The Hold

By L.N. Fisher

Han’s ambition is to serve in the first fleet to go beyond the solar system, but an anomaly in his brain activity may disqualify him. For a remedy, he is sent to Earth, a world that is slipping back into the past. He finds guidance from a singular young woman with an old wound of her own that needs healing. Together they search in space, on Earth, and through hidden realms for their answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.N. Fisher
• Release date: Jul 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301441242

Book preview

The Prognosis

The Earth shined brightly through the porthole, as a vast bank of white clouds covered most of the northern hemisphere. The clouds reflected in Han’s dark eyes. He squinted once more, wondering how many more revolutions of the space station he would have to endure before the doctor would finally return with his test results. Swiveling his chair away from the glare, he once again glanced over the odd assortment of trinkets the doctor had accumulated on his desk. There were no shrunken heads, but it was a strange collection of things with feathers or shells or both. He picked up a white stone that resembled an egg. Tumbling it with his fingers, he examined it. On the more flattened side a crude glyph was carved into it. After studying it a few moments, he decided it was depicting the open palm of a hand. He wondered what the significance was. Why would someone take the trouble to carve on it? Why would the doctor keep it perpetually displayed? It was only a rock.

He placed it back down on the desk, careful that the carving side was up. Glancing over to the porthole, he was relieved to see an unobstructed view of the stars. He sighed, reminded of his calling: to see the light of another star when it was minutes old or the surface of a planet that had not been scarred by a probe, simply to view the galaxy from a slightly different perspective. He had dedicated his life to that mission. Now there was the opportunity to fulfill it, except for the bureaucrats with their mindless, petty tests.

The Moon began to creep in through the porthole. The constantly full, bright Moon. Han swiveled in his chair around once again and sprang from it. He walked over to the far wall to face a succession of paintings. He assumed patients had done them, as they were too peculiar to be art. One in particular drew his attention. It was a circle divided into three irregular, triangular shapes. The edges of the shapes reminded him of a coastline on a map. It also reminded him of one of those psychiatric tests: which did he see, the three sections or the y-shape that separated them? His choice, no doubt, would reveal many facets of his warped character.

Before he could choose, the doctor entered. He mumbled an apology as he quickly seated himself behind his desk. With heavy legs, Han returned to his chair. Dr. Bonham stared down at his desk for several moments, scratched his furrowed brow, then lifted his head to face Han.

I’ll be blunt with you. The second ICeBerg test was no better than the first. In fact, there was even a slight increase in unconscious activity detected. I double-checked this with the psychochemist. That’s why I was late. There is no doubt. I’m afraid this rather dampens your chance of being selected.

Selected? You make it sound like a ballroom dance. He shook his head. What is so important about this one test? Doesn’t my record count for anything? I passed all of your other tests without anything being ‘detected’.

Your past record is exemplary. Your other tests do indicate present stability. It is the future that we are concerned with. You would be traveling beyond the bounds of what is known. We don’t know what effect that would have on you, or on anyone else, so we have to be as sure of you as possible. You, Lieutenant Han, according to the test, are a time bomb.

And when am I supposed to explode?

We don’t know. We don’t even know what kind of explosion you’ll make. But I don’t think the committee will take that chance with such an important expedition.

Han ran his fingers over his short dark hair. He leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling for a moment. With a smile on half of his face, he looked straight at the doctor with dead reckoning.

You don’t know. You are ruining a man’s entire life because something might happen at some unknown point in the future and you’re not really sure what it will be. I’d say you need to spend more time in the research department before applying it to a real life, like my own.

I’m the first one to admit we haven’t nearly solved all the mysteries of the brain, and probably never shall. We can measure certain chemicals and activities and compare them to profiles accumulated over many years. Take your results, for instance, there are increasing levels of several chemicals, particularly melatonin. Your thetas…

Am I going mad?

No. I dare say, in my humble opinion, your ego consciousness is resilient enough to weather whatever the unconscious may throw at you…in the long run. But there are strong indications that you are headed for a rough episode. It could appear as a simple neurosis or, on the other side of the coin, a mystical experience.

A what?

The fact is that something is happening within you that needs to be reckoned with.

Sounds serious. Anything to do with my mother?

Does it?

Well, as a kid she used to chain me up at the back of the house as bait for Martians.

The doctor frowned at Han, looking at him from under his eyebrows. There was a tense silence as the Earth made another pass by the window unnoticed. Han took a deep breath and leaned forward.

So what do I have to do? he asked quietly, his eyes letting down their guard.

It’s really a question of what can we do in the limited time we have. There are only a few days until the committee meets to make the final decision.

I’m aware of that. I’ll do whatever it takes.

With the back of his finger, the doctor stroked the feathers of one the objects on his desk. Do you trust me?

I don’t think you’re a quack, if that’s what you mean. You’ve got this office with this wonderful view. You must know something.

I suppose that will have to do. As we are under such time constraints, I am going to suggest a sort of ‘shock’ therapy, if you will…something to get you out of your normal routine. It might be enough to release some of the pressure, at least enough to get you by.

All right, Han said cautiously, wondering if he truly wanted to know what the doctor was about to prescribe.

I am going to suggest something which may seem unorthodox to you. Over the past several years you have been training intensively. I want you do something that is entirely unlike anything you’ve been doing. Dr. Bonham leaned back in his chair with a wistful expression. When my grandfather had patients at an impasse, he sent them fishing.

After a moment of silence, Han nodded, waiting for the doctor to continue with whatever he was going to suggest.

Fishing…going to a body of water, Dr. Bonham clarified. Han kept the same blank stare. Casting a line with a hook at the end, a little bait, and waiting.

Waiting. Han pronounced it as if it were a foreign word.

For a fish to bite…or perhaps something a bit more significant. We’ll just have to see.

Han shook his head slightly as if the words had slapped him in the face. You mean you want me to take a couple of days off, in the middle of the biggest crisis of my life, and go…fishing?

Precisely.

I don’t even know how.

There’s not much you need to know. Request an introductory video on fishing to watch on the shuttle to Earth.

Earth? I have to go all that way just to go fishing? There isn’t there a recreation program somewhere on this station that would suffice?

We are dealing with the unconscious. It is usually best to open up communications on terms it might agree with. Fishing is an excellent means. And it has to be the real thing.

Han slumped in his chair and stared at the doctor for a moment. Are there any other options?

If we had more time, perhaps dream therapy or psychoanalysis.

Right. Aren’t there any drugs for this type of thing? The doctor only smiled at his inquiry. Yeah, I guess that would be cheating. Han smiled a half-smile himself, then straightened up. I guess I’ll have to trust you that this might work. Problem is…I haven’t a clue as to where to go…fishing.

I know a lovely spot. I’ll have the trip arranged for you, if you’d like.

A lovely spot. You make it sound so easy.

I wish it were.

The Peregrination

Han felt the vibration of the shuttle’s engines. Knowing that he would soon be back in the freedom of space was of some comfort. An attendant asked him if he wished for anything to drink. He shook his head, smiling weakly. Whatever it was he would have to face soberly. At least until it became clear that sobriety was of no use. When he returned after a couple of days of futility, perhaps he should retain a lawyer. If his fishing trip did not produce the desired result, he would have to find some other way of fighting the farce.

The video visor lay in his limp hands. He stared at it, wishing it into the vacuum of space. With a sigh, he put it on. Immediately he was prompted to begin the program when ready. He knew he would never be ready for it, but it was part of the doctor’s prescription and he had agreed to play along. Han jabbed the play button. His first instructions were to adjust the audio. Han selected mute. Watching would surely be enough.

The images began: water; a river; a man in odd apparel standing knee deep in the water; the line extending from his pole into the water; suddenly a tug; the fisherman reels in the flailing fish; the fisherman holds up his catch, smiling; his lips move. Han could not read them, but surmised they were regarding some nonsense that anyone could do what had just been done.

If that were the case, if anyone could do it, why would it be such a cure-all for him. How would catching a primitive creature such as a fish on a piece of string possible help him out of the solar system?

Focusing back on the video, he saw an array of hooks displayed. They were savage looking things, some with feathers like the good doctor’s fetishes, their barbs designed to catch flesh and hold it fast: the more the fish would pull away, the deeper the hook would sink. If this was the language of the unconscious, Han did not want to listen. He was confident that nothing would be said anyway.

He touched the icon to end the program. A prompt appeared for any other request he might have. He was tempted to request the schedule of return flights. He hit end, removed the visor and threw it into the empty seat beside him. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. He knew he would at least have to give the doctor’s suggestion a try; it would look better on his record. More resigned than he was before, Han closed his eyes. Although his sleep had been fitful in recent times, his consciousness slipped away easily.

Then he was at a control panel of a ship. There was nothing familiar about the layout. To his left was a large window. The blue glow of the planet Uranus loomed so large he feared that it would swallow him. Over the intercom he could hear a woman’s voice. Somehow he knew it was his mother’s voice. It was scratchy and faint, but there was urgency in it. He strained to hear what she was saying. There was some kind of interference. He searched the panel for the right control to correct the problem, but he could not find it.

Han woke with a start. Through the window he watched the shuttle glide silently into the serene blue of the Earth’s atmosphere. The glare from the clouds compelled him to check for the sunglasses; they were tucked in the breast pocket of his uniform. He wondered if they would be a strong enough gauge. He thought back to the dream to make note of it for the doctor. Like a hand tearing down a cobweb, just a few moments of waking thought had destroyed it. He remembered that his mother was calling to him. He could not imagine why; she had always encouraged him to go into space.

The shuttle descended through a thick bank of clouds. It was the first cloud bank he had ever experienced. He watched the thick fluff whip passed through the window. It was disorienting to have everything so obscured. There was the first sensation of gravity, pulling him down. A strange malaise started to creep into his gut. What kind of hell was he going to, he wondered.

The clouds thinned to a wispy layer. He could make out what he presumed was New York; he had seen pictures. Primitive structures rose like mutant stalagmites from the gray ground. He wondered how people had survived in them for so long.

Of course, only the most backward had chosen to remain on the Earth. The adventurers, the entrepreneurs, the scientists, anyone interested in joining the forefront of humanity, had fled the bounds of Earth long ago. Han’s parents included. The Moon was first, then soon after Mars was colonized. Space stations had sprung up like mushrooms in the vacuum of space. Exploration and mining of the asteroid belt created more of the same at breakneck pace. Of course, there were limits to the known solar system; humanity would have to go farther to quench its thirst. It was manifest destiny on a cosmic scale.

But Han was plummeting to Earth. Though he had never thought much about his heart, he could feel it sinking with the shuttle as it approached the runway. How could such a thing have happened to him, someone with so much promise, descending back to the dark ages?

The shuttle landed with a dull thud. Almost immediately Han could feel the inexorable tug of gravity pulling at him. He had trained many years to support his Earth weight, and had even felt it simulated many times. This felt different; this was real. As he heaved himself up from his seat and disembarked it was like walking through primordial ooze.

Han walked the corridor to the terminal with a determined shuffle. His bag must have weighed at least a ton. He only hoped he would not black out before passing through the identification checkpoint. Once in the terminal there were a few happy embraces and greetings. Han stood alone, gazing around for some kind of hint.

Are you Lieutenant Han? asked a voice off to the side.

Han looked to a small man carrying a sign with Han’s name on it. Han nodded.

I’m here to take you to the transport desk. This way, sir.

Han shuffled after the man. After a few steps the man took the burden of baggage from Han’s hand. Han watched him walk up to a kind of cart and place the bag in it. Following the man, Han climbed into the cart.

First time on Earth, huh?

Han nodded. He was still unable to squeeze a word out.

It’ll take time, but you’ll pull through. Just remember to breathe.

Han smile weakly as the man hit the accelerator and they started through the terminal with breathtaking speed.

Are you from Mars?

Han nodded very slightly for fear he might lose his balance.

Born there?

Han nodded and gripped a nearby handle.

"Ya’ know, no one is born on Earth anymore. I