Become as gods

Ford was reluctant to make the first contact. The possibility of the ship attacking the Hail Mary was too risky. However, after days of agonisingly waiting and pacing, he concluded that whoever was on that ship had no plans of making contact. It would’ve been useless if he kept on waiting. This… blip was getting in the way of his valuable research time. He’d dealt with various anomalies in the past; he could surely deal with this one. So, grabbing hold of the ship’s signal lamp, he was ready to make contact with the unknown.

“ G R E E T I N G S ” Ford’s signal lamp produced a few pulses of light. He had a few second thoughts about using Morse code to communicate. Some part of him wasn’t certain if he was communicating with another human. The exterior of the Hyperion ship consisted of familiar, man-made components, but the chances of an extraterrestrial lifeform taking over a seemingly “human-made” ship were still at hand.

He hoped for a response, anything that told him there was something or someone on that ship. However, it gave no reply after long, grueling minutes of waiting.

With that, he tried again.

“ N A S A / E A R T H / I D E N T I F Y / S E L F ” Still nothing.

This cycle would repeat for days. At any time, Ford would wake up, he’d signal a message and wait for as long as he could.

“ N A S A ”

“ H U M A N ”

“ S A F E ”

“ E A R T H ”

“ A L L Y ”

“ C O M R A D E ”

“ G R E E T I N G S ” 

Ford began transmitting random keywords as his impatience grew. Finally, he was fed up with it, cursing himself for wasting time. Days spent on attempting to communicate with this anomaly. For all he knew, it was probably abandoned, considering how ill-kept it was. Or, maybe it was another phenomenon connected to Bertrand Russell’s theory of Logical Atomism involving a teapot; any object unknowingly sent to space could have gathered to form one big monstrosity of a ship. He rubbed his forehead, ready to give up entirely. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move.

He whipped his head back to the porthole. Something was emerging from the Hyperion ship. It extended a janky thin rectangle. A tray? It opened up, akin to a flower blooming. A circular camera? The petal-like lens around it would reveal a bright light. Ford’s eyes widened, the realisation coming to him.

It was another Aldis Lamp.

He sat back down, his eyes glued to the outside. The bright light illuminated the pitch-black space, becoming brighter than the stars surrounding it. There, a signal was produced.

“ H E L L O ”

A wide grin formed on his face. The fruits of his labour had finally come to grace him. However, his satisfaction was cut short, and a sense of annoyance began to build. What took them so long? Is that all that they had to say? Eager to find more information, Ford held the signal lamp again.

“ LID / R E S P O N S E / T I M E / L O N G / Y ”

“ Y / S O / L A T E / R E S P O N S E ”

“ R E P L Y / F A S T E R ”

“ W H O / R / U ”

“ H U M A N / ? ”

“ N A S A / S E N T / U / ? ”

After flooding the ship with transmissions of endless questions and complaints, another long silence followed. Before his frustration was able to grow again, Ford received one simple reply:

“B R I N G / S H I P / C L O S E R / U”

With a furrowed brow, he read the message. An irritated sigh left his mouth as he got up. He strode through the ship, passing by the system corridor and his “Don’t Go Crazy Room” filled with virtual reality monitors. He made his way towards the control room. Begrudgingly, he steered the Hail Mary closer to the Hyperion. The distance between them was smaller than before, allowing a sense of uneasiness to seep into his consciousness.

Nothing happened for a while, the view of the Hyperion prodding at Ford’s impatience once more. He continued to ponder if listening to some stranger’s instructions was worth the hassle. Could they even be trusted? Were they even human in the first place? Had he obeyed a celestial lifeform and shown it human obedience, signifying that he was ready to surrender?

What if they attack his ship? What if they blow the Hail Mary to smithereens? All of his hard work would be gone in seconds. Ford marched down the hallway to the control room. Maybe it wasn’t too late. He could still move the ship away. Far enough to be safe. He reached for the lever, before stumbling backwards. The Hail Mary shook. Ford staggered to his feet. He tried his best to hold onto anything he could as he made his way back to the porthole. With each step, he nearly plummeted to the floor. He crawled, all while listening to distant objects fall and clatter onto the floor in disarray. He returned to his communication spot, a tight grip on the borders of the porthole. Outside, Ford was greeted by a myriad of rustic mechanical gears stacked on top of one another, extending towards the ship. They kept multiplying, seemingly out of nowhere. There were devices and appliances he could barely recognise before parts of them were taken apart. 

Before he was able to process it, the Hyperion had created a bridge connecting to the Hail Mary. 

Amidst the mess of mechanical paraphernalia, Ford could see a figure climbing. The figure wore a spacesuit. A pang of relief washed over him. It was an astronaut. Another human. Despite that, he still couldn’t shake the impending feeling of danger. They could still attack him. Maybe take over the ship, steal his research.

Ford grabs his gun. The cold feeling of the firearm settling in his palm. If what he remembered was correct, the figure didn’t seem to carry anything in particular when they were climbing. It lessened the possibility of a heavy attack, but they could still be carrying a smaller, more potent weapon. It was still unknown whether they came with friendly intentions or not.

Then, there was a knock on his airlock.

Ford loaded his gun. He made his way towards the airlock. Hesitantly, he toggles the controls to open the outer door. With heavy footsteps, the figure walks inside. Ford closes the outer hatch. The airlock gets filled with breathable air, and the figure noticeably observes their surroundings, breathing heavily. The safety process ends, allowing them to see each other much more clearly. Ford points the gun at the hatch. He signals them to take off the suit. And with no other choice, the figure obliges.

The stable pressure that was secured in the suit is now lost as the helmet comes off with a clean, heavy click. Ford lowers his gun, and you breathe a clean waff of air. Your hair is dishevelled, but you waste no time in taking off the rest of the spacesuit. It felt like a weight off your shoulders once the weighty suit was off. Now in your underarmour, Ford lowered his gun. You look back at him. He was studying you– almost as if he couldn’t believe you were human. You took a step closer, giving a small wave. It’s enough to break him out of his stance; then he goes off to toggle the inner hatch to open. His gaze never leaves you. It nearly creeps you out. The hatch opens, and you’re finally face to face. 

For the first few seconds, neither of you talks, but after a while, Ford clears his throat.

“You’re.. Human.” He steps back, letting you enter further.

“So are you.” The neat interior of the Hail Mary graces your eyes. It’s a pleasant change of view from your ship. You take a few more steps, leaving oil traces while taking in the new scenery after so long. The air is cleaner too. The stench of smoke and petrol long gone.

Ford watches you admire the ship. His gun lowered at his side. “My apologies, it seems they failed to inform me that they would send another ship up in space.” You turn back to him, “By they… You mean–”

“NASA.” He cuts you off, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge. “Yes. I fear I had no choice. Or rather, they had no choice.” He chuckles to himself, collecting your space helmet from the airlock, his eyes searching for a logo. “You see, NASA concluded that I’m one of the few capable of–” “Sorry, but what’s NASA?” 

Ford lifts his gaze, staring at you. The awkward silence leaves your question hanging. The man in front of you nearly lags, but he regains his composure.

“Who sent you to space?” He asks.

“Hyperion.” Your answer left him even more befuddled. At least the name on your ship makes sense now. He places your helmet on a counter. With a delay in his steps, he began walking in front of you.

“Come along; it seems like we have much to discuss.”

You follow him into his laboratory. His ego boosts ever so slightly once he sees the fascination in your eyes while you look around the room. It’s filled with equipment you’ve never seen before. Maybe you had, but they seem so different it’s nearly impossible to compare. You gaze at the multitude of lab apparatuses, too nervous to fiddle with any of them. The whiteboards are filled with equations and symbols you’ve never seen before. The extreme organisation of this room makes you scoff a bit; every container is labelled in alphabetical and numerical order, with additional notes written on each of them. Your eyes land on the items on the floor. Those may have been the result of the bridge’s construction. “Your ship is… nice.” You pick up one of the items on the floor, placing it on a counter.

“Why, thank you.” Ford replies, “Erh, what’s your ship like?”

You take a seat on a stool. “Definitely different from this.” You swing your legs a bit, staring at the monitors. “They say that Hyperion’s number one in ensuring that their products meet high-quality expectations, but this ship alone is so much better.”

You turn to Ford, “How much did you pay for this one?” 

For a while, he’s confused, unsure of how to reply. “Ah, well– I didn’t exactly pay in terms of currency. You could say it’s a full ride from NASA. To, you know, send me to space.” Now, a puzzled expression also forms on your face. He seems to catch up on this. “None of that now. It doesn’t really matter.” He takes a seat opposite you. “What’s this Hyperion you speak of? Is it some sort of secret rival organisation on Earth, perhaps?”

“Earth? Like the planet?” You tilt your head.

“Yes? Don’t you come from there? Seeing as you’re… human?” He raises a brow at you.

“No, I’m assuming you’re from Earth, but I’m from Pandora.” That unusual sentence earns a small “ahuh…” from Ford. And with that, a stiff silence forms between you two again. Both of you glance around for a moment. “Looks like we’ve got a lot to catch up on.” “It seems like it.” He chuckles. ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

The squeaky whiteboard marker leaves a trail of ink, following each sway of your wrist. “And then, there’s something called Vault Hunters–” You turn back to Ford. He’s listening attentively with a clipboard resting on his lap and a ballpoint pen between his fingers. “Their goal is to take the treasure from the alien vaults.” He nods in acknowledgement, “Were you one of them? Have you ever found a vault yourself?”

“Uh, no.” You point at the planet with an H-shape protruding out of it. “I don’t really do all of that as an office worker here.”

“I don’t believe it. Getting sent to outer space is a big responsibility and a heavy burden, especially upon a simple office worker such as yourself.” Ford taps the pen on his chin, presumably thinking out loud. “I’m not that simple. I was employee of the month in my department,” You retort. “Plus, I told you, getting sent to outer space isn’t a big deal where I come from.”

You stood further away from the whiteboard, observing all that you’ve explained so far. It proved difficult to explain your everyday facts to a man who’s never known them before. Getting fired from Hyperion, having to live on the streets of Pandora, and impulsively sending yourself off to space were all pretty embarrassing to explain to a guy with twelve PhDs. Turns out, in the past six hours you’ve spent exchanging information with one another, you’ve learnt that this guy is a pretty big deal on Earth. Stanford Pines– or Ford, the paranormal investigator, scientist, microbiologist, and now astronaut. He was sent here by NASA to investigate a hyperthermophilic single-celled organism called Astrophage. Half of the time, he went off about his compelling mission, where he needed to save the Earth from the sun dying out. So yeah, pretty big deal. Compared to you, this man would’ve probably died a heroic and noble death, while you remained forgotten in space. No family back home wondering how you’re doing, no friends missing your company, and no coworkers noticing your absence. These kinds of thoughts lingered in your mind while you regretted your time on that Hyperion ship. You could spend the rest of your life alone in space, rather than spend it alone on that barren, forsaken, corrupt Pandora. With no light but the stars and the occasional flickering of your ship’s fluorescent bulbs, would you have been content? Hugging your knees up to your chest, your back against the creaking metal, would you have been ready to live out the rest of your desolate years? Reminiscing about your days in the office, you’d soon realise that, despite your devoted contributions to the company, you were still disposable. On Pandora, you were nothing but a mere hassle. You’d try to get by, to get back up on your feet again, and everyone there would turn a blind eye– too busy to care about anyone else but themselves. If it didn’t benefit them in any way, you were on your own. Sympathy got you nowhere; no sympathy was even worse. There was no one else there for you, not even yourself. During the rough days, even you weren’t there to console yourself in your sorrows. Dissociation brought you temporary comfort. Then, you’d snap back to reality. On Helios, you were alone. On Pandora, you were alone. Everywhere you went, even in space, you were alone. But maybe, not here.

Looking back up at the man scribbling something on the whiteboard, you notice that he’s been mumbling to himself this whole time. He isn’t that much of a stranger anymore. Nevertheless, the uneasiness still lurks in the back of your mind. To think that after this, you’d depart. You’d be devoid of any human connection once more. The imminent dread looms over you. As if taking notice of this, Ford calls out to you. You’re back at the ship’s laboratory, looking up at the scientist with weary eyes.

“Now, there’s no need to get confused. I know this is all a lot to take in.” His chuckle would slowly dwindle as he saw your eyes drop to the floor, despite his prideful remark. “Are you alright?” He’d sit down on the stool in front of you, his concerned eyes boring into your figure.

You breathe in. Your eyes lock for a brief moment. The longer you stay with this man, the more tempted you are to know more about him. To connect more with him, to build something with another human. The longer you’re here, the harder the temptation is to stay. Taking the initiative to leave will hurt less than his escorting you back out there. Back in your rustic space vehicle. In that stinking, crappy, lonesome Hyperion spacecraft. “I’d better get back to my ship.”

You get up, marching down the hallway. Your head swings left to right, trying to figure out which way the airlock is located. Your gaze drops to the ground. Imprints of your inky footsteps stain the Hail Mary’s floor. You waste no more time following them. You didn’t need anymore signs.

“Hold on–” You hear Ford call out to you. Disregarding it, you rush down the corridor. Too much in a hurry to gawk at the VR room. Spots of light pass by you in a blur. Your heart rate spikes, and the sounds of the aircraft humming become increasingly louder. You arrive at the inner hatch. All the buttons, levers, and switches are unfamiliar. Your eyes scan them to try and decipher which one opens the inner hatch. In a fit of desperation, you flip a few switches and slam your fist onto a button. Miraculously, it opens. You stumble into the airlock, nearly tripping as you hurriedly put your space suit back on. Zipping yourself back on and tightening the belts enough to stop blood flow, you’re ready to step back into the empty void. To step out of the Hail Mary. To go back, and forget all of this ever happened, in hopes of easing your loneliness back in that Hyperion ship. Before reaching for the set of controls again, you feel the lack of pressure surrounding your head. You bring your hand up to your face, to your ear, then to your neck. Dumbfounded, you drop your hand entirely.

Your helmet is missing.

“We’re not finished yet,” Ford says behind you. You turn around. The red space accessory stares back at you. You can’t help but look up at the man holding it. “Did I say something that might have offended you? What caused you to leave in such a panic?” Ford steps inside the airlock with you. You swallow thickly, “I’d rather not get in the way of your mission to save Earth. You need to make your way to the, uh, Petrova line. Right?” You stammer out, reaching for the spacesuit helmet. Ford tucks it under his forearm. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” You lock eyes with him again. His compassionate, amicable gaze sends a wave of comfort throughout your body. “My research can wait; I’ve been waiting to take a hiatus.” He observes you for a while before stepping back into the inner hatch. “Besides that, I’ve found a new anomaly to study.” With your helmet under his firm grip, he turns to you with an amiable gaze.

“You’re welcome to stay for some tea, if you’d like.”