[Original Novella] Facade, Part 2

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Part 1}

I waited for the punchline, but he appeared quite serious. Even as I balked, the slides continued to progress, showing me things I was not remotely inclined to believe. This one depicted some sort of futuristic city, advanced beyond anything I’d seen. But with an American flag flying from one of the buildings. My heart sank.

“There exist also a great many alternate Earths where events do not unfold in a way that is favorable for the Motherland. The Capitalists have their way, and the world suffers for it. We have discreetly established bunkers in some of these continuities, that we might determine why this outcome is so common and conspire in our own reality to prevent it.”

The next slide depicted some sort of spherical metal room with a chair bolted to a platform at the center. A nervous man wearing a bulky illuminated wristwatch sits in the chair, surrounded by angled hollow glass rings filled with metallic fluid. “Efforts to return from these continuities to our own have been...inconsistently successful. If the device is fired at the bottom of a gravity well, the precision suffers. And if the destination is in the future or past, there is no guarantee you will not arrive inside of a solid object, or something similarly undesirable.”

The lights came back on and the projector shut off. “So”, he concluded, “further experimental use of the dimensional transect engine has all taken place in low Earth orbit. The destination no longer random, and with more or less guaranteed return to your Earth of origin. For this reason the dimensional exploration program has merged with the space program, which is why you’re here.”

I clapped. Still believing it was some sort of ruse, or psychological test. Unimpressed, he summoned a pair of escorts to take me to the capsule. There, I found the descent module from standard Soyuz except for the addition of a device on the inside, identical to the one I’d seen in the briefing room taking up one of the seats normally filled with another Cosmonaut.

The third seat was taken up by a heavy lead case of some kind. “You’ll find further instructions inside there. Do not open until after you’ve landed.” I protested, but was hurried through preparations and strapped into the only empty seat. His parting words were “You’ve been told only what is necessary, in order to limit the damage if you are captured. Not to worry, everything you need to know is in the case.”

A team of young looking technicians in clean suits fretted over me as I strapped myself in. Shining a UV light around, taking measurements with a Geiger counter and all manner of last minute checks. I’d not realized when I arrived that launch would be effectively immediate. Unheard of, so far as I knew.

With the hatch closed, the only light came from the rows of illuminated switches and tiny porthole to one side. I could hear a great shuddering groan overhead as the launch door opened. The urgency concerned me. Never has a launch been so hurried. On top of the absolute insanity of the briefing, something about the whole mess felt off.

Following final checks by radio, main engine burn was initiated. Every organ in my body flattened against the seat as the bizarre patchwork spacecraft lifted itself up out of the silo and began climbing into the night sky. Why an ICBM? Secrecy, surely. So they could pass it off as a weapons test. Shortly, I felt myself become weightless, and the jarring sensation of the Soyuz jettisoning the exhausted ICBM behind it. I released my straps and peered out the porthole, witnessing the curvature of the Earth from space for the first time.

It was enough to make me forget everything. The years of training. The bizarre briefing. A perfect moment, culmination of my dreams and closest thing to a spiritual experience The Party will tolerate. I began to weep, salty droplets escaping my tear ducts and floating freely about the interior, eventually sucked into an air filter.

Then the small black and white CRT in the console flickered to life. The mustachioed man, this time in a labcoat. When I tried to respond I discovered it was only a recording. “Do not concern yourself with operation of the device, that is automated. Ensure you’re buckled in prior to firing, transects are known to be somewhat turbulent. Do not open your instructions until you’ve landed. Burn them after reading. Good luck.”

Static followed, then an onscreen countdown. One minute, thirty seconds. To what? It was still difficult to take any of it seriously. Part of me believed I’d soon re-enter, land by parachute and receive a grand parade. But the timer only continued to count down. So I strapped myself back in, and dutifully waited to enter the unknown.

The capsule began to vibrate. Almost imperceptibly at first, but more and more violently until it rang like a bell. A sort of white fog materialized all around me, growing brighter until I couldn’t see anything else. Intense nausea seized my gut, but then immediately released it, and then white fog dissipated.

I sat there for a time, dumbfounded. Then a new countdown appeared, this time to re-entry. My mind raced. What was that? Had I gone someplace? Where was I now? I would soon descend to Earth. But if I could believe what I’d been told, there was no telling which Earth.

A buzzer sounded, and I went about standard procedures for re-entry from memory. The capsule shook around me, eventually stabilizing as it began to plummet through the upper layers of the atmosphere. As expected, a bright orange glow shone through the porthole. Flames licking at the rest of the capsule from the edges of the red-hot heat shield.

Retro rockets fired, sending painful reverberating shocks through my skeleton. Once sufficiently slowed, I waited for the signal, then deployed the chutes. It was like hitting a brick wall, and made me lament the utilitarian nature of Soviet engineering. But after that, the ride down was relatively gentle until impact.

It made me wonder how one could survive re-entry following months of muscular wasting and bone degradation. I now felt lucky rather than deprived that I’d not been selected for a Salyut mission. Allowing a few minutes for the capsule exterior to cool down, I then unbuckled, pocketed the emergency pistol, and opened the hatch.

Lugging the case with me, I trekked down the mountain I’d landed on towards what looked to be quiet American style suburbs below. I speak English fluently and am skilled in concealing my accent, something I now suspect contributed to my selection.

I leaned against a tree, surveying the town. Only to notice after a time that the tree wasn’t real. I couldn’t believe it until I felt the bark more thoroughly, but sure enough, it was fiberglass. The next one was made of the same material. And the next.

I recalled entire fake towns being constructed for nuclear weapons tests and briefly worried that I’d landed in such a place. But as I approached I could see people traversing the sidewalks, well dressed and seemingly calm as could be.

First order of business was to secure a change of clothes. I’d not go unnoticed for long in a pressure suit, especially if anybody had reported witnessing my capsule on re-entry. Why send me here? Right in the middle of everything. Capture seemed like a certainty.

I snuck about until I found entry into one of the back yards. There I took a pair of pants, undershirt, button down blue shirt , underpants and socks from the clothesline. I climbed the fence into the next yard hoping for a jacket or shoes only to find the exact same set of clothing hanging on their clothesline.

I found the same thing in the next yard, and the next. Without shoes I could also feel, through my feet, that something was wrong with the grass. Kneeling down for a closer look I found it was not alive, but plastic strands similar to what’s used in sports stadiums. I boggled over this until, glancing into the house through the sliding glass door, I realized it was empty.

I don’t mean bereft of furniture. I mean simply a wooden shell. No carpet, no wallpaper, not even subdivided into rooms. Damndest thing I’d ever seen. Even panelak are not so barren. Lost in confusion, I did not realize I’d been spotted until one of the two old women beyond the fence called out to me.

“What are you doing in there? For Heaven’s sake. Are you lost? Not a burglar, I hope. I’ll call the police if I have to.” My body seized up and I hastily thought of a plausible story. “Oh, please don’t. I’m a drifter, just looking for warm clothes and something to eat as I’m cold and terribly hungry. I mean no harm, and beg your mercy.”

One whispered to the other. Both dressed to the nines, perhaps on their way to or from church. “Well before any of that, come with us and let’s discuss the matter over tea.” I stared quizzically. “You do look cold and a spot of tea is just the thing for it. Don’t say no young man, I won’t hear of it, just come with us.”

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 3!}