Deep – A Moltara Ghost Story

     “These sounds are normal,” Curtis said softly to himself in reassurance, though it didn’t do much good. What did normal mean when you were burrowing through the planet, deeper than almost any Neopet had ever gone before?

     “Normal, definition: to be expected,” a robotic voice interrupted. “Affirmative. Exterior metal shielding is subject to immense stress, due to extremes in temperature and pressure. Detectable audio signals are to be expected. External temperature: 592 degrees Celsius. External pressure: 212 megapascals.”

     “Yeah, thanks for the reminder, MORT, great to hear from you as always,” Curtis replied, drily. After two weeks, he should have remembered that anything he said aloud was likely to prompt a response from the Mechanical Onboard Rotor Technician, or MORT.

     Curtis would never admit it to anyone else, but he was beginning to regret volunteering for the Daedelon II mission. Two weeks he had spent in this capsule so far. Two weeks without seeing the sun, his only light coming from the faint glow of the screen in front of him. Two weeks with no one but an annoying computer to talk to. Two weeks struggling to sleep, listening to the creaks and groans of the capsule threatening to implode, as it plowed through superheated rock on its journey through the centre of Neopia.

     More than anything else, though, the mission was boring (no pun intended). There was nothing for Curtis to do, and no real reason for him to even be here. The Daedelon II was on autopilot, due to anxieties over what had happened to the mission’s predecessor. The Daedelon I, which was nearly identical to the capsule Curtis now found himself sitting in, had disappeared without a trace five years earlier. Pilot error had been blamed, and, as a result, the panel before Curtis had no buttons, just a screen for reading messages sent by Doctor Landelbrot from Moltara above.

     A ping alerted Curtis’ attention to an incoming message.

     “Ah, think of the Lutari and he shall appear,” Curtis muttered to himself, as he opened Landelbrot’s message.

     “Negative,” chimed in MORT, “the correct idiom is ‘speak of the de–”

     “Yes, thank you, MORT!” said Curtis, sarcastically. Not for the first time, Curtis found himself wishing his panel had at least one button, labelled “deactivate annoying robot”. It was truly a shame.

     Careful not to give MORT anything else to provide commentary on, Curtis moved his lips silently as he read the message from Dr. Landelbrot.

     Curtis,

     Hope all is well. We are tracking your progress up here. I’m sure you’re aware, but the Daedelon II is approaching a critical point in its mission. You WILL SOON BE the Neopet who has travelled the deepest into our planet. Within an hour, you will also be beyond the FuRthEst rEaches of our signalling equipment, a communication dead zone. So, this is a message wishing you all the best. We will see you on the other side.

     Dr. L

     “Wow, he certainly has a way with words,” Curtis mumbled to himself.

     “Interesting assessment,” said MORT’s robotic voice, “The message before you appears emotionally neutral in tone, with no evidence of particularly strong vocabulary or writing skill. The capitalisation is–”

     “MORT, do me a favour and learn about sarcasm before you reply to anything, ever again,” Curtis said with a sigh.

     “Trapped,” said MORT.

     A beat of confusion filled the capsule, as the drill continued to roar below.

     “What’s that?” asked Curtis.

     “He was trapped,” MORT said.

     “O..kay…” said Curtis, a chill rising up his spine.

     “In the dark and in the deep, He was trapped” MORT said.

     “MORT… what? Who is trapped?”

     “Was.”

     “Who was trapped, then?”

     “Sarcasm, definition: the use of irony to mock. Conclusion: Curtis was mocking the Doctor’s letter for lacking emotion and flair. Is this conclusion correct?”

     “Wait.. Huh? What were you just saying about being trapped?”

     “Searching transcript. Last mention of the word “trapped” by MORT: None found. More information needed to respond to the query.”

     Curtis was stunned. Was he hearing things? Or was MORT losing its robotic mind? Perhaps this was a side effect of nearing the communication dead zone? He shook his head. Whatever it was, MORT seemed to be back to normal, and he already had enough to worry about without looking for another reason to be stressed. He pushed the computer’s momentary glitch to the back of his mind and settled back into his chair further.

     Curtis closed his eyes and tried to sleep, as the rock and metal below him continued to scream.

     —---

     He woke up to silence. No grinding, no shaking, no humming. The drilling had stopped.

     “MORT… why have we stopped?” Curtis asked, alert to a shift in atmosphere.

     MORT was silent.

     The comms panel gave a short, sharp ping.

     Curtis frowned, confused. A message? In the communication dead zone? How? Doctor Landelbrot made it clear that his earlier message would be the last. His heart dropped as he read the message to himself.

     WARNING

     He is here. Stop. Stay away.

     Iteration: 44304

     Curtis read, and reread the message, confused by its contents. There’s only one way he could be getting a message from within the communication dead zone - the message originated from down here, with him. Suddenly, he understood. “The Daedelon I,” he whispered to himself.

     “Daedelon I," MORT’s robotic voice chimed in, causing Curtis to nearly jump out of his skin. "Mission outcome: Failure. Cause of failure: Unknown. Status of craft: Unknown. Last contact with surface: Five years, one month ago. The distress signal is on an iteration count of 44304. Count is consistent with being transmitted once per hour for approximately five years and one month.”

     “So someone has been sending this out for the last five years or so?” Curtis asked.

     “There is a near-certain chance that the message is automated. It is highly improbable that any life remains onboard the Daedelon I.”

     “And what about the content of the message? Who is here? What does any of that mean? It’s kinda creepy,” Curtis said, fear altering his voice more than he intended.

     MORT was silent.

     “What should we do? The message makes it clear we should stay away. So let's steer clear of the Daedelon I, okay?"

     Curtis’ thinking aloud was again met with an unusual silence.

     “MORT? Hello? Get the drill going again. I need you to re-route to avoid the source of the distress signal. I don't have any controls myself,” said Curtis, with increased urgency in his voice.

     “I can’t do that, Curtis,” MORT said, more quietly than usual.

     “Why not? You have control of the ship, not me,” said Curtis.

     “I cannot reroute the ship to avoid the source of the distress signal because we are the source of the distress signal.”

     “You mean we are at the source of the distress signal?” Curtis asked? He looked out through the window and his own face was reflected back. Darkness and rock all around. Nothing new. And certainly no sign of the Daedelon I.

     “We are the source of the distress signal.” MORT repeated.

     “No, The Daedelon I is the source of the distress signal,” Curtis asserted, hoping he sounded more confident than he was.

     KNOCK, KNOCK

     Something tapped on the outside of the capsule. Curtis froze.

     “MORT? What is the temperature and pressure outside the capsule right now,” he asked.

     “Temperature: 640 degrees Celcius, Pressure: 214 megapascals.” MORT provided.

     “What could survive in those conditions?” Curtis asked, already aware of the answer he would receive.

     “No known life forms could survive in those conditions.”

     KNOCK, KNOCK

     “C-could that sound be the contracting of the metal? As it changes shape in the heat?” Curtis whispered, hopefully.

     “Negative,” replied MORT.

     “How sure are you?” asked Curtis.

     “100 per cent certainty. It is not the metal contracting, because it is Him,” replied MORT.

     KNOCK KNOCK

     “...Wh-Who?” whispered Curtis.

     “Negative. I believe the full correct response is ‘Who’s There?’ Have I understood your humour correctly this time?”

     KNOCK KNOCK

     “It would be impolite to keep Him waiting,” MORT continued, “when He has already done so much of that. In the dark, in the deep. Waiting for you, Curtis.”

     Curtis said nothing. He just peered out nervously into the darkness through the window.

     His reflection grinned back.

     —--

     Doctor Landelbrot stood uneasily somewhere between the Haunted Woods and Kiko Lake. The Daedelon II was late. It should have emerged at least an hour ago.

     He was struck with a sudden sense of deja vu - had it happened again? He couldn’t afford for it to have happened again. It was easy to blame pilot error the first time, but if it happened again there would be serious questions asked about the design of his drill capsule.

     Suddenly and thankfully, there was a low rumble, and the ground nearby began to give way, as a large drill pressed up and through it. The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief and ran over to the craft.

     He turned the door wheel and opened the hatch.

     “Curtis, my boy! How did it go? How does it feel to be the first Neopet to travel through Neopia?” Landelbrot asked, as Curtis clambered out of the capsule, a wide smile on his face and a gleam in his eye.

     “Oh, Doctor, you wouldn’t believe it. The whole experience was truly liberating,” He said with a smile.

     Something about the look on Curtis’ face struck Landelbrot as odd – it was so unlike the Curtis he knew. He was still thinking about it as they walked away together, so much so that he didn’t even notice the words on the side of the capsule he had just opened:

     Daedelon I

     The End.