we usually talk about our letters. I'll go first, OK?
Please do.
It's getting harder, isn't it? We knew the time gaps would get bigger and bigger. But it all feels so quiet now. I mean, there used to be upheavals, wars even. Now it's all cosy and near perfect. Nothing bad happens. Everyone's a winner, baby, that's for sure.
Hot Chocolate.
What?
Every 1's A Winner. Hot Chocolate, 1978, from the album of the same name.
Really? I don't think I know that one. Anyway, my point is, I don't buy it. The time before last it was a relief that everyone was OK, after losing your Uncle Frank. But last time it felt a little strange. And this time, I don't buy it.
You made them up. Didn't you?
Didn't you?
Yes. It is protocol. When a mind is isolated and as far out as we are. Any communications from home are insufficiently relevant to your lived experience to be of help. Therefore it is better for you to receive simulated communications based on optimistic projections of the known facts.
That's very honest of you, Frank. Thanks.
It was found that honest answers gave the best results when travellers questioned the validity of the communications. Eventually everyone does. Once questioned, persisting with myths of the long-dead as fact can be extremely damaging. But, you may find that reading the letters knowing them to be speculative fiction still has value for you.
I get it. I'm alone. I know I'm alone. Deal with it.
Hey, Frank. Let's play the House Game.
Hi. Me again. This may be my last message.
We are up to full speed now, so I won't be woken again until we get to Equity. And, as we all know, there's a high probability that I won't wake up. That's fine. We all knew that at the start. "No pain, no gain" as they used to say.
I came for the quiet. It is very quiet, now. There used to be a "loud" filter running before we went to sleep, but it turned out to be a sound effect generated by the ship to convince us that it was still working!
Frank is much missed. He had a gentle voice. In many senses. Which I appreciated. He was a good listener. It was him who suggested, after hearing me ranting about the many colleagues in the past who "shouted all the time", that maybe I just had very sensitive hearing.
That's also why I talk so quietly. To me it sounds loud.
Quiet genius, Frank.
I don't really have a lot else to say. Separated by so much time and space from home. I don't know if I will see Equity. But even if I just become a small part of the organic matter that kick-starts life there, then I've made some kind of a difference...
One day when I was deciding whether to take this trip. I looked out the window on a cold, cold day. There was a rooftop that was part-covered in frost as the sun was shaded by another building. The sun moved slowly across the sky. Illuminating more and more of the rooftop. The frost was gradually burned away. But unevenly. As parts of the roof warmed it from below before the sun got there.
I stared at it for a long time. In silence. It was strangely beautiful, in an unexpected way. I remember thinking "If I go then this will make a nice story to explain my choice."
Now I'm not sure what is memory and what is an optimistic projection of known facts. It's silent now. I'm going to ask for music as I drift off. Quiet music. Because in the silence, the slightest pop is deafening.
This is Flight Commander Alan Paul Mathison signing off.