The Penrose Project

The dark expanse of space was an unparalleled maestro of suffocation. The literal sense, of course, is known by all. The mental strain of eternal nothingness is known to a select few, who found themselves distanced from the flood of lights and noise within the city. Windows to the outside, ignored and out of style, was the only view for many into the endless, light-less void that was home to a trifling few. The shell surrounding the ergo sphere offered one entrance to the gravity sinkhole that was accessible in one location: the generator station that kept this bastion intact. That too was void of light and even trapped it.

From outside Penrose Rim, nothing could be seen of its inner machinations and millions of inhabitants. Only when its hangers opened was there even a single faint speck in the black canvas of the universe. Many of those who were left called cities of this sort home. Some made it their lives to go outside. While there were inhabitants beyond the reinforced walls, their seclusion was unmatched. Those that ventured out to scout and keep peace tasted this seclusion and dared not to overdose. There were plenty of stories from those who had seen the aftermath of those who had.

Returning from a run to a nearby system, cluttered with barren planets no longer guided by a star, Hueson stared through the main cockpit window, just above the center console. All the internal instruments told him they were approaching Penrose Rim, though nothing could be seen. While he had no choice but to trust the calculations done by the many machines on board, and had done so on many occasions already, it did not stop the Rush. All scavengers knew the feeling. The intense anxiety that rose from your gut and through your skin, that triggered sweat and palpitations, even blurred your vision, all over the single thought and fear of a miscalculation. The silent unspoken horror of being lost was buried in the minds of everyone, but always under loose soil.

Like a bullet through his skull, the unseen hangar doors began to open, letting loose a horizon of light. He immediately shut his eyes in a blinding pain while being exposed to light brighter than anything Hueson had seen in months . Everyone who returned from outside knew the dangers of such immediate exposure but all disregarded logic in favor of an undying desperation to see home once more. It made you question why you ever left. While Hueson let out a low groan, seeing the light lingering in his closed eyes as he became a victim to that desperation once more, The Spearhead slowly drifted into the airless, open hanger guided by its many instruments. Over the comms, the bay’s director’s voice filled the cockpit, which Hueson, though still reeling from his own eagerness, listened to tentatively.

“Attention Spearhead, this is Director Virunis of hanger Y-17. The current date is 3562, 70th of the current cycle. Welcome back to Penrose Rim. Remember to wait for the bay to pressurize and return to breathable conditions. A debrief will be waiting for you in the commons.”

It was the first new voice Hueson had heard in months. Other than his fellow crew members, there was no other life on the planets they visited. Even organisms that lived off the heat of their planet’s core had perished. In the past, Rangers would also act as messengers and first responders for colonies out in the abyss. Some were domed structures on the few planets without frozen cores while some drifted through space precariously. It was a different age of Rangers, lost as the times changed with the dying universe. Very few of them remained. Almost as if on cue, Hueson heard an almost too familiar voice behind him.

“Well fuck that’s bright! Hueson, warn a fella next time will ya?” Hueson, with vision still somewhat blurred from his own exposure, turned away from the comms.

“Renner, you dolt. I swear your sense of time is almost as awful as the smell of booze drifting from your cabin. Aren’t you excited we’re back?” Hueson muttered sarcastically as he rubbed eyelids. “Or, pray tell, are you up here because once again you’re certain that Rina took another bottle from your secret stash hidden underneath your closet?”

With an unashamed smile and wide, open-handed gesture, Renner let a small laugh break through his usual confidence. Now that his vision was coming back to normal, Hueson could see Renner’s graying hair, doing his best to work a side part before balding set in. Even in the dark cockpit, his warm, lavender eyes were quite visible, though Hueson saw through any charm they once had. “Well, ain’t really a secret stash now is it Hue? And of course I’m happy to be back in this shithole. I’m sure the ol’ boys down in O’Hannigan’s miss me. If they’re still alive that is…″ he finished letting his hands slowly come back down to his side as the edges of his smile began to fall. Quickly noticing Hueson’s acknowledgment, Renner continued. “And if they’re not, I’ll call you over for a drink and we’ll forget the life of a Ranger until morning! Maybe you can even get Rina to come and you could—”

“I swear Renner,” Hueson quickly interrupted, “all that’s on your mind is alcohol and sex. Rina is a coworker. You’re just embarrassed about what you said to her last month while on your 8th shot of who knows what—”

“Carinthan, the ol’ stuff they used to make on Elias-B16.” Renner then smirked and crossed his arms. “Also, smartass, I don’t get embarrassed.” With his arms now front and center, parts of Renner’s tattoos began to show. While cut off by his cuffed, white button-up, Hueson’s time with Renner filled in the gaps. On his right forearm was a highly detailed image resembling the stars of old. The mark of a Ranger, it also featured small planets in its orbit. Hueson and Rina’s newer tattoos were void of such details. The bottom of his left forearm also had a tattoo, reminiscent of a threading needle. While Renner spoke little about it, he had mentioned on occasion that it was a tribute to his old crew and ship, the Needlepoint. Hueson knew it was a weak spot in his confidence and charisma. It was an easy target if he ever needed to put a crack in Renner’s facade, but the thought of doing such a thing depressed and disturbed even Hueson; even if it was to prove a point.

After exhaling rather dramatically, Hueson stood straight with his hands at his hips. “Do I look like I care, Renner? Anyway I’m pretty sure I almost died from that stuff. You and Rina should be more careful. We both know you can’t afford a new liver. Go get Rina and let her know we’re about to dock.”

“Alright, but you two are coming to O’Hannigan’s. You need to loosen the fuck up. I haven’t seen you drunk in ages.”

“You’re the reason I don’t drink Renner.”

“Yeah well that’s going to change. Meet us there after your debriefing.” Renner then abruptly turned around and left the cockpit before Hueson could argue. After a couple of minutes overseeing the controls and monitoring the many instruments, the ship had fully docked and the hangar had closed and pressurized. Looking through the cockpit glass, Hueson could see Renner and Rina cross the hangar. Rina’s auburn, neck-length bob haircut covered her own Ranger tattoo. As they walked across, Rina looked back at the cockpit and made eye contact with Hueson, her emerald eyes catching attention. Her nose was rather petite and unpronounced compared to her muscular figure. For someone who had not undergone hormone exchange, she was rather well endowed in a manner threatening to Hue’s and Renner’s remaining masculinity. While both Hue and Renner had discussed between themselves their individual fear of Rina’s strength, Renner definitely took the fear in a more exciting manner, despite Rina’s clear disgust of Renner’s character. It was definitely clear amongst the three that Rina was the muscle.

The hangar bay itself was made large enough to accompany approximately a dozen ships, with most coming in at a length of 100 meters. Hangar Y-17 was designated for Ranger crews, whose ships were equipped and maintained for much longer travel times and to function under many different circumstances unlike typical trading ships and without the carrying capacity of haulers. The hangar was fairly empty at The Spearhead’s arrival. In the earlier days of Penrose Rim’s Rangers, there were ships coming and going constantly with many refueling for the next expedition. With the lack of messenger and peacekeeping jobs, the need for such expeditions decreased drastically, leaving only ships such as the Spearhead.

The light panels running the length of the hangar roof still stabbed at Hueson’s eyes though the more open nature of the hangar was certainly relieving. Nothing about his expeditions were healthy to the human mind; the cramped cabins and hallways did not help. Occasionally the crew of the Spearhead exit the ship and walk a planet’s surface when taking seismic readings but the bland nothingness of the universe eroded the mind. Hueson did not exactly blame Renner for drinking. He walked down the ship’s ramp with a hovering cart carrying data drives that easily outweighed him. It was the culmination of 7 months of work. Coordinates, seismic readings, trajectories, crew logs, and more weighed down the cart. He could not help but feel a sense of pride as he guided the cart towards the hangar commons. All hangar slots had small hallways leading from where each ship would dock and funneled into a single hallway to the commons. All the walls were painted white with various black details throughout, though the paint had begun to dull, giving the hangar an appearance that could only be described as “stale”. While Hueson began to reminisce about the days when the paint was sharper and less aged, he quickly attributed those thoughts to nostalgia.

Standing at the entry to the funneled hallway was the hangar bay’s director. A charcoal gray buttoned shirt with cuffed sleeves accompanied by a pair of tan work pants was the giveaway, though their chartreuse widow’s peak amongst a more graying black combover certainly was a new mix of color to Hueson’s usual palette and greatly reflected the hangar’s atmosphere. “Director Virunis, I assume? I thought I was supposed to meet you in the commons.” A smile creeped onto their face as they threw a quick glance at the watch on their wrist which strangely was analog.

“Ah, my apologies, Mister Hueson. I’ve already spoken to your crewmates Rina and Renner and figured I would save you time if I spoke while we walked. I am sure you would rather not waste any time getting acclimated to the Rift again. I have your debriefing report here,” they said as they produced a small pamphlet from their back pocket. “It contains everything major from the time of your departure. As expected with dilation accounted for, 4 and a half years have passed. As per the council’s usual request and my own gratitude, I am to thank you and your fellow crew for your service. I hope you will find Penrose Rim to not be too different. If you would follow me, there are some specifics to discuss on your data.” Hueson nodded and proceeded to walk along the director, discussing some of the crew’s findings. “And Linux C-11, it was of suitable size and mass?”

“Yes, all readings indicated it would be perfect for the haulers. The core was cooled so there would be no worry about fluid momentum and seismic readings showed the planet to be void of any dangerous fissures. Should work quite nicely. Should fuel the singularity for at least a couple of decades.” As they walked, Hueson noticed that the hallway was dotted occasionally with security personnel. Their black jackets featured a singular white stripe that ran halfway down their sleeves and were otherwise void of details. These were Penrose police. Virunis appeared to pay no attention to them, suggesting this was becoming a normal occurrence. Hueson could tell they were nearing the commons not only from the ever approaching doorway but also from the chatter behind it. As he spoke, he began looking through his provided pamphlet. “It’s certainly going to be strange being around other people again. I quite enjoyed the peace and quiet. People can be quite stressful.”

Virunis stopped just short of the door and turned towards Hueson with an expression of unease. “People can be very stressful. Social life is often a never ending tightrope that’s both swaying beneath you and choking you at the same time. If it weren’t for the existential horror beyond those walls I’d be envious of you.” For a moment, Virunis seemed to reach for the door, before stopping to look back at Hueson. “You didn’t get too used to the void, did you? I mean I’ve heard the stories…” Hueson was quick to cut him off, coming out of being frozen on a line of text.

“Frontier’s Point is gone?”, he spoke in a slow, quiet voice. The director appeared to have anticipated the question as he adopted a somber expression. With his demeanor now professional and cold, he spoke.

“We try not to talk about it. Lunatics overloaded the ergosphere. Biggest bomb known to man.” What followed was an intense moment of silence. Judging by Virunis’ expression, it was as if they were listening to the silence, a stark reminder of what nothing sounds like; and now, a grim reminder of what Frontier’s Point sounded like. “At least it was quick.” Turning back towards the door with a renewed energy to end the conversation, they quickly muttered “now, I believe your coworker Renner mentioned drinks?” with a forced smile while their eyes screamed with the panic of an existential crisis in the vacuum of the universe. Hueson had seen it before, and only knew to look for it from his sleep-deprived conversations with Renner about the Rangers of old. It would seem it was not limited to Rangers. With that, the director placed his hand on a scanner beside the door and it opened for the two of them, revealing a quickly devolving scene with none other than Renner at its center. He and a couple of the guards had clearly been locked in an intense verbal debate when the two watched as another guard appeared behind him and tried to stealthily apprehend Renner’s firearm. In a moment of panicked speed faster than rational thought, Renner drew his firearm and a standoff instantaneously spawned.

“Renner for fuck’s sake! Put that away. You’re not twenty anymore and that thing’s more rusty than you are. As funny as it would be to see you die by firing squad, you owe me drinks. Remember?” shouted Rina. Amidst the chaos, her eyes caught the movement of the opening door. She quickly presented a fake smile and, in a sarcastic cherriness, yelled “Oh, hey Hueson! Wonderful for you to join us! This is now your problem, smooth-talker”, followed by her walking toward the exit. As she finished talking, the room was once again filled with opposing shouts. Hueson walked calmly into the room with his hands up as the noise grew. The moment Renner noticed Hue’s approach, his expression changed from aggressive to peeved, lowering his firearm hesitantly.

“Hueson if you say one word of your self-righteous, pretentious bullshit I’ll shoot you myself.” He then aimed the firearm at the floor while unloading the power cell from its handle. “You better explain yourself Director, Treston would never be so bold.” The director, clearly a little shaken from the exchange that occurred before them, stepped forth and cleared their throat to dismiss any shakiness in their voice.

“Just protocol, Renner. With the loss of Frontier’s Point, the people are scared.” Clearly, Renner had not read the pamphlet. His fighting attitude dulled slightly. “They live knowing every one of them could be vaporized in an instant, and a gun toting Ranger with… control issues is bad press. I’m trying to keep the image of our Rangers in good light and an alcoholic with a gun in a powder keg of frightened civilians is a ticking bomb, Renner. And, I feel inclined to remind you…” Virunis said as they stopped momentarily to catch their breath, clearly trying to fight through the anxiety of talking down to a man with a reputation like Renner’s. “... Director Treston stepped down for the betterment of the Rangers and the public, despite your best wishes.”

Renner’s back straightened with new vigor as he walked slowly over the director. His stance changed from defensive to prideful, almost puffing his chest out menacingly as he moved intimidatingly closer. As he stood an arm’s reach away from the director, he eyed him top down as the director, though visually anxious, stood his ground. As a grin creeped up onto his face, Renner held the handle of his firearm toward the director, who promptly grabbed it after a moment of surprise. “I like you”, Renner muttered before gesturing towards Hue, breaking up his own tense stance. “You coming or what, Hue? I’ve got a reputation to uphold and O’Hannigan’s won’t be open all night.” Then, without waiting, he began to head for the exit onto Penrose’s streets.

“I’ll join you and Rina there, I’ve got some logistics to tend to.” Hueson finished speaking, and as Renner was walking through the automatic doors, he merely gave Hueson a wave while still facing the streets. As the doors closed behind them, the guards finally felt at ease and holstered their weapons. Hueson then turned toward the director. “My apologies director, Renner is rather brash and in no way courgial.”

“Well-”, the director began before taking an exaggerated breath. “His records certainly don’t shy away from his behavioral shortcomings, but his success as a Ranger has earned enough of my respect to dissuade me from taking any action. Yet. In my honest opinion, he should retire and enjoy the rest of his life rather than push his luck until he’s fired. He should end on a high note. You know what they call him, don’t you? His name isn’t known only around the likes of O’Hannigans.” Hueson, uneasy, began to pace.

“Of course I know, Director. He’s my crewmate, I do all of my inspections and evaluations thoroughly before an expedition to ensure everyone’s safety. Analyst is not merely my job title. I inspected his records the same as Rina’s. He’s Renner, Director-”. Now, without purpose, Hueson had made his way closer to the exit. With Virunis behind him, Hueson took a breath to combat his rising volume. What came next was rapid fire, too fast for any filter to play a role. “Renner is a Ranger first and foremost, and that is all that matters to me. That is all that matters to him, and that is likely how it will always be, for better or worse. I know exactly what I need, the rest is for him to keep. Now if you will excuse me, Director, I should visit my quarters before heading to O’Hannigans with the rest.” Then, he aligned himself with the door with intent and began to leave. As the door opened, Hueson heard one last comment.

“Doesn’t that scare you at all?” Without a word, Hueson stepped outside and the doors closed behind him. Now, standing on the street, he was finally faced with the wall of noise, light, and commotion that composed Penrose Rim. The day cycle was closing in on night and the work hours had ceased. The clean, bland, clinical taste of the white interior and the blanket of black space had given way to the oppressive, busy, artificial neon stars of the distant city center. The towering buildings with their advertisements, that, to him, carelessly preyed on human psychology, ripping at Hueson’s already fading composure. With an act almost as mental as physical, he turned abruptly away from the city and began walking into the apartment complexes in the opposite direction of the array of lights. The buildings here were much smaller than the inner city and were, except for the occasional light escaping a lit apartment’s window, featureless concrete havens of comfort. Releasing the breath he had not realized he held, Hueson wiped the bead of sweat off of his forehead while the sound of his leather shoes on the concrete was drowned out by the many vehicles.

***

Before Hueson was a man in his early twenties with a slim frame and the factory issued Ranger uniform with a gray undershirt, black tie, and a black, collared jacket. He gripped the porcelain of the sink and analyzed himself. His hair, he noticed, was still tied back as he saw the bands’ stark white in the sea of his coarse, black hair. Staring into his reflection’s chestnut brown eyes as he took his hair down, Hueson simultaneously wiped the sweat from his forehead. With his hair now down to his shoulders, he continued to stare into himself, illuminated by the lamp above while his eyes, glasses, and face altogether began to blur as he lost focus.

Take it easy Hue, no need to be like Renner. One of us has to be on good terms with authority.

Glancing through the door to his right and into the bedroom, Hueson could see the items laid out on his bed. One, a tablet with a few notifications, one of which was undoubtedly his paycheck. Additionally, lying adjacent to the tablet was an outfit of streetwear. Despite the time it took to reach home on foot and the general serenity of the loneliness that pervaded the air, Hueson was still agitated. His defense of Renner surprised him. Even the Director, who no doubt had read every profile of the few remaining Rangers, seemed to question the notes on Hueson’s dossier. Renner fit his evaluations to the letter.

You’re a Ranger, it’s all part of the job. Risk management and mitigation. Conflict resolution.

Lighting the room was the city center as well as the television in the center, where a public message was airing, barely piercing Hueson’s attention gap: “... Spearhead and a reminder goes out to individuals outside of the city center. In two weeks is the annual reboot as maintenance will be performed city-wide and on the generators. This of course will affect everyone, willing or not. Power will be lost between the hours of 2200 and 0200 during the refuel. Everyone not performing maintenance duties will be required to stay in their residences or a public shelter. Tonight, we have Lazarah Reinhardt to discuss the public’s disapproval of …”

If the public is tense, then they need Rangers out there. It’s just like the stories Renner tells of his old crew and their “peacekeeping” missions. And Rina, she’s personable. I don’t know what I could do to help but I’m sure I can learn. If they can do it…

Almost like his conscious perception of time flipped like a switch, Hueson was suddenly watching his reflection once more as he was undoing his tie. Once off he tossed the tie onto his bed and eyed the clothes basking in the television’s glow. Black slacks, a gray polo and accompanying black windbreaker, nearly identical to his standard issued Ranger coat, though it lacked the defining red stripe running from shoulder to wrist of a ranger. Resting on top of the slacks were a pair of mocha-shaded leather gloves. Worn at the knuckle to an almost peanut color, Hueson had won it from Renner over some drunken gambling.

He really seems to have it figured out. Rina does not even see something to figure out. What are you missing? Alcoholism? Blatant disregard for self-preservation?

A smile began to creep its way onto Hueson’s expression. He ran a hand through his hair, contemplating. He was considering Renner and Rina likely went directly to O’Hannigan’s leaving him unaccounted for. He had gotten his breath of comfort. He believed himself ready for the isolation from privacy, though doubt began to creep into the foreground. Hueson considered whether or not it was even worth it. Renner was notorious for bar fights; he instigated them, fought in them, and ended them. Rarely did he ever identify himself as a Ranger to newcomers, fighting like a civilian. Then with insult to injury, he’d reveal himself at the last moment so his opponent would be forced to concede to avoid charges. In the event Renner ever became in trouble, Rina was more than threatening enough to stop a conflict. Hue despised the fact there was ever a conflict to begin with,

You don’t need this, you can do more for yourself than drinks and fights. You can do better than resorting to those types of activities. You don’t need a record like Renner’s.

He found himself now sitting on his bed next to the prepped outfit as the television continued: “... rain will continue through the night, and then we will be good for another two weeks. Alright folks, this has been Penrose PM…”

A drink or two will fix anything if you believe Renner.

“... wishing you-”

Construct your own damn fix.

“... a good night.”

***

“The people are lost, directionless, and they are rightfully scared. Can we be blamed? What kind of life are we living here in this artificial tomb approaching the death of the universe? We are alone. We’ve all read the history books and by consequence we know how much better life used to be. Everyone is thinking the same thing: what’s it all for? Where’s the light at the end of the tunnel? Where’s the salvation for the lone survivors of the universe? Perhaps we’re not supposed to be here, like insects spitting in the face of our exterminators. We continue the cycle over and over, finding new ways to defy every challenge knowing we’ll eventually fail, fighting to our own detriment just to see where the line ends. It’s as pointless as our strifes are endless. In the end, the horrors of the universe are not limited to the absence outside our walls, and they’ll drain us like our own personal singularities.”

Lazarah Reinhardt, 23:21

***

It was a cold evening. Power conservation in anticipation of the coming refuel meant that the city experienced a vague imitation of seasons. The lights above dimmed over the course of the afternoon and now the entirety of Penrose Rim was pitch black except for the city center, bustling with nightlife. On the pavement, the clicking of Hueson’s shoes was a comfort. It reminded him of the sound of walking through the Spearhead, something the imitation wood of his apartment could not replicate. There were many things his apartment, and Penrose for that matter, could not replicate.

Clouds were beginning to form above the city in a haphazard manner around the massive buildings. The rain would begin soon. Hue’s eyes were drawn to the many bright lights composing a disorienting array of advertisements and superficial decorations. The red line on his jacket cut through any subtlety in his presence on the street under the oppressive color, but the mix of such hid its true color amongst the black. To any passerby, he could be any public profession, though the stripe would nonetheless draw the eyes of the paranoid.

Breathe.

As he continued walking, the clicking of his shoes faded ever slowly into the background by the overriding noise of the city. Above, Hueson could see a news segment playing on a company billboard cashing in on the city’s tension, seemingly the same station as before. “... and the pit in your stomach continues to sink under the weight of expectations. Your dreams and aspirations are encouraged but turn into more disappointments in a downward spiral into the echo chamber of your own mind.”

Breathe.

“... forever burying yourself in what you think life should be. More and more falsehoods come to light and it can make you question what you’ve been taught, what you believed until you ask what the point was to begin with.”

You’re not even there yet, get a hold of yourself.

“... until the voice in your head becomes your worst critic with no opposition except what remains of your sense of logic after your ‘fantastical’ values are ruined.”

You should just turn around, this can’t go well. You’re not Renner, you’re not Rina, you don’t have this under control.

“... then why are we even here?”

Hueson turned a corner abruptly, closed off from much of the light and noise of the city. Taking a long, exaggerated breath, he pulled a journal out of the inner pockets of his coat, followed by a pen. The screen displayed many tabs dated and signed when finished. Some remained in progress after years waiting for the right ending to come. They wouldn’t come out right if they were forced. Hue leaned his back against one of the buildings and slid down until he was sitting on the pavement. Frantically, Hue looked for an unfinished prompt. He began to instinctually translate the static noise in his brain into words hopefully only he would ever read.

_____________________________________________

Deep in the melancholic ocean

Away from conscious prying eyes

Lies the slumbering question

“What is the point in defiance?”

A question once burned by sunrise

With Death forcing our compliance

But alas we were never meant to see

A universe void of life and light

When we know all that will ever be

When Death is denied its dues,

And it lingers, always just out of sight,

What will we do without our muse?

-From Hueson’s recovered journal

_____________________________________________