"Marginal Risk"

Roger's face hurt. As he rubbed the blurriness from his eyes, the walls of his cubicle gradually took shape around him. He had fallen asleep at work, he realized in shock.Slowly he stood up and looked around the workplace, fully expecting to find someone staring at him disapprovingly, but given the long hours everyone had been working lately; there was hope he could talk his way out of any real trouble. With excuses already half-formed in his mind, Roger suddenly realized they weren't necessary. Every other cubicle he could see was unoccupied. He noted with surprise and a hint of relief; he was alone.
A quick glance at the clock told him that it was nearly seven thirty at night. Assuming that no one had noticed his workplace siesta, Roger had just slept his way into free overtime. Reaching down to shut off his terminal, he paused to look at the holo-photo of his girlfriend. He still swore that it didn't capture her hair very well.

"Let's just keep this between you and me," he said with a devilish grin. The image's lifeless eyes stared back at him as if to say, "I wouldn't tell, even if I could."

With his workstation powered down, Roger hurried through the maze of cubicles and swiped his keycard through the scanner on the elevator. The doors slid open, and music from his playlist began to filter through the speakers. "First floor," he said as the chamber was sealed. If he was lucky, he could still make it home before the good restaurants closed.

He hummed along with the music, a techno-remix of Carl Orff's "O Fortuna," when the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Brilliant light poured in through the aperture, forcing Roger to shield his eyes. "What the hell?" he uttered as he stepped over the threshold. As his eyes adjusted to the glaring light, he realized that somehow he was outside. Not in the lobby, or even in the building at all. Confused, he started to back up toward the elevator, or at least where the elevator used to be. Upon meeting a hard, unyielding surface where the doors should have been, Roger spun around to find nothing but a solid wall of bare brownish rock.

" . . . What the hell?" Roger said once again in disbelief as he ran his hand over the spot on the wall where the elevator doors had once been.

The stone felt rough and dry to the touch. Slowly, he turned around to examine his surroundings. The scene laid out before him was stranger than anything he had expected, not that he had any idea what to expect after finding that one seemingly impossible thing had already transpired. Now that his eyes had fully adjusted to the increased brightness, Roger saw that he was standing on a niche in a towering cliff face. Experimentally he walked to the edge and looked down. In a dizzying change of perspective, the ground fell away in a near-vertical drop. Lying some several hundred meters below, the silver-blue glint of a river winked up at him, vibrantly reflecting the light of the unblinking sun above.
"I must be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something," Roger said to himself as he looked out at the other side of the canyon. Even as he said it, the wind picked up and tussled his hair; it felt real enough as it tugged a few strands out of place.

Roger first turned back to the recession in the cliff face, then to the narrow ridge that spanned the near side of the canyon. Unsure of what else to do, he began to follow the treacherous path that stretched out before him. The thin strip of ground changed from being nearly one meter across to only half, and perhaps less than that, before widening again. Rarely did it ever threaten to become too slim to provide footing, but it took effort to keep himself from falling nonetheless. Plus, there was a slight incline that made the trek more difficult. All the while, the baleful sun beat down on Roger's tired form. It seemed as if the path would never end, just leading him on until that one misstep that would send him over the side; to be washed away by the river below. That is, until he reached the end of the Earth.

One moment he was edging his way along the ridge with no end in sight, and the next he suddenly walked face first into an invisible barrier. The unexpected impact nearly sent him tumbling off his narrow perch as he staggered backwards a few steps. Through sheer luck, he regained his balance and sank to the ground with his back against the cliff wall. Gasping for breath, Roger turned to this bizarre new obstacle. It looked as if nothing was there, but there was no doubt that something was definitely blocking the way. It was as if someone had built a seamless wall in the middle of the pathway, and painted an exact replica of the horizon onto it. Shuffling back up to it, he reached out to touch the obstruction, and found it to have a smooth, almost glassy texture. Standing up again, he reached out and gave the barrier a light tap with his knuckles. At first nothing happened. The obstacle seemed to give forth no sound or reverberation in response to the blow. It was like hitting hard air, for all the lack of tactile or auditory response the barrier gave off.

Peering closer, Roger noticed something. There was a small nick in the surface of the obstruction where he'd struck it. As if responding to his scrutiny, the crack rapidly began to expand. Within seconds the fracture had nearly spread to encircle an area the size of a full-grown man, but even this made no sound. It was as if it were being drawn in by some invisible pencil. Roger had only enough time to take a single step backward before the crack had closed the circumference of the angular shape. Without hesitation, the area within the outline shattered inward. The shards disappeared into the black void that appeared beyond the barrier. Then Roger himself was pulled toward the rift, and had passed through before he had a chance to resist.

The darkness enveloped him, and he was falling. Screaming, he was weightless for mere moments before he landed on the hard, unforgiving ground. He lay there for long moments as the pain from the impact tore through him. The dim features around him swirled before his eyes while he stared upwards into the gloom. Finally picking himself up on shaking legs, Roger looked around. He saw he was now indoors, although just barely so, as one wall of the room had been demolished and looked out onto a city street. Looking up, he saw that he had fallen through a high window, but something was wrong with it. Where the glass still held in the frame, there were stars and a broken moon showing through. However, through the hole he had made he could see the brightly-lit canyon scenery he had just left behind him.

Shaken beyond the capacity for rational thought, Roger wandered over to the makeshift balcony formed by the ruined wall, and looked out at the city. All around were the empty husks and wrecked remains of buildings that were, at one time lived in. Fires burned in several of them, and the streets below were littered with debris . . . and bodies.

Backing away, Roger looked up at the window between worlds. Pausing to let everything sink in, he saw there was no way he could get back through; it was set too high in the wall. A hasty search showed that there was nothing he could stack in order to climb up to it either. Nothing sturdy at any rate. The scattered broken furniture and pieces of concrete would never support his weight. Reluctantly, he walked back over to the missing wall.

Peering down, he saw that there was a pile of rubble that formed a rugged slope up to the ledge. Carefully, he began his descent down the hill of jagged rocks. There were no streetlights, and the footing was treacherous in the shadows. The only illumination came from the smoldering flames that dotted the ruined cityscape, along with the meager light of the moon. He could hear explosions and the sound of gunfire all around him as he pressed on in his slow journey to the streets below.

Having slipped painfully more than once on his climb, Roger breathed a sigh of relief as his feet once again met solid ground. But his sense of calm was short lived, as the sounds of warfare once again reached his ears. His concentration had been focused so wholly on not falling to his death, that Roger had temporarily drowned out everything else. Hurriedly he pressed himself against the side of the building, keeping at least one side protected, and began stumbling through the darkened street.

The unsteady search through the city had scarcely carried Roger a single city block, when a tank lumbered into view from around a corner some fifty meters ahead of him. Panicking, he ducked into an alleyway and tried to make sense of his situation. Whether he was hallucinating, or insane, or any of a hundred other things no longer made a difference. What was happening around him was real. Thepain from his numerous falls was real. The fear he felt in the pit of his stomach was real.

Why he was there no longer mattered. All that was important was finding a way out. No sooner had his train of thought reached that conclusion, than a massive explosion went off behind him. Whirling around out of reflex, he caught sight of one building silhouetted in the hellish light of the blaze. It was a clock tower, rising high above the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Somehow Roger knew that this was his destination. If nothing else, he could get a lay of the land from such a perch. From there he didn't know what he would do, but it was a start.

Making his way through the side streets, Roger edged ever closer to the tower. Even as he walked, he couldn't develop the slightest notion of what to do when he reached it, but he felt drawn to the landmark all the same. Taking care to avoid detection by the warring soldiers, he eventually made his way through the maze of shadowed alleys, and reached the base of the structure. Large double doors stood before him, tall and foreboding in the night. He gave one of the handles a tug, but was met with resistance. Seizing it with both hands, he dug in his heels and pulled hard. The door opened slightly, and several further strained attempts produced an opening large enough to pass through.

Hurrying inside, Roger began to ascend the mountain of stairs which awaited him. As he climbed, he noticed that it was strangely bright inside the tower; not blindingly so, but bright enough to see by. There weren't any visible sources of the illumination either; it was just . . . there. Up into the strange building he climbed, and after what seemed an eternity, Roger came to a landing.

In the space that opened up around him were dozens of gears and chains. The place was alive with motion and sound as the cogs spun endlessly, clanking into place with each increment of their rotations. All the while, the gargantuan timepiece ticked away as if all was right in the world. Strange as it seemed, the only feature that appeared to be out of place was the lever.

It stood by itself toward the far end of the chamber. Aside from its isolation, there was nothing remarkable about the simple pole jutting forth from its slot in the floor. Made of the same polished brass as the gears, the lever seemed innocuous enough at first glance. However, something about its stark simplicity drew Roger's attention. With no other obvious course of action, he walked across the disconcertingly noisy floorboards, and pulled it.

Immediately the gears began to pick up speed. The hands on the transparent face of the clock, which composed the wall closest to the lever, whirled faster and faster until it seemed they would fly off. Then without warning, the bells sounded and Roger was rendered deaf to the world. His pained state left him oblivious as well to the other mechanisms which had been set in motion.

Hands clasped over his ears, the lost traveler sank to the floor. While the bells tolled for only a short time, the agony was intense. When the din had finally ceased, Roger looked up. It was then that he saw the spiders. The great clockwork arachnids were making their way down from the ceiling on iron chains in place of silken strands. In his haste, Roger had failed to notice the immense metallic webs which spanned the upper reaches of the tower. The chains hanging down amidst the gears were merely anchors holding the webs in place.

Stumbling backwards in terror, he found himself pressed up against a wall. Glancing back, he was confronted with the reversed numbers of the clock face and the furiously spinning hands set upon it. Frantically spinning gears closed off the exits on each remaining side of him. The mechanical beasts had reached the floor, and were beginning their advance. As they moved, the phantasmal light glinted menacingly off their polished brass bodies. Ten meters. Eight. Six. Then everything just stopped. Had his hearing not already been impaired by the tolling of the bells, Roger would have found the silence deafening in it's own right. All around him, the gears had ground to a sudden halt.

Looking back, he found that the hands of the clock had stopped at seven and five. Directly between them, a triangular panel had swung open. While what lay beyond was unclear, there was a light shining through from the other side.A sudden movement drew his attention. The clockwork horrors had sprung back to life and were moving forward again. All hesitation cast to the wind, Roger turned and ran through the portal as the beasts slammed against the wall behind him, too large to pass through.

The transition was quick, and Roger felt the panel swing shut as he left the clock tower behind. As his mind adjusted to the new surroundings, he found himself in the last place he would have imagined. He was in a child's
room, and he was only a few centimeters tall. Looking behind him, Roger found that he must have stepped through a similar opening in the face of a cartoonish alarm clock. The bright, cheery colors of the fantastical characters on the dial stood in stark contrast to the dark, oppressive atmosphere of the previous place into which he had been cast.

Standing on top of a dresser or table, he began to wander around, marveling at the mammoth scale of everyday objects. There was a large fish tank on the surface of the gigantic piece of furniture, housing fish that were twice as big as he was. He jumped back as a gigantic angelfish swam by, and this proved to be a disastrous mistake.

His flight carried him into another glass container. This one was much thinner, but nearly as high as the fish tank. Roger's mass, while diminutive, was sufficient to upset the container's center of gravity and send it toppling over. He could only watch in horror as the ant farm hit the top of the wood-grained surface, sending glass and insects flying in every direction.

Ducking from the flying debris, including one shard of glass that nearly decapitated him as it whirled by, Roger realized he was faced with a new problem. The ants were free, and they were angry. Each of the creatures was the
size of a small dog, and without a doubt much more dangerous.

Not waiting for the monstrous insects to give chase, he ran to the edge of the dresser, looking for an escape route. There was nothing but a one-meter drop to the floor, yet at his present size, it may as well have been kilometers deep. Such a fall would surely kill him as he was now. Behind him, the ants were beginning to swarm. Getting desperate, Roger spied a floor vent within jumping distance. He recalled hearing stories about people leaping from rooftops above industrial air vents, and having the upward current slow their falls. With no other options, he was willing to try it. But his body seemed to rebel at the thought, freezing as he reached the edge. That was when he realized that sound was returning to his world, the sound of hundreds of armored legs scrabbling across the wood. This turned out to be the only convincing Roger needed to trade one fear for the other.Backing up as far as he could without getting caught by the ants, Roger got a running start and hurled himself from the edge of the piece of furniture. He sailed through the air, and saw that he was on target. However, as he drew closer to the opening, he felt no sensation of slowing down. Expecting to die, he instead managed to pass through the grill, and found himself sliding down an incline. There was a reddish light there that grew continually brighter as he continued to slide. It was getting hot.

The glow intensified and the heat grew more oppressive until Roger finally exited the chute. Here, the walls practically pulsed with blood-red luminescence. At first it seemed he had fallen into the furnace, but there was something . . . wrong about the place. Fumes stung his eyes and nose, but eventually he managed to clear his vision enough to see the walls for what they really were. Whether they were actual corpses or merely stone walls carved to resemble human forms had no bearing on their hideous nature. Tortured forms twisted amongst each other to compose the boundaries of his surroundings, their agonized faces cried out with voiceless screams. He was in Hell.

Quite sure that he had lost his mind, and that he was really locked in a padded room somewhere, Roger walked slowly forward. With every step, the horrible light pulsed, sending electric waves of fear up his spine. The shadows were moving, he was sure of it; they crept along the terrible walls, drawing ever closer. Finally he could take the fear no longer. He ran.

The shadows gave chase. He could feel them hunting him, feel their hunger. As he ran, he caught sight of a mountain of corpses. At the pinnacle was a light, a pure white light, more beautiful than anything upon which he'd ever laid eyes before. Salvation.....Picking up his pace, Roger scaled the mountain. He had to outrun the shadows; they would not take him! The light was drawing ever closer, and he could feel the dark shapes losing ground. He was going to make it!

Then he fell. Struggling frantically to get up, he looked down to find a corpse clinging to his leg. Another clawed at his midsection with rotting hands, and together they tried to drag him down into the hot, smothering mound. No matter how hard he struggled, the steady pull downward could not be halted. All the while, the shadows were closing in on him. He screamed.

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"Hello, and welcome to the Channel Eleven evening news. I'm Connie Williams, filling in for Craig Sullivan. Our top story tonight is the confirmation of the arrival of the research vessel U.S.S. Archimedes at Europa, the sixth moon of Jupiter. All crew have been accounted for, with the unfortunate loss of Professor Roger Christiansen.

"Professor Christiansen died while in cryogenic stasis during the year-long voyage to Europa. With us is
Doctor Clark Matthews, one of the head scientists of Cold Sleep Technologies, which provided NASA with its cryogenic equipment. Doctor Matthews, can you give us any information about what may have led to the death of Professor Christiansen?"

"Well Connie, based upon the data that we have received, it seems that Professor Christiansen's chamber suffered no malfunctions. This makes the problem quite difficult to pinpoint.
"
During testing simulations of the CS-219 model cryogenic chamber, we only encountered two instances of subject death. Both times, the chambers appeared to be working correctly. Even then, those were but two instances out of thousands of tests. It was a marginal risk. I realize that this is not much consolation for the Professor's family, but at least they can take some solace in the fact that he died peacefully in his sleep."

Copyright 2008 J. Asher Henry