The Edge

Gideon: Part Three

He'd been having nightmares again, so Gideon tried to take the night watch whenever he could. Helen had tried to stay up with him. It had taken a lot of coaxing, but eventually he'd been able to get her off to bed. She looked like she needed the sleep, for her mental health if not her physical health. (Not that Gideon had any right to comment on that.) Once she was gone, it was just him, the planet below, and the various radio stations broadcasting to the ship. There was a non-zero chance that Lighthouse Radio would be one of them; if it was, Gideon wanted to hear it for himself. Adoette had set up a recording system, just in case it was on at that hour. Fortunately, it wasn't too complicated. Just push that button and let it run.

A lot of the stations so far were about what he expected: conspiracy theories, anti-government talk, people yelling about overreach in the core systems but in a way that made it sound like they'd maybe committed a serious crime and had to come to the ass-end of nowhere to escape prosecution. Could be terrorist activity. Could be tax fraud. Hard to tell with some of these people. Gideon only listened long enough to confirm that this wasn't the broadcast he wanted before switching channels. "You people are going to be fucking annoying," Gideon muttered. "Congratulations. I hate it here already."

Eventually, he got tired of searching and stopped on a station playing some guitar instrumental. It was a risky play–he'd run out of coffee and didn't want to get up for more yet, so there was a good risk the soothing sound would put him to sleep. But he'd forced himself to stay awake before. Long night watches back in the day, much higher stakes if he fell asleep by accident...

He bit his inner cheek to ward off the memories and focused on the squeaky leather of the pilot's chair. On the spot devoid of buttons or switches that was perfect for propping his foot up on. On the fact that he was here, and not on a war-torn planet unknown light years away.

I wonder if there's anything left of that place by now.

He didn't know and he didn't care. He hadn't bothered to look since he left, and if any of the others had, they knew better than to tell him about it. Too many bad memories there.

He looked back out the now-open windows. The planet below looked like pretty much every inhabitable planet did from a distance: blues, browns, and greens punctuated by clouds and the lights of various cities. They could've been anywhere in the known universe. It was weirdly comforting to see that some things didn't change, even all the way out here.

He was so drawn in by the sight that he almost missed the shift in the broadcast; even when he did, it took him a moment to recognize the voice.

John.

His mind registered it once the broadcast had been underway for a bit. The voice on the other end was talking about a vast desert and people trying to make their way through it. The story sounded familiar. Maybe Tola had told him the same story once. It was strangely soothing, even if Gideon couldn't place where he'd heard it before.

"...because that's the thing about journeys, isn't it? They come to an end eventually. Big or small. We all make it home one way or another." John paused. "That's all for tonight's story, but before I go...I have a message for someone listening right now. I'm not..."

There was another pause. Gideon thought for a second the broadcast had cut out, but just as he went to fiddle with the knob, John spoke again. "Sorry. To the person listening right now...your sister wanted me to tell you not to look for her." Gideon froze. "But between you and me...you need to find her. You're on the right track, for whatever that's worth. I just hope..." John cleared his throat. "...And one more thing?" He said that part hesitantly, as if confirming with someone else that there was one more thing. "They don't hate you. You've been forgiven since the start."

Gideon thought for a moment he was dreaming. He must be. Those words didn't feel like they were being broadcast over anything; it felt like John was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, just offering a word of advice.

"That's all for now. I hope you have a good night, wherever you are. I'll be praying for you."

A guitar riff played. An ad for the broadcast station followed. And, just like that, the spell was broken.

Gideon immediately checked the recording equipment. It was all still on, so he assumed it had caught everything. He didn't want to risk corrupting any files, so he tried not to mess with it beyond checking that all the right lights were on. Once that was done, he wrote down the station's number. That could help narrow their search, assuming this place had a single base of operations.

As he finished typing the information into his phone, something wet dropped onto the screen. Tears. His tears. He'd started crying.

Why was he crying?

Gideon desperately wiped away the tears. They don't hate you. The words kept replaying in his mind. They felt so vivid, like they were directed at him. But that was impossible, right? No one could have known he was up there, looking for Cassandra...assuming John was talking about Cassandra. He'd never given a name. He could have been talking to anyone.

Then why did it feel so much like that message was meant for him? For all of them?

"Shit," Gideon muttered. He had to wipe away more tears. "Shit, get it together."

The worst part was, the words didn't even feel true. There were plenty of things that his family could blame him for, especially recently. Between what had happened with Arian, Cassandra's disappearance, and his inability so far to find her, it felt like everything in his life was pointing to the fact that he was still...

That he was...

That you're what, Gideon? The memory rose to the surface: hot breath in his ear, the smell of blood somewhere, it always smelled like blood, always... Say it. Go on. I want to hear you say it.

And his voice, younger, cracking under the strain of tears, trembling: I'm a monster.

Damn right. And don't you ever forget that.

How the fuck could he? Life wouldn't let him forget.

Gideon pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if that could somehow stem the tide of tears. They just wouldn't stop. He breathed slowly. He focused on the things he could feel, smell, hear, even the slight taste of metal that lingered in the air on the ship. He didn't open his eyes until They became solid, real, more real than that voice had been.

After that, he shut the recording equipment off. Something told him that would be the only broadcast of the night, and he didn't want those microphones to pick up more of his breakdown than they already had. He settled back into his seat carefully, rested his foot in its usual spot, and tried to empty his mind of everything but watching the displays.

It was going to be a long night. The day to come would be even longer. He could already tell.

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(Author's Note: This story was cross-posted from singlequantumevent.com. If you'd like to see more stories like this one, including ongoing stories and ones that haven't been posted to WattPad yet, check out the site!)