The Door, Part Two

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True, they were not men exactly like myself. The first was abnormally tall and thin with pasty white skin, no nose and no hair. But his companion appeared identical to homo sapiens except for his color: reddish-orange with dark green hair and clear, grey eyes. Both were clothed, the first in a long flowing robe of gossamer strands and the second in a leather harness and a short skirt, like the kilts worn by our Scottish kinsman. But what assured me of their status as intelligent men was the look in their eyes, for no mere animal is capable of feeling utter despair.

I remained stunned for several moments. The grunter snorted to himself, amused at my speechlessness. A feeling of intense revulsion welled up inside of me, where only a moment before fascination had dominated. The small creatures in the jars were animals, unintelligent creatures with no real thoughts or feelings. But what monster would cage another man?

I stopped myself. Perhaps these were criminals, monsters themselves, creatures of incalculable evil, caged by this little man to protect the rest of the world. Don’t we do the same with criminals on our planet? Yes, these men must have been horrible convicts captured and about to be taken to trial. Or, perhaps they were insane, menaces to themselves and to society, caged for their own good. Perhaps the little grunter was performing a public service.

But with his next action, the grunter banished any doubt from my mind. Producing a long, metal pole with a wicked looking tip, he stuck it through the bars of the red man’s cage and jabbed him with it. The pole crackled with energy and the man gave a yelp before flattening himself against the back of the cage. The grunter stuck the pole in farther and jabbed him again. This time the tortured man roared and knocked the pole aside. The grunter attempted to jab him a third time, but had to jerk the pole back when the prisoner lunged through the bars and grabbed for him with a strong, muscular arm. But the grunter was too quick; he dodged the outstretched arm and jabbed it with his pole one more time. The wounded man screamed in pain.

An involuntary fervor gripped me at the sight of this tortured person. “Stop!” I shouted, and jumped forward to knock the pole out of the grunter’s hand.

He turned to me with an irritated expression. For a second, I thought he would be upset, but his face bore more confusion than anger. He looked from me to the specimens in the containers, then to the two men in the cages, and then back to me again. He placed his hands on his hips, cocked his head to the side and studied me with a new intensity.

We stood that way until a low beeping sound came from the cockpit. The grunter looked towards the door and then back to me. After several more seconds, he snorted, shrugged his shoulders, and left the room.

As soon as he was gone, I turned to the two men in the cages. The rail-thin white man continued to sit cross-legged in the center of his cage, but the red man had risen and now stood before me gripping the bars. A quizzical look adorned his face.

“You speak my language?” he asked more than stated.

The unfamiliar sounds startled me, but, like the runes on the stone marker, I understood them.

“Apparently so,” I replied, the unfamiliar words rough on my tongue.

“You are strange,” he said. “I do not recognize your accent or your clothes. And you smell different.”

He stared at me. His companion remained silent.

“From where do you hail?” the red man asked. His face bore a shrewd, wary look.

“Not from here,” I stammered. Faced with another intelligible being, I was uncertain how to broach the subject of my nativity.

“Are you from another world?” he asked.

I gaped for a moment. It was as if he had read my mind.

“Of course he is,” said the thin man, speaking for the first time. “He has come from the stars, like his crude friend, to enslave and lay waste our planet.”

I looked at the pasty waif. He glared back with shiny, black eyes that seemed to penetrate my soul.

“I... am not… from your world, no,” I managed to get out. “But I am not from the world of this alien. In fact, I have only just met him a little while ago. He has been showing me his specimens here, for I am also a man of science.”

The waif made a soft, raspy sound that I assumed to be a cynical laugh. “Ah, science,” he scoffed, “that cold god in whose name men are enslaved, countries raped, and worlds devastated. If you have come only to gawk and torment in the name of science, then proceed and leave us be.”

His ruddy friend gave him a strange look, and then turned back to me. “If you are not a comrade of our captor,” he said, “then you must free us. This beast has captured us to be poked and prodded and tortured for his amusement. We must escape before he kills us.”

“He will not kill us,” the waif spat out. “He is a creature of science. He will whisk us away to his home where we will be paraded and displayed for the curiosity of his countrymen. They will study us until we die of our own accord. Then he will return here for more.”

At this, the red man became very agitated. He began to pull on the bars and entreat me in earnest.

“My friend, you must set us free,” he whispered. “You cannot let him take us from here to be defiled and humiliated. This is our home! We do not deserve to be treated like beasts! Can’t you see that what this alien is doing to us is wrong? We have entreated him for days now, but he will not relent! He has no feelings, no heart. He is cold, like a machine. His science has possessed him. You cannot leave us to this cruel fate. Will you help us?”

I listened to his words in sympathy. But my tongue remained bound.

“Come, he is not even of our race,” the eloquent red man continued. “Your accent is strange and your clothes stranger, but you are our brother, that much is certain. Will you not help us?”

I glanced back at the open door through which the grunter had left. If I were to release these men, he would no doubt be upset. I did not know how he would react. Perhaps he would try to put me in one of those cages. I shuddered at the thought. To help these men would endanger my own safety. But weren’t they my brothers, at least in spirit if not blood? I hesitated.

“Why do you hesitate?” the red man said, desperate now. “Every instant you delay reduces our chance of escape! Look! The solution is only just there!” He pointed at a simple circuit box on the wall, just out of reach of the cages. “You need not accompany us,” he continued. “Just work the box and we will be on our way!”

Still, I hesitated. My old cowardice began to resurface. I began to justify myself. Perhaps these men were lying. Or perhaps this was evidence of their madness. I should not jump to conclusions. My companion most likely had good reasons for imprisoning these individuals. The prudent thing to do would be to gather more information and make an informed decision. There was no reason to behave rashly.

My red friend did not share my concerns.

“Have you no heart?” he hissed. “Are you as cold and unfeeling as our jailer? Would you condemn us to this horrible fate?” He tugged on the bars harder, almost hysterical now. My suspicions of his madness were not placated.

I turned to his companion. Even sitting cross-legged, he was as tall as I. He glared at me with his shiny eyes like a spider on the hunt. His thin lips remained pressed together in contempt.

“Hurry!” the red man pleaded, abandoning all attempts at secrecy. “He’ll be back with his weapon soon! We may not get another chance to—”

He stopped mid-sentence and focused on something over my shoulder. A look of hatred crept onto his face. Our host had returned.

He stood in the doorway with a quizzical look on his face. I was certain he had understood none of our conversation, but he was a smart little fellow; if he had heard much, he may have deduced that we were communicating. He seemed to be waiting for me to speak.

I motioned towards the two prisoners. He shook his head and beckoned me forward. Again, I motioned towards the prisoners. He dismissed my notion with a wave of his hand, as if it weren’t worth considering. I glanced at the red man, face set with expectation, and then back at the grunter. He sighed, stepped forward to pick up the covers, and threw them back over the cages.

The red man screamed and beat the bars of his cage in a fit of rage. He cursed me and his captor with words I did not recognize but understood as the foulest of slurs. His tirade broke my heart. But the grunter just sighed and gestured towards the jars and trays on the table. His message was clear: specimens.

The grunter turned off the light as I followed him out the door of the laboratory. We returned to the cockpit where he continued to adjust switches and dials, grunting to me every so often to highlight the effects of his labor. But I hardly noticed him, for the screams of the red man still echoed through my mind. I tried to focus on the switches, the shimmering viewscreens and the alien landscape through the window. But the pitiable fate of the two men haunted my thoughts. My companion no longer fascinated me. His humorous features now appeared grotesque, his ridiculous tusks dangerous, and his beady eyes, which once appeared intelligent to me, now gave a malevolent appearance. If this shifty little monster was base enough to imprison sentient beings without cause, what might he be planning for me?

I tried to persuade myself that the two captives were indeed madmen or horrible criminals, not specimens preserved for science. But even if they were being preserved for scientific purposes, what of it? Wasn’t he a scientist like me? Hadn’t I felt him a kindred spirit just moments ago? That he considered the two alien men zoological specimens was just another sign of his intelligence and evolutionary advancement. Perhaps his society was cataloguing species across the galaxy to increase their knowledge. I had no reason to believe the pasty white alien’s assessment of the grunter; perhaps he held them only for observation and would release them after completion of his studies. Perhaps from them he could glean some crucial scientific truth necessary to save or improve millions of lives. Wasn’t that worth a nauseated stomach? Who was I to judge his intentions?

I realized my feelings of revulsion were not logical. Where was my rational brain? I had no moral high ground from which to look down upon my companion. Wouldn’t I do the same were I in his position, a scientist in a brand-new field with a duty to learn as much as possible for the sake of future generations? The sympathy I felt for the imprisoned men was understandable but not practical; even now it led me towards decisions based only on emotion. Emotions, as I had so often told myself, were simple chemical reactions in the brain, byproducts of physiological reactions with the environment. Though useful in particular situations, they were the enemy of scientific discovery, for they created bias, and bias skewed results. Worse, emotions prompted men to act in illogical, sometimes dangerous ways. Wasn’t the world-wide war raging back home, the second in my lifetime, a conflagration of emotion and illogical reasoning? Were I to let my own emotions get the better of me, I would be no better than those fools dropping bombs on villages and running each other through with bayonets. I reminded myself that such foolish emotions were beneath me. Lesser men might surrender to their base passions, but not I—I would keep my good sense to the bitter end.

In the far grander scheme of the universe, was not this just nature taking its course? Was not this just natural selection, the survival of the fittest? I had forgotten Darwin, my patron saint. What right had I to interfere with Mother Nature’s great tragedy of life and death? And what difference would my interference make? If I were to free these two men, by no means a clearly beneficial act, how would it affect the course of history? Would not the grunter simply recapture them, or capture others? Morality had its uses if it benefitted the species, but didn’t it have to bow to practical expediency? My emotions were not only foolish, irrational, and opposed to the known laws of nature, they also served no practical purpose. I decided that I must obey the laws of rationality, no matter how unappetizing they might seem.

However, no matter how convincing my arguments, my dear Jordana, I could not convince myself. The horrible screams of the red man and the look of defeat in the white waif’s eyes would not leave my mind. The conclusion of my mental gymnastics, which once would have so delighted me, now made my stomach churn. The arrogance of my worldview and the wretchedness of my humanity descended upon me for the first time. I could see it no other way.

An alarm ringing from the control panel cut into my moral battle. The grunter gave an exasperated snort and began to fiddle with a console. With his attention absorbed, I was for the moment unattended. Before I knew it, I had backed out of the cockpit and into the corridor. The grunter gave me no notice.

With hurried steps I returned to the laboratory and eased open the door. I flipped on the lights and tiptoed across the smooth floor to the cages. I whipped the covers off and turned to the panel on the wall without looking at the occupants. The panel was simple—one large switch seemed to be the one I needed. I slid it down and heard a click behind me. I turned back to see the cages swing open.

The red man reacted first. He bounded out of the cage and across the room to the door, out of which he snuck a suspicious glance. The tall, white man took his time unfolding himself and stepping out. Now on his feet, he towered over me. He gave me a long stare and then nodded in appreciation, a long, ponderous act, like a reed swaying in the wind.

“Come!” the red man hissed at us. “There is no time to waste!”

The waif and I obeyed, crossing the room to stand in the corridor next to him. As we turned towards the exit, we heard a growl. Behind us, at the door of the cockpit, crouched the grunter, a vicious snarl on his face. He reached behind his back for something, but I did not get to find out what it was, for a hand like a vise gripped my arm. Next, I found myself pulled forward and hurled out of the exit. I never figured out to which man that inhumanly strong hand belonged, for as soon as I hit the sand outside the airship, I was up and running for the trees, my two companions only a step behind me.

Our pursuer roared after us and began to fire some terrible alien weapon. The device shrieked like an exploding steam engine and spat hot blasts of light at us, scorching the sand or trees where it struck. But we neither slowed, nor turned back.

Being acclimated to the atmosphere and gravity, my two companions quickly outdistanced me, reaching the forest several meters ahead. I followed as best I could, dashing up the trail in their wake. Soon, the trees hid us from the view of our vile pursuer, but we could still hear him huffing after us and firing his weapon. We continued to follow the path at top speed.

When we reached the fork in the road, my two companions turned and headed down the trail marked “A’tan.” I almost followed but hesitated.

“Come quickly!” urged the red man. “We will be safe in my home in A’tan. It is a citadel city where none can enter if the guards do not wish it.”

“But my home lies the other way,” I replied.

He looked puzzled. “Nothing lies that way. The next closest city is many days journey from here.”

“It is not far,” I replied. “I will be safe once I reach it.”

The white waif sighed and, without a word, continued down the trail, disappearing into the trees. But the red man turned to me and pressed something into my hand.

“May your eyes stay sharp and the light always guide you,” he said. Then he turned and followed his companion into the misty forest.

Touched by the tenderness and camaraderie in his voice, I turned and jogged up the opposite trail. Behind me, the grunter’s heavy steps drew near and stopped. I waited with bated breath to see which trail he would take. After a second, his steps resumed, growing louder. He was coming in my direction. I sprinted up the trail, loafers kicking up dirt like the Devil himself was at my heels. For all I knew, he was.

The door materialized out of the mist like an old friend. I ran towards it, but it seemed to draw closer far too slowly. Like a man running in a dream, I forced my sluggish legs to move, inching forward at a snail’s pace. When I finally reached it, I grasped the handle, stepped through, and, with one last look at the beautiful and bizarre world, slammed the titanic door shut.

For a moment I stared at the door. Again, I was struck by the way it seemed to tower over me, like some heathen god from ages long past. I panted in the early fall air which now felt anemic after the soup I had been breathing for the past few hours. A daze descended upon my mind.

But then I sneezed, and that simple, normal act brought me back to my senses. Terror gripped me once again as I thought about the consequences of the grunter entering my own world. If the door had opened for me, would it open for him? I could not let that happen. Spying some crates in the alley, I dragged them over and pushed them in front of the door, praying that they would keep it shut. Then I rushed down the alley, through the iron gate, and rounded the corner. But there my exhausted legs failed me, and I crashed to the ground. My eyes closed, and my whirling thoughts began to fade.

Did I pass out? Did I lose consciousness for a second? I do not know, but the next thing I remember is opening my eyes in haste, like a man who has dozed off while reading and wakes at the drop of his book. Did I awaken or merely regain consciousness? Had I been asleep? If so, for how long? I cannot answer these questions with any accuracy my dear. All I can do is tell you my story. And what I know is that, once my eyes snapped open, my strange adventure came flooding back to me, and I raced back around the turn in the alley, terrified of what I might find. But what I didn’t find was more horrible. The door was gone.

Jordana, I searched every inch of that dead-end alley, combed over every brick, both in that moment and for months afterwards. I even invented an excuse to tour the National Bank, so I might see the other side of that wall. But try as I might I could find no trace of that unbelievable door.

Stranger still was what I discovered in my class that day. After exhausting my initial search of the alley, I remembered the lecture I was to have given. I raced over to my class, hoping to find a student or faculty member to which I could give an apology, but, to my surprise, I found my students still arriving. Bewildered, I checked the time and found I still had three minutes until class began. I had lost track of time in that strange world, but I know I spent several hours there at least. Where had those hours gone? After much deliberation, I have come to the bizarre conclusion that during my adventure, which seemed to take up hours, only seconds passed on our world.

Now the question haunts me as I close this letter, as it has haunted me for the last year: did I imagine that door? Was it nothing but a dream? A hallucination? Some sort of spiritual experience? Had I in fact traveled through a space-door to some far-flung planet? My mind tells me I did not, that it was a figment of my imagination, and I would believe it were it not for one small detail: the object the red man pressed into my hand. I still have it, and you will find it attached to this letter, if my last will and testament is followed by Mr. Poe. It is a small ring, covered in runes I once understood but now can only guess at, and possessing a vibrant gemstone unlike anything on earth. When you look upon it you will see something like the gorgeous aura of those light-trees I saw during my adventure. I do not know how their light became trapped in this stone, nor how it became attached to this ring. I cannot even tell you with any certainty how it came into my possession. All I can do, and have done, is tell you my story. The believing, my dearest Jordana, is up to you.