Author’s Note: Due to an unfortunate publishing error, you may have missed the previous entry, or read it out of sequence. The setup for this entry is rather important for the story, so please take a moment to double-check. Sorry for the inconvenience! -ETT
“What I’d like to know is whether Miss Anna had those visions during the two Escherspace jumps, when we were all supposed to be under the effects of normalization. Until an hour ago, I thought I was the only person aboard the ship that isn’t a complete blank when we jump.”
“A kneeling king...Rex O’Neil,” Doctor Milo Faust chuckled as he shone a pen-sized light into Lamont’s left eye, peering deeply into the rapidly closing pupil. “Very good.”
“You’ve got to admit that the connection is striking,” Lamont said, shifting uncomfortably on the thin padding of the examination bed. “If, as I’m told, that woman had the vision weeks before we arrived at the planet.”
“Certainly, striking in retrospect,” Faust conceded, bobbing his head of rather unkempt white hair. Lamont did not know his exact age, but the chief physician was certainly the oldest person aboard Westward, a gnomish figure with a quick mind that always made the newspaperman think, unintentionally, of Rumpelstiltskin. The doctor turned to place the light alongside a neatly arranged set of metal instruments and lifted a knotty finger. “But,” he observed, “Not informative enough to prevent the tragedy itself.”
“The colonists have become increasingly segregated since Westward launched,” Lamont pointed out. “I doubt if the vision ever made it to the ears of a regular crew member, let alone anyone on the senior staff.”
“Would that have made a difference?” The doctor asked in a rhetorical tone. “The nature of such prophetic riddles is such that they are meaningless until something happens that appears to explain them. The fine details are supplied after the fact.”
“I suppose,” Lamont grunted, shrugging.
“I’m surprised,” Admitted Milo. “You’ve made your career as an investigative journalist. I wouldn’t have taken you for a mystic.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t pay any attention to such things,” Lamont agreed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What I’d like to know is whether Miss Anna had those visions during the two Escherspace jumps, when we were all supposed to be under the effects of normalization. Until an hour ago, I thought I was the only person aboard the ship that isn’t a complete blank when we jump.”
“Tell me about that,” Milo prodded him. “Would you describe your—dreams—as prophetic in retrospect?”
Lamont shook his head. “No, they’re just dreams. Jumbled memories, strung together in nonsensical ways with other things.”
“What kind of things?” The doctor asked.
“Both jumps, the last thing I’ve seen is some kind of weird fish,” Lamont explained, furrowing his brow in thought. “It looks like a living corpse, all mouth, with giant black eyes and grotesquely long teeth. And a little lamp dangling from the front of its head.” He lifted a hand to his forehead and hooked a finger expressively.
“An angler fish,” Milo nodded thoughtfully, folding his arms as he leaned against the next examination bed. “A deep-ocean predator. Completely unaffected by the Epiphany event, I should think. Very rarely seen.”
“Well, I’ve never seen one,” Lamont insisted. “Except during normalization.”
“Not that you remember,” Milo suggested, smiling rather impishly as he tapped the tip of a crooked finger against his temple. “Dreams can dredge up memories that have been long submerged beneath the conscious mind. A denizen of the abyssal depths would certainly be a prime candidate.”
Lamont shrugged noncommittally and glanced at his wristwatch. “I grew up in London. I don’t know where I’d have seen something like that.”
“Perhaps we can come a little closer to an answer now,” Milo said. “She returns at long last.” His attention had turned to the swinging door of one of the side rooms of the medical bay, through which Rosemary Wells was entering with what looked like an old, leather-lined attaché case.
Next: The Alienist Apparatus
"Milo succinctly described Lamont's dream experiences to Rosemary. Her brow furrowed, more with annoyance than confusion, it seemed. 'Really, now, Lamont? An angler? Now you're really fishing for attention."