Another Heart of Darkness

October 25, 2186.

This marks the beginning of my logs aboard the space-bound vessel La Gente Zonza. I am the captain of this ship under orders by the United Nations to venture to a planet under their control. On that planet, there is a company under control of the UN that has run into some sort of problem. I was given orders to relay the United Nations’ concern and offer my assistance. If it can help my fellow people, I will gladly do it.

October 28, 2186.

La Gente Zonza has run into some problems of her own. For now, my crew and I are trapped planet-side. The UN is looking into it, but out here in the middle of Russia, I fear we may be out of luck for a good while. The winter is not even upon us, and yet we are already freezing here.

November 6, 2186.

I have recently received word from the UN that they are sending out a team of professional engineers to fix La Gente Zonza. The man who sent this information will be going with us to the planet. He is one of the managers of the company. Unfortunately, the engineers will not be here for another ten days as the snow storms are blocking their flights. My mission has to be put on hold. I have tried to pass the time by going to the local market in a small town nearby. There was not much good there. Only a few rivets that looked anything worth purchasing. I didn’t spend much time there. The people are what I will return there for in the future. They were interesting, to say the least. Some seemed to be more the masters and others were worked like slaves. I’ll think nothing of it.

November 16, 2186.

My crew is getting impatient. I have seen them conferring amongst themselves in secrecy. Though I do not know what about, I can tell that they think they’ve made a bad choice. There has been word that La Gente Zonza will be fixed by the end of November, but those engineers have not yet arrived. I do not think that I will be leaving this planet by the end of the year, if not by death of this weather.

November 20, 2186.

It has been four days since my last log. La Gente Zonza is still in disrepair. My crew often asks me “Captain” this and “Captain” that. I am beginning to revolt them! The town is my escape. There, there are more enlightened people who already know enough not to have to ask questions. They, like me, do not need to ask questions. They merely accept orders and follow them.

There was one time that I ventured into a bread shop. The man who makes the bread there in a white-haired, muscular fellow. He invited me over to his house once, and I learned his job. He does work in the town as a baker, but he also works for this company under control of the UN. He is apparently in charge of creating metal rods for tunneling and sending them out there. When I visited his house, however, I didn’t see any metalworking stations, or metal for that matter, at all.

November 30, 2186.

Ten more days gone, and still no engineers have come to repair La Gente Zonza. I have been getting more and more impatient, and my boredom can only be stretched so thin and so far before I break. I fear my crew is feeling the same way, though they seem to lack the same restraint that I have. They frequently get into fights in the town pub with others and even amongst themselves. I’ve persuaded the metalworker to get my messages to the UN, that we need our ship repaired. Hopefully, we’ll eventually get through to them.

December 5, 2186.

We’ve gotten word that the engineers were delayed further, and that they would not be here until early January. I’ve decided to spend my time listening to the stories of the manager of the company and this metalworker. They both tell lively tales, mostly about the company, sometimes not, but those are not nearly as interesting. Apparently, the company is headed by a powerful man. He is the most efficient at what he does, which is mining sapphire for the production of clocks. Time travel having been invented in 2135, clocks are now essential to everyone. Even I who have never traveled in time have three watches of my own that I wear with me.

Anyway, this man is supposed to be legendary. They all wonder how I’ve never come to know who he is. I’ve gone around the town asking about him. Everyone calls him a living legend. He’s the master in the dark, the wrangler of blue gold. Some even go so far as to call him the creator of time for his contribution to clockmaking. I don’t know what to think. I’m eager to meet him, but if we never get away from Earth, then I’ll never be able to see him. I will not be checking in to record another session for a while. For now, I need to rest. There has been a lot of commotion here, despite the engineers not being here yet.

December 25, 2186.

Quick update. The commotion has ended. This cold is killing me. The snow here never stops. The engineers came earlier than I expected. They’re working on the ship now. I wonder if we’ll ever leave this place...

January 1, 2187.

The engineers say they’ve discovered the problem and are working to fix it. I’m excited. The manager does not seem so happy to be going to see this legendary man. His name is Mr. Falsch, the metalworker finally told me. I’ve heard more about him. He’s a great worker, the metalworker says. He’s always on time with his shipments and sometimes he’s even early. The manager says he’s frightening. He’s a terrible person, he says, so much so that he can control even the largest of men.

January 11, 2187.

The engineers have since fixed La Gente Zonza, and today is the launch day. I thought that I would get one last log in before we are airborne and space-bound. I am excited. I will soon be able to see the man behind the legend of Mr. Falsch.

∙           ∙           ∙

January 20, 2187.

There hasn’t been much to report. We’ve been floating through space on this voyage, and I’ve been preoccupied with keeping the ship working and staying on course. The manager paces back and forth often. I’ve heard mention that he talks to himself about replacement. This planet is twelve light years from our current position. If we stay on course, we’ll be there in about two months. My crew is made of peasants from the town and neighboring cities and volunteers from the UN. The volunteers all denounce the peasants, but I like them. They’re good people — fine fellows. They seem to know more about caring for a shuttle than the volunteers do.

January 31, 2187.

Yesterday, there was a battle between our ship and a docking station on an asteroid. They were using primitive tools, at lease a century old, and they would have stood little chance had the volunteers obscured my view of them by firing nearly all our weapons. Good thing we have reserves in case there’s a real fight. Anyway, we were temporarily boarded and one of my men was killed in the ruckus. Luckily, the peasants were able to fend off the raiders, and we were able to escape. His body was just ejected into space and he was given a funeral of sorts. I could not attend. The ship will not run itself without me there to guide it.

February 20, 2187.

We’re ahead of schedule and we may even reach the planet by mid-March. Nothing much new has happened. The peasants are getting restless. We are running low on food stocks and supplies and munitions are running out. No thanks to the volunteers. They eat like fat men and use up our supplies and munitions in “training exercises.” What they’re training for, I don’t know. They tell me that Mr. Falsch is waiting for us and that he may not see our coming as so much a good thing. They’re afraid that if he attacks they won’t be prepared. I’m afraid that if he attacks us, we won’t have anything to attack back with. Then again, they are more afraid of him than I am. None of them seem to be as excited as I am to meet him. Maybe they just don’t see the honor in such a meeting like I do.

March 16, 2187.

The planet is in view. I don’t know why, but upon viewing it, I am overcome with an overwhelming feeling of both awe and fright. As we approach, the peasants are getting restless. I asked a few of them what is troubling them, and it is what they expect they’ll find there. They will not tell me what it is, but I imagine it is not something good.

March 17, 2187. 1032 hours.

Planet-fall. We have landed on the planet near the processing station. There was nobody to welcome us in our arrival. The manager and I have decided to venture into the processing plant and look for Mr. Falsch ourselves. We will be taking guns.

March 17, 2187. 1228 hours.

We have made contact with Mr. Falsch. He is a skinny man with a very bad cough. He looks like he’s dying. Yet he still works to fulfill his job. He manages over a group of peasants who follow his every command like he is a god, not bothering to ask why. I have noticed some walking on limps and others with grotesque appearances. Around the processing plant, the manager and I were surprised to find that there were graves, all filled with peasants and in a circle, all facing the plant. I believe he was more shocked than I. He kept mumbling to himself, and I could only catch snippets of it. A few phrases like, “replacement,” and, “expulsion.” I paid him little attention. He doesn’t seem to be a very honorable fellow despite his status as manager of this company.

March 17, 2187. 1608 hours.

I am going to attempt to make contact again. If we want to leave this place, then we need to take Mr. Falsch with us. It is no longer safe for him here. He needs to seek medical attention, and the peasants here who work beneath him cannot provide that to him.

March 17, 2187. 2045 hours.

I have managed to get Mr. Falsch to board our ship. We leave early tomorrow, and we must be going soon. He is obsessed with his work, but I would not call it an obsession. I would call it his work ethic. He strives for excellence, and he and I both know that that is achieved only through hard work.

March 18, 2187.

We have left the planet and the processing station. The peasants outside the station all looked on our ship with angry eyes as we took away their god, and he looked somber too, being taken from his work. Before we left, in the night, I followed him. He left the ship and was going to return to his station, but I convinced him to return. His time there has ended. Mr. Falsch can no longer go back.

April 2, 2187.

Mr. Falsch. He was an extraordinary man wrapped in a veil of mystery. So many legends about him... so many different feelings toward him... Was he really as powerful as they all say? He is dead as I speak. He died in the night, succumbing to his illness or illnesses. But as I looked upon him lying in his sickbed, he did not appear to be more than a lost and hopeless man, staring into his own empty humanity and all its brutality. I feel a winter coming. It feels worse than my time in Russia.