I can't believe I finally did it. While I talked about it for years, it was always a bucket list sort of thing. I never actually expected to do it. Dana, my longtime friend – and ersatz boss as dean of the university's life sciences department finally talked me into it. Since Marty died, I had just been going through the motions. There was comfort in the familiar routine. Our kids headed off to college and were well on the way to lives of their own, of which Marty and I would be a marginal part. We coped well enough with empty nest syndrome, but when I lost the love of my life, I dreaded returning each night to that mausoleum of overwhelming memories.

Dana had been nudging me to finally do what I long talked about. So I applied for the grant. Apparently I was the only one surprised when I actually got it. All my colleagues and coworkers said it was about time I got out of the classroom and into the field, putting my widely acknowledged talents to constructive use.

I was embarrassed and flattered by the well wishes of my peers when I finally announced my sabbatical and field study. Everyone was eager to help me make arrangements to head deep into the field to test my thesis, but my neurotic side made me suspect that they were just glad to be rid of me.

Dana and my colleagues, set aside those insecure voices. They gushed about how the research I was about to do could be as groundbreaking as Rachel Carson's paradigm shifting work in the 1950s and 60s. All I could do was blush and graciously brush off their kudos, while secretly hoping that they may be right. Not for any personal glory, but for the groundbreaking impact I felt this work implied.

So.... long talks with the kids. They were not just supportive, they were enthusiastic. I got the feeling that they had been sort of worried about me living alone in that big house with only my memories. A talk with a realtor who came highly recommended by Tom Larson, our ….I have to learn to stop saying 'our'....my... longtime attorney and family friend. Our possessions would be put in storage and the house put on the market. Tom, would see to all the details and deposit the net proceeds from the account into our ...my... account.

Marty knew Tom since they went to school together. They were as close as family – and sometimes fought like it. But I totally trusted Tom. And I knew, if only because of Marty's choosing me, Tom trusted me back. So I had no worries about the sale. I needed to focus on the next two to three years of my life.

The research grant was to focus on the environmental effects of technological fallout – pollutants in rainwater, modern toxins, pharmaceuticals and inorganic 'new' chemical contents in groundwater and local flora, and its effects – if any – on the base-level ecosystem, from the lichen and algae to the herbivores that consumed them, all the way up the food chain to the carnivores who accumulated massive doses from the compounding effect of the 'pyramid of life'.

The task was daunting, but I just kept my head down, determined to deal with one mundane detail at a time.

I was out in the middle of nowhere. Days from the nearest town, in an old fire-watcher's cabin that had long been abandoned after the deployment of landsats and their superior heat sensors. I tried to imagine the sort of personality that would choose to be a fire ranger. It was a very important job, but terribly lonely and isolated. Then again, I suppose some people are just suited for that type of isolation. I am not. I enjoy people. I cherished my friends and my work colleagues, and my family. Especially my family. But when I lost Marty, dealing with others just became so difficult. I could see the concern in their faces and the tone in their voices, and it just broke my heart even more. I knew they were hurting for me, but I was hurting enough on my own, and it anguished me to see them ache for me too.

So, I had to leave. The wilderness toxicology study was the perfect excuse to make the break I knew we all needed. Grant approval was startlingly fast. Dana said it was because I had talked about it for so long, everyone was eager for me to finally get started. The powers that be were just waiting for me to write up the formal proposal.

So here I was at last. Alone in the deep wilderness. Just me and my soil samples, specimens, groundwater samples, logbooks and test gear. And my ridiculously expensive satellite phone. Dana and the board were adamant that I carry that absurd gizmo with me when I went 'off the grid'. I resisted, only to have a line from one of my favorite Jodie Foster films thrown at me.

“I can think of a million reasons for you to carry this...” Dana smiled, brandishing the satphone “....but it's for the reasons I can't imagine, that you really need to.” OK, it wasn't an exact quote, but I appreciated the gesture, and graciously accepted the phone. Never intending to use the damn thing. I was about five hours from the nearest roadway, and about six hours from that to the nearest town. I didn't intend to be mauled by a bear or bitten by a snake. I figured that whatever I may need from the outside world, it could wait that long.

I just realized it has been over three weeks since I wrote in this personal journal. I guess because it seems all I do these days is write. Well, actually log. Soil and groundwater analysis, samples of various flora, mold spore samples, insect and animal specimens. It will take a long time to collect and digest enough data to begin preliminary findings, but I have collected enough ...anomalous... materials, that I suspect my original thesis may have been drastically conservative.

I don't think I ever heard the damned thing go off before, so when it did, it scared the hell out of me.

It also didn't help that it seemed like the middle of the night, and I was sound asleep. I had become so used to the gentle silence of my surroundings, that the shrill electronic sound was deafening and bewildering. I finally shook off my sleep-haze and stumbled around to find the source of that damned harsh trilling. I rifled through my stuff until I exhumed the satphone.

“...lo?” I hoarsely muttered.

“Shel? Shelly? Is that you?” the voice was hollow and distorted. The fact that I was still mostly asleep didn't help comprehension.

“Dana? You scared the hell out of me! My god, this phone sounds like....”

“Shel! Are you alright? Is everything OK?”

“Huh? Wha.... yes... of course everything is OK. Why wouldn't everything be OK?”

“You sounded stunned and disoriented. ….I thought...”

“Of course I'm disoriented. You woke me from a sound sleep. And yeah, I guess I'm stunned. My heart's still pounding from the shock of that phone shrieking.”

“Oh. Thank god. I thought it was from the blast.”

“What blast? What on earth are you talking about?”

“Nothing on earth! You didn't see or hear the blast? A meteor strike ….about a mile and a half from your location. It was big. Really big. How could you sleep through that? You must have at least felt it.”

“I was sound asleep.”

“That's hard to believe. Maybe concussion from the shock wave knocked you out until the phone startled you conscious?”

“I think your data's faulty. No sound, no shock, I saw nothing. If it was as big as you say, it should be raining debris from the impact crater right now.”

“Yes. Yes it should!”

“Nope. Nothing.” I said as I walked to the door and stepped outside into the still night air. “I don't know what to say. You need to recheck your data.”

“Yes. We're doing that now, and....” his voice trailed off as I heard the rustling of paper and Dana said to someone off mic '….this makes no sense. Crosscheck these.' then remembering I was on the $20/minute satellite phone “look... data's pouring in from radar, satellites, seismic sensors, and ….yeah... we're getting a flood of input... but frankly it's not making any sense.”

“How so?”

“Well, it appeared out of nowhere... and came in big and fast. Our initial readings indicated it could be as big as Tunguska … bigger maybe....”
I could only whistle. “...but...”

“Yeah.” I could hear the smile in the voice, here was the old scientist wrestling with a very interesting phenomenon. “it's trajectory changed when it hit the atmosphere. It didn't skip off or burrow in... it slowed and shallowed... actually made a complete orbit and a half before losing velocity and impacting.”

“Are you saying it was a controlled reentry? Like a shuttle?”

“No. No. It was ballistic.... and hot.... and fast.... but it was a really really unusual entry.... the working theory is that bits of it broke off or collapsed from the heat and pressure, changing its aerodynamics.... that's really the only thing that could explain.....” his voice trailed off.

“And it supposedly came down somewhere near here?” I was fully awake now.

“Just a few miles from you by every indication. But you saw or heard nothing?”

“Not a thing. From the way you describe this thing, I should be bits of charred hamburger scattered about 20 miles east of here.”

Dana laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah... you should. This is damned peculiar. You have radiation detection gear in your survey kit don't you?”

“Yeah...” I said as I already was digging for it.

“Would you....”

“Already on it.” I said as I attached the wand to the detector and turned it on. I set the detector to audible and held the phone to it so Dana could hear the faint slow clicks.

“Nothing but background.” I confirmed.

“Damned peculiar.” Dana muttered. “All our instruments indicate something massive went down practically in your backyard, yet we have no seismic activity, you're reading no radioactivity, and you slept right through the alleged impact.”

“Alleged?”

“Well, now I'm beginning to doubt this mountain of radar and I.R. Satellite data, because seismic ...and eyewitness data... or lack of it.... throw serious doubt onto what the hell happened. If anything!” Dana was really agitated. None of this added up, and that was obviously stressing.

“Look” I said glancing at the time display on the phone “it's nearly first light. Why don't I hike over to the alleged impact site and give it a looksee? Give me the coordinates.”

Dana was ambivalent about my going near the alleged impact site, but I was quick with the reminder that I sensed no radiation, and there was no sensor data of any kind regarding impact. I knew curiosity would be piqued, and it would be insisted that I go if I hadn't already volunteered. I was becoming really curious too. I also reminded everyone that my sample gear would be ideal for whatever I might find. Dana insisted I call back the moment I returned from the site.

I collected some test gear and sample kits and was ready to go at dawn. It was only a few miles according to the GPS, but the map didn't do justice to the dense wilderness or rugged terrain. It still took me hours to get there. I figured I'd see damaged trees, maybe even singed or flattened as I approached the impact site. But there was no evidence that anything unusual had happened.

Until I hit the clearing.

I encountered more than enough unusual in this small space to fill an entire forest.

It was a field of wild grass, only as I walked through it, I could see the grass became more brittle and brown, eventually becoming hay. Then I stepped on something.

It was a bird. I turned my gaze to the ground and noticed a sea of dead animals amid the dry lifeless grass. I immediately stopped and broke out my test gear. I ran every test I could for radiation, toxic gasses... everything I could think of. All clean. I put on exam gloves and picked up some of the animals. The field was littered with them. I just went from one to the other and each seemed to have suffered no trauma. They were just... lifeless.

I don't know how long it took me to realize that, while I examined probably close to a hundred animals, no two were the same. There were crows and falcons and hawks and raccoon and skunks... pretty much a Noah's ark of species. But all dead. And only one of each. That was most peculiar and I knew it was significant, but I didn't yet know how. So I just stored that observation away and resumed my original task. Looking for whatever the hell came down here. And by now I was absolutely certain, something had come down here, and it was stranger than any of us could even imagine.

I finally found the impact crater. Though it was more like a small ditch. Surprisingly small, considering how large and fast this ...thing... was supposed to be. Less than a hundred meters long I reckoned. I guess it was hot, because I noticed a lot of the dirt had been melted into a glassy chute, which actually made it really easy to get into the trough. In fact a little too easy. It was slick as a slide and I careened down it until I was about six meters deep near the end. Everything was blackened and charred, and because it was so deep, the walls cast a deep shadow making it really hard to get a good look at what – if anything – was at the end.

My eyes adjusted somewhat to the darkness and I realized that in addition to the scorched earth, there was indeed an object here, just as scorched and nearly identical in appearance to the charred earth around it. I went to my kit and got another pair of exam gloves and some sample bags and tools.

The object seemed very ...ephemeral.... shimmering like a mirage... quite fragile and barely there... like fine spun strands of cotton candy. I couldn't imagine how it could have survived impact. It must be far far harder than it looks. I grabbed forceps and a pair of snips and went to get a sample.... and....DAMN!

I recoiled in pain as I held my hand to me. What the hell was that? Did I get a shock through the nitrile gloves? Was this spindly thing acting like some sort of giant capacitor?

No. I didn't get a shock. The drop of blood on the finger of the glove made it quite clear, I'd pricked myself. I quickly went to my kit, squeezed some more blood from the puncture on my finger and applied antiseptic and a small bandage. I then reached for a fresh pair of gloves. I would be much more careful next time.

As I tried again to get a sample, bits of the thing vaporized as I touched them. I changed tactic and tried to collect a sample of the 'vapor' in a vacuum canister, but was not so sure I succeeded.

I noticed the sun was low in the sky, and knew that I needed to head for home immediately. Whatever additional mysteries were here, I could come back tomorrow.

By the time I got home I was exhausted. I was achy from my trek and I wanted to sleep. But I had to call Dana, because I knew how curious everyone was. I didn't have any idea how I was going to explain what I found.

Turns out I had nothing to explain. Because I didn't tell them anything. I don't know why I did it, but I related what a difficult journey it was and what a profound disappointment to arrive at 'the site' and find nothing but a small charred trough. I have no idea why I relayed only the mundane stuff, omitting the countless strange and disturbing things I encountered. I did tell myself that it would be impossible to explain what I actually did find, and that I was too tired to even try. This way, they would be disappointed but would let me go quickly so I could get some rest. I did promise to return and get some samples from the crater. I said I would, really to get everyone back at the university off my back. I quickly ended the call and crawled into bed still in my clothes.

It was a fitful, feverish sleep. I vaguely recalled the acute discomfort and awoke drenched in perspiration, yet feeling re-energized. Whatever it was I was coming down with, I had shaken it. I grabbed a refreshing shower, grateful for the cisterns and the solar water heaters I had retrofitted onto the cabin. The study grant was generous enough to enable some modern 'embellishments' to my wilderness outpost so I didn't have to rough it too much.

Cleaned up and changed, I felt much better and eager to return to the impact site. There was too much to see in one day, and now that I knew what I would find and what I wanted to look for, I could be much more focused and efficient.

The trek didn't seem nearly as hard, and I found I didn't even need the GPS this time. I was returning, and I knew exactly where I was going,
I got there about mid morning and collected more samples. I was quite surprised that they all seemed exactly the way I left them the day before. I thought at least some of them would be picked at by scavengers... there weren't even any signs of bacterial decay. One more very odd thing to add to the record book. As I made my log entry, I glanced at my watch to note the time and stopped cold. I wasn't surprised by the time, but the date. Why did it say Thursday? It was Tuesday. Wasn't it?

How long had I slept? How sick had I actually been? That was troubling, but I was feeling fine now and I had work to do, so I made a mental note to worry about my missing 48 hours later.

I only spent a few more minutes surveying the site again, I really wanted to get into the crater and get a good chunk of whatever the hell was down there. I don't recall feeling such eager anticipation about something since I was a teenager heading off to a concert.

I slid down the chute – deliberately this time, and against all my training and experience, reached up to wrench a large chunk of this thing free. I was in such a rush, I even neglected to put on gloves.

I opened my eyes to the deep night sky. The silence was unsettling. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around. I had no idea what time it was, so I glanced at my watch.

Or more accurately, my wrist. Where my watch should have been. Only it wasn't. Just a silhouette of where the watchband had been on my sunburned wrist. As I collected my senses and sat up, I realized I was not just without my watch, but without anything. I was lying on my back, naked in a field. Well, pretty much naked. I noticed that my reddened, seemingly sunburned body was covered by a fine powdery dust that caught the moonlight like fine ground glass ...or diamond dust. I stood up and looked around as best I could in the faint night light. I suddenly thought 'I'm naked and defenseless in the middle of the wilderness in the pitch of night.' But I almost immediately observed the eerie silence. The night was never this quiet. Not even in the woods. When I strained, I could hear very distant sounds of nocturnal life, but they were very far away. I was certain. There was not another living thing near me.

The thought of living thing immediately made me think of the object in the crater, and how the last thing I recalled was recklessly reaching out to grab it in the midday sun.

I scrambled to the trough, about a hundred feet away, and slid down quickly to return to the object.

Only there was nothing there.

Just some fine residue that looked exactly like the glittering diamond dust I was caked in.

This was really baffling,and I knew I would have to mull this over. But at the moment it was night, I couldn't see anything, and I knew I would be crazy to try and walk home in the dark. Naked. So I just found my way back to that spot in the grass where I woke up, and lay back down until dawn.

With first light, I began to examine my surroundings. I could see the steam from my breath, yet I didn't feel the cold. Odd. I figured maybe it was somehow related to the trauma of whatever the hell happened to me in that crater.

I searched around and found my watch. ...what was left of it anyway... about 600 feet away. The band was scorched and frayed, and the watch seemed to be partially melted. I then looked around for any other personal belongings. I found a few shards of clothes that looked like they had been through a blast.... they were scorched and tattered, like the watch band. I found what was left of my shoes, the soles seemed more or less intact, but the uppers were in shreds. I managed to fasten them to my feet anyway, sort of like ancient sandals.... and in about the same condition as if they had been a few thousand years old. Still, the soles protected my feet for the long walk home.

That was pretty much all I found. There seemed to be no trace of my field kit, which was at my side when whatever happened in the crater happened. I could only surmise that it was some sort of blast that knocked me hundreds of feet away, on my back, unconscious until I came to under the stars. It still didn't make sense. It pretty much destroyed everything around me and the object in the crater, yet aside from that sparkly soot caked all over my now naked body, I seemed miraculously unscathed.

I grabbed a few shreds of clothing and what was left of my watch and headed back to the cabin. Naked as Adam and Eve. Thank god I was so far away from everything, I knew I would never run into anyone. I noticed by the eerie stillness, that there didn't even seem to be any wildlife to observe my naked march home.

I resisted the urge to remove the ...dust... that stuck to me like fine dried mud. I had lost all my sample kits, but I could scrape and bottle this.... stuff.... when I returned to my cabin.

By the time I got back to my 'base camp' I was not feeling well at all.

I wanted to at least write a log entry about my findings, but was overwhelmed with exhaustion. All I managed to get down was “Back from site. Details can wait.”

After entering that brief blurb, I wondered what I'd been thinking. I made it sound mundane, yet what I found and what happened was anything but. Still, I was so tired that I felt sure that if I didn't willingly get some sleep that I would pass out where I stood.

When I finally did wake up, I instantly began regretting it. I wasn't tired, but I felt like I had come down with the mother of all flus. I was achy and sweaty and shivering and shaky and short of breath and couldn't even focus my eyes to see what time it was. All I knew was that it was daylight, and I wanted to crawl back under the covers and return to sleep. Not that I was tired, but the discomfort of being awake and feeling like this was so acute, I yearned for the sweet release of unconsciousness.

Before collapsing from exhaustion, I forced myself to scrape off the 'diamond dust' I was still caked in. I stored it in a sample vial and went to my little 'hygiene station' to get a rudimentary shower. There I rinsed off the last of the 'soot' I carried with me from the site. After a good scrub and a welcome toweling down, my skin was as pink and soft as a newborns. I had not scrubbed hard, yet I was sure I'd shed the few top layers of skin as surely as if I'd had a 'Silkwood shower'. All that mattered at the moment was that it felt really good. The flu-like symptoms were abating, or I was just getting used to them. Either way, I was beginning to feel a bit more human. And to my surprise, unexpectedly hungry.

I nibbled at the oddest assortment of foods, and thought with a laugh of the odd cravings of pregnant women. Then I thought of the even odder craving of stoners. That got me to wondering if I was feverish. As soon as the thought hit me, the rebuttal followed. If I wasn't in my right mind, I would be the last one in a position to judge, so any speculation was pointless. There was nothing wrong about the food I was eating, it was just a rather odd assortment. And I was tremendously thirsty. I consumed more water than I thought I could hold, and expected to be overwhelmed with the urge to relieve my bladder momentarily. Instead, I was again overwhelmed by sleepiness. And, like a sleepwalker, I mindlessly ambled to bed.

It wasn't a peaceful sleep. When I returned from the impact site, I fell quickly to sleep and it was like flipping a switch. I was out. 'Dead Tired' was never truer. One moment I was falling into bed, the next I was dragging myself painfully out. But this time was different.

I guess the best way to describe it would be 'fitful'. I tossed and turned and dreamed and dreamed. I recalled only glimpses, but it seemed as if I was remembering my entire life. Incidents from my childhood. Intensely personal moments, and shared experiences.... cultural turning points that the world had witnessed, yet seen through my eyes.

How they closed school and sent us all home, but wouldn't tell us why. How I got home and my dad was home from work... in the living room with my mom and all the blinds shut and the TV on, and they told me 'they shot the president'. And the surreal days that followed. Seeing the guy they said did it murdered himself on live TV. And the funeral. And all the world leaders. And the faces of all the people, everywhere, who just seemed ….lost. And how somehow we all pulled ourselves together and life went on.

And I remembered my first kiss from Jan Miller in middle school. And learning what second base was. And learning about the birds and bees with a very awkward show-and-tell from my very straight laced parents... and wondering which of us was more embarrassed at that moment.

And watching a very fuzzy TV picture with a bunch of noisy people yelling about reception as we all watched the first human step onto the moon.

And the crystal clear images many years later of jetliners flying full speed into skyscrapers... and the surreal times that followed. The fear and confusion... and the outpouring of sympathy and compassion and support of total strangers from around the globe who shared nothing but our common humanity and our dismay and empathy at the suffering of the thousands of innocent victims.

And meeting Marty at a mixer at school... and what an inauspicious start it was to what would end up the love of my life... and our kids... and our home in the 'burbs.... and the ache of the empty house. And how it led me here. Which led me to the impact site. Which brought me to this point. And how utterly random it all was. But how perfect it all was.

Strange, strange... troubling... dreams. I remembered the 'meadow of death' as I now thought of the area around the impact site. I recalled the dead wildlife, seeing every bird and thinking 'No. No. No.' as each image flashed in my mind... Then the carcasses of the rodents and mammals and insects and even plants... thinking 'No. No. No. No.' Then thinking of my own reflection as I toweled off after my shower and thinking '...Maybe....'

Strange, strange, troubling dreams.

I awoke feeling much better than the time before. At least physically. I was really disturbed by what few dream snippets I could recall, but they were fading fast and I knew that once I was able to get free of those memories, I would feel much better.

Which I did. I did some chores and thought about taking the long trek into the nearest town for the first time in ages. I was suddenly craving human contact. And it was a good chance to stock up on some supplies I hadn't originally considered, but now seemed quite desirable after enough time alone in the wilderness. Curiously, I was really missing the comfort of losing myself in a good book at a public library.

At some point I recalled that I had never fully reported back on my findings at the impact site. When I went to tether my laptop to the satphone, I noticed the battery was flat. I scolded myself for my sloppiness and connected it to the solar cell array, hoping there was enough daylight left to charge it enough for me to at least fire off a text before the next afternoon.

I composed a terse report, figuring the briefer the better to get it off before the weak battery drained. I mentioned that they were wise to not send anyone. That there was an impact track, but nothing at the end. That there was no sign of biological or radioactive activity in the proximity of the impact site. That my gear wasn't specifically designed for such an investigation, but that I was confident that I had been able to use the tools I did have to ascertain with a reasonable degree of confidence that there was no evidence of any biological or radiological threat, and in fact there was no lingering evidence of just what came down there. That a ground investigation was unable to yield any additional info beyond the paradoxical evidence they already had from NORAD tracking and seismic sensors. I inquired if they were maybe able to obtain additional imagery from other sources. We danced around 'military surviellance' without actually saying it, but we both knew I was obliquely asking if maybe very high resolution 'spy satellites' had been able to obtain any extra info. I already knew from my own experience trying to photograph the object, that anything they DID get from surveillance would only add additional confusion to the information they were trying to gather.

I wrote a quick preamble about the precarious phone battery situation, and said in essence 'here comes the executive summary – not much to tell anyway – hope you get it all'. And hit SEND.

And I think I got it off, but the phone was dead again before I could receive a confirmation.

So I gathered an overnight bag and prepared for the long trek to the nearest town.

It took me a day and a half of driving the 'logging road' – really two nearly imperceptible ruts in slightly less rugged terrain with somewhat lower undergrowth before I hit the 'main road' which meant a clear ribbon of rutted dirt. If I didn't have my GPS I never would have been able to stick to the path. I tried to imagine pioneers in the 1800s struggling to make their way through this terrain, and couldn't understand how they could do it.

The 'county road' took me to a strip of asphalt that had seen better days, but probably more harsh weather than traffic. Four hours after that I was pulling into the bucolic hamlet of 'Bison Grove'.

I had no idea what would possess anyone to make a home in such a harsh and humble spot so far from anywhere. Then I thought of the hard pressed pioneers of the 19th century traversing this daunting terrain. I pictured them saying to each other 'Enough! I can't go on another day.' And planting down weary roots where their spirit of intrepid adventure finally died. Suddenly the term 'settlers' had a new and much more visceral meaning. They planted their roots – and buried their dreams. And called this place Bison Grove. And every generation since has yearned to travel too. Away from this scenic, but soul crushingly remote place.

I never expected it to be bustling, but it wasn't a ghost town either. It had power and water and a general store with gas and diesel pumps out back and a lunch counter inside, and a church and a school ….and a library.

I don't know why I expected the librarian to be an elderly lady right out of central casting, but I couldn't have been more wrong. She was actually a kind of goth 20 something named Chloe. And she was bewildered and delighted to see me.

I quickly got the feeling that not much different happened in town and it didn't take much to get folks excited. They couldn't imagine how I found my way to their little hamlet. I explained to Chloe my project and my need for the most remote location I could find. She laughed long and hard and vouched for the fact that I had succeeded in that goal. She had ambitions to get away and go to community college somewhere, townsfolk thought that would be great, figuring she could get a secondary education and a degree and return to teach school. She was all for the first part but had her own ideas about the last part, though she shared that with no one, not wanting to 'rock the boat'. Since she was the 'town smarty' she laughed making air-quotes, they gave her the library job. She really liked it since it was quiet and she admitted that she didn't really fit too well with a lot of the other folks in town, so it gave her something to do and kept everyone from having to awkwardly mingle. She talked about how she really got into her job, hitting up libraries in other towns and even cities for surplus or outdated inventories, stuff that was too much trouble to store or being replaced with digital versions, and not really good prospects for fundraising surplus book sales. She admitted the collection was haphazard and eclectic, but it was clear she had a love for every title someone took the trouble to write and publish.

Haphazard and eclectic suited me just fine. I gleefully tore through the very odd collection in the BGPL. It was a welcome break from what I left behind and knew I would all too soon return to.

Chloe and I had long talks when I'd take a break to rest my eyes. Actually, she did most of the talking. I was more inclined to listen anyway. As we talked, our conversations became more intimate. I wondered if she was using me as some sort of therapist, saying all the things she could never say to the people she grew up with and saw every day. I was struck by the commonality of some of our experiences, and the eye opening differences of some others. It was fascinating to compare our two lives, and I fantasized about having the time to do this with every resident of Bison Grove... and extrapolating out until all 8 Billion residents of the planet had a chance to compare notes. What would we learn about each other and about ourselves?

This was a really weird train of thought, I finally realized with a start. Not even the most ambitious anthropologist would fantasize about a project of this magnitude.

Chloe and I burned through the day, and she realized with some shock that the library was supposed to close hours ago. She asked where I was staying and I told her I hadn't thought that far ahead. She said she could talk to some people and get them to open up the rectory, since they only had a visiting clergyman who did a circuit through the area and came in for services Sunday afternoons. The rectory was empty but furnished, and she assured me that other townsfolk would be so happy to have a fresh-face that they would eagerly set me up in the rectory with little fuss.

I met John and Dianne who owned the store – and turned out to be Chloe's mom and dad. I met Thomas the barber and mechanic and kind of go-to-guy when people needed a hand with projects, though most folks in these parts were pretty self-sufficient, if only out of necessity.

I spent about a week in Bison Grove and think I got to meet and get to know every single resident. Not that that was too daunting a task. There weren't many townsfolk, and they were all great talkers... although a few commented that many were usually very private and reserved, yet I seemed to get them to go on and on. Everyone kept saying that I was surprisingly easy to talk to, but I still think its just that everyone was happy for a stranger to unload to. And, yes... I found that I really did enjoy listening.

Chloe kidded that I was only leaving because I had already finished reading every book in the library, which made me laugh even as I wondered to myself if that might not in fact be true. I was voracious and not the least bit picky. From History and biographies to philosophy and politics. Science and technology to language study, art appreciation and fiction from classic to pulp, I really did tear through every book I could get my hands on. I was so busy doing it that I didn't stop to think how odd it was. Then again, everything about this library and to some extent the whole village, was kind of odd. But it was also immensely satisfying, and I went back to my remote wilderness base quite content and sated.

My last night in Bison Grove. ...actually the night before I decided to leave Bison Grove and return 'home'... I had another of those odd dreams, of which I always woke with the faintest fleeting glimpses. I was dreaming about Chloe and John and Dianne, and Elizabeth and Sue and George and Carolyn and Jeanine and everyone I had met on my stay here. And we were hanging out and sharing and bonding and ...just connecting. And I saw myself and them as if I was outside of myself and looking at us all from some other separate perspective. And I was happy and pleased and content and eager and thinking 'definitely yes'.

It didn't have a post office, but a bus came through every week and brought mail and whatever other supplies were needed. Bison Grove was really 'west of nowhere'. Yet I also knew as I drove back to my outpost, that it was also a little slice of everywhere. After talking with seemingly everyone in the town, I thought to myself 'yeah, they are representative of all of us... humanity in its glory and folly and aspiration and frustration.'. I somehow found that odd notion deeply gratifying.

I unloaded my supplies and fixed myself a meal. I was more or less flying on autopilot and not paying much attention, but realized that it was more like a thanksgiving feast than a simple meal. I chuckled ambivalently as the thought 'last supper' flashed through my mind and was quickly dismissed and forgotten. I gorged voraciously, and knew I should have felt guilty... but I didn't. I was not in the least surprised when I felt the 'food coma' coming on.

I went out to the latrine, took care of business, washed up and prepared for bed.

I stripped to my underthings and wrapped the blanket around me. It felt like a tight warm hug.

...Or a cozy cocoon.

The dreams were vivid. And seemingly endless. Glimpses of my past, as they recently had been. I also dreamed about the townspeople I met in Bison Grove. I felt like I relived my entire time there... even to recalling every book I had read. It felt like in realtime. It seemed to go on forever, but I didn't find it unpleasant. I never became impatient to wake.

Yet, I finally did wake up. And I really, really had to pee. I didn't even bother to put on shoes, or flip flops or anything. I was so completely focused on emptying my bladder that I darted to the hygiene station and planted myself on the latrine with an overwhelming sense of relief – and release!

Apparently my bladder wasn't the only thing that needed emptying. But once that was done, I was immediately aware that I was ...famished!

As I padded gingerly back to my cabin, bare feet melting the snow where I stepped, I noticed how unconcerned I was at my icy breath or the icy feel of the snow on the soles of my bare feet. I was really, really focused on fixing myself something to eat.

The fact that my cabin was really really cold was a startling revelation. It was instantly replaced by the idea that the whole place was a giant walk-in cooler, and all my supplies were in excellent shape.

I quickly stirred up a hearty meal and tore into it, drinking what seemed like gallons of water, powdered milk and ensure. My mind was alarmed at my behavior, but it was overruled by more ...primal urges. I gorged until sated, And while I did NOT feel a food coma coming on, I observed quite rationally, that it was pitch dark, and obviously the middle of the night. So I burrowed back into my blankets and retired until sunup.

And returned to my strange, strange dreams. Only this time the dreams were not about my past. Or about me at all. Well, not exactly....
I dreamed of countless probes scattered like dandelion spores... to all points of the known universe. Patiently, tirelessly meandering along. Lazily, yet determinedly seeking signs of ...interest. No, that wasn't the right word. It was more like.... potential....

The planet stood out immediately. It wasn't remotely like the others Its EM reflectometry was in an entirely different spectrum. It had a curious EM blanket seemingly inherent – generated by the planets spinning molten core which acted like a sieve. Filtering cosmic radiation. Reflecting some, absorbing others, and letting very particular spectra pass. It was extremely anomalous. Yet there was no trace of artifice. It seemed …..natural and inherent, which made it even more anomalous if that were possible. There was a blanket of gas surrounding the planet that was rife with complex carbon based molecules that could possibly be a form of organic life. Yes. This was worth investigation. This was the goal.

The 'seeders' could have no idea what their probes would find. They were sent on one-way missions, and in the against-all-odds scenario, they would find life... suitable, compatible life, and establish contact. And if this quark-in-a haystack panned out ideally, the lifeform contacted would itself establish contact with the 'seeders', confirming that indeed one of their probes had found ...potential... and contact ….cultural intercourse, would be gingerly initiated. The odds were astronomical, yet given the vastness of the cosmos, it was clear this was the best bet – the only bet – possible.

I knew as soon as I had the dream, that the goal of the probe was to seek an emissary. And just as instantly, everything that I had experienced resolved itself with crystal clarity.

I woke at dawn refreshed and energized. I understood. I had no idea what the next step was, but didn't have a shred of a doubt that I'd know it when it was time.

My breath formed an icy cloud, and I was suddenly aware of the ache of cold, and the erect nipples on my swollen, chilled breasts. I wrapped the blanket around me as I lit a fire to begin to warm the cabin, and only slowly began to dress, engulfing myself in layers of warm clothes.

The chill abated, and I halfheartedly began my daily routine.

I had little interest in cataloging flora and fauna, or in analyzing soil samples. I was preoccupied with my dreams. I wondered how much I remembered and how much I forgot. Or how much I thought I remembered, but mis-remembered. What I DID think I remembered was pretty far-out. It sounded more like something out of those sci-fi anthologies Marty used to read.

God, I miss Marty. I can only imagine what Marty would make out of these dreams, or the 'meteor'... it really was like one of those crazy sci-fi stories Marty would read to the kids. They were all blessed – or cursed – with a sense of imagination and wonder. I used to cluck smugly to myself that at least one member of the family had their feet planted firmly in the ground.

Perhaps I spoke too soon.

I shook it off and tried to resume my routine. But first, nature called, and I was craving a steaming hot shower to vanquish the cold which now seemed embedded to my core.

I put on some heavy boots and trudged through the snow to the latrine. Or was it the shower or bath or sauna... it was all those and more. That's why I began simply thinking of it as the 'hygiene station'. It was the place I would go to feel 'human' again.

I quickly started a fire in the stove and routed the feed from the cisterns through to the radiator wrapped around the back half of the wood stove. The solar cells would keep the collected rainwater from freezing, but not much more. I had no desire to take a 34 degree shower, and I knew the large stove would have the water steaming in no time.

I stripped off my flannels and shearling and basked in the rising warmth of the room. I raised my arms and languidly stretched, feeling the satisfaction as my no-longer achingly cold breasts rose over my ribcage with the stretch. I lazily wandered over to the mirror grabbing a brush along the way and prepared to brush out my hair.

And froze.

The woman who stared back at me in the mirror could not have been more than 26. Likely much less. Her mouth hung open as the brush dangled absentmindedly in her hand.

What the HELL?

I knew damned well how old I was. I had two kids in college goddamit. I had been MARRIED for longer than this girl looked to be alive.

Yet there was no denying that it was me. Not somebody else. Not something else. Definitely me. ….yet NOT me. This woman didn't look old enough to be one of my grad students!

I sleepwalked my way through the shower, and getting dressed, brushing my teeth, returning to my cabin. All of it was on autopilot. Meanwhile the rest of my mind was grappling with one thought...

WHAT.. THE... HELL?

I absentmindedly made myself dinner, made routine journal entries, checked the defrosters and the solar chargers... dusted and swept a bit and eventually prepared myself for bed.

I was profoundly disturbed, yet deeply unruffled. Ambivalent doesn't begin to describe it. Some part of me knew that all would become clear in time. And that it would be nothing to be distressed about. Yet I couldn't imagine how. I was far beyond 'deeply conflicted'.

More sleep. More dreams. More ….answers? I dreamed of the probe again. One of ….too many to count. Each sent like a message in a bottle into the unfathomable vastness of space. A futile hopeful gesture. In search of ….hope? That against all odds there is someone else ...something else.... however alien... something that can be ...communicated with. More conscious entities who might possibly be able to join the extremely small and scattered community that has searched for eons for any trace of ….others. An extended family of conscious beings. Learning slowly, patiently, tirelessly to relate to each other and find solace that they are somewhat less alone in the vastness than it had seemed.

The samples around the contact site were disappointing. Actually not disappointing, just as non-viable as expected. The odds were astronomically long. The complex carbon molecules were analyzed and were in fact determined to be a form of life. However tests of the various categories – which I already knew as bacterial, vegetable and animal – although the probe had no such labels, yet still broke them down into their distinct categories... yielded no contact potential.

Then I stumbled onto the site. An initial eval was made. My 'flulike symptoms' were the probes ...I can't explain why, but I want to use the term 'nanoembers' made an initial evaluation of potential viability, and apparently would have compelled me with the desire to return to the probe. But I already wanted to return after my rest, so they just made the journey seem much easier.

Once evidence of viability was confirmed, the probe 'completed its mission' and I couldn't help but think that maybe it was the only one of its kind to do so. The odds were that long.

The procedure was customized to my individual genome, and the ...contact package was ...delivered. This involved a hefty dose of ionizing and non ionizing radiation as well as microspores implanted through my pores and respiratory system.

The ionzing radiation weakened the rna bonds and facilitated the resequencing by the microspores. The purpose was to 'optimize' my genome for my ...destiny... as contactee.

I quickly felt reassurance that nothing ...alien... was being done to my DNA. I was merely being reprogrammed on a sub-cellular level, to be an 'optimized' version of ….me.

So, the age thing was simply that it was determined to be the optimum age of homosapien. I also knew instinctively that I would never again get sick, or worry about the family history of heart disease, skin cancer or type 2 diabetes. Those and pretty much everything else had been 'programmed out'. I chuckled to myself that it was still MY responsibility to make sure I didn't get hit by a car while jaywalkng.

The ultimate purpose of the probe was to find sentient life and to establish contact between its creators and the life it found. And it was instantly clear to me that this was done through ...an emissary.

When I woke I immediately forgot about my old project and dove head first into this one. I often found myself with ….itches... desires, cravings, seemingly random notions. I knew that it was the probe – or its microagents coursing through my veins, communicating with me in the best way possible. I didn't feel manipulated. I had no sense of being a puppet. Instead I felt like a collaborator in an amazingly ambitious and earth-shaking project.

I packed up my truck and began the long trek back to Bison Grove. I new I needed more supplies, but I also knew I needed community. I wasn't sure just what was expected of me yet, but I knew I wasn't meant to do it alone.

Bison Grove was exactly the way I left it. How long ago? It had to be months. The days were getting longer and the snowpack was thinning. After gassing up the truck, I headed straight back to the local library. Only to find it closed with a hand written sign on the door stating the hours were Saturday from “10A-Noon and by appointment.”

I immediately wondered about Chloe and went to the general store to see her parents. As I gingerly made my way through the slick, packed snow to the front door, I saw Dianne rush to the door to open it for me.

“Well look at YOU!” she beamed.

I beamed back and held my arms out for a hug. This was the first person I had seen since leaving this town and I hadn't realized how much I starved for human contact.

Diane rested her hands on my shoulders and leaned back, gently twisting me and regarding me toe to top. Her smile impossibly widened more. All I could do was return her radiant smile.

“Oh. My. Goodness! We always wondered if we'd ever see you again. And here you are.” she glanced me all over again. “Here you ARE!” she grinned.

I blushed.

“Just passing through, or...”

“Thinking of staying for a bit.” I said sheepishly. “If there's a place....”

She immediately tsk-tsk'd. “Of course there's a place for you. ...And.... ...are you with someone?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No. Just me. Just like before.”

Dianne's grin was wicked. “Not JUST like before...”

I blushed deeply. How had I appeared last time I was here? I had no idea. I had forgotten my image in the mirror. I looked so young. Perhaps a third my 'real' age?

The thought popped into my head 'what is real age? what is real even? what was, was...what is, IS. Neither is more or less real and valid than the other.'

I don't know how long I was lost in thought but it couldn't have been a full moment, because Dianne continued on uninterrupted.
“Well, the rectory simply will not do this time. You're staying with us. In Chloe's old room.”

“Old room?” My face must have gone ashen, because Dianne squinted then her face broadened to a gentle smile,

“She's fine!” Dianne laughed. “She just finally made good on her threat to go away to college.”

She regarded me warmly “I think it was you who finally put the wanderlust into her.”

I began to feel badly for driving their daughter away. Dianne must have sensed this. She took my hand and patted it.

“This town always was too big for her dreams.” she smiled. “I think it took meeting someone like you to make her realize that.”

I laughed. Someone like me. Was there anyone like me? Was I even really someone like me? Who was I? I was me... I was certain of that. Was “I” me...plus?

“So it's settled. It's Chloe's room for you. She'll be thrilled to hear. I can't wait to tell her.”

I simply smiled and tried to graciously accept her excess generosity.

“When are you due dear?” Dianne asked.

“Soon.” I muttered reflexively. A part of me startled, while Dianne remained calm. I looked down at my swelling belly. Oh my God! I knew I'd been greatly distracted since that first encounter with the ...thing....

'Probe' the thought in my head gently corrected.

...Probe... I was vaguely aware that I sleepwalked through huge parts of my life since then. I had become obsessed and fixated on some things while being utterly oblivious to others. Like my own body. I was not this 26 year old. Most certainly not this pregnant 26 year old. My mind reeled trying to connect my ...old life... my true life?....

'Past life' came the thought in my head. 'Life before.'

I thought about everything I remembered. Everything I lived through. I remembered living through it again in my dreams. As real as it was when it happened the first time. But now, it seemed... somehow... disconnected. Like a biography I knew intimately... down to the smallest detail. But it was a bio. All somehow in the third person.

Sheldon Bennet. Born Sept 29, 1953. Claremont New Hampshire. Growing up in New England and reading Kerouac and the beats, and later Kesey and Wolfe. Obsessed by silly beach movies, hot corvettes and seeing the country like Tod & Buz on Route 66.

Knocked around California and scraping up money for a state college and a draft deferment. Crashing a UCSD mixer my friend Len got me into. Meeting Martina Cuaron and having maybe the most catastrophic first encounter any two humans ever had. And bumping into her years later when she was at Radcliffe and I was a struggling B.U. Grad student. How our shared trauma for that first meeting proved the cornerstone for ...what developed into our life together. Our life. Our kids. Her career success. Her illness and retirement and the devastatingly swift and brutal cancer. The emotion was still there. The pain was still there. But it was still... removed. Like witnessing a tragedy but not being a part of it. It was my life. It was my life before. And the term 'past life' really resonated. It did happen to me. But not in this life. This life now. I was here. I was 26. I was female for god's sake! And I was immensely pregnant. It was the most unimaginable and yet the most completely ...right... thing possible. I couldn't fully wrap my brain around this paradox, but at the moment it didn't matter.

The baby came 8 days later. I recalled Marty's two deliveries. The first one was rough. She was in labor forever and they finally had to induce her. It took her a long time to spring back and I was shocked when she eventually told me she wanted another. That was a little better, but still touch and go at times. Two children would be it for us. A boy and a girl. We had done our bit for the continuation of the species.

There were too many reasons to count why I should be senseless with terror over my unimaginable situation and the imminent birth. But whatever brought me to this impossible point in my life, also gave me calm assurance that all would be well.

I don't recall much about the labor at all. I don't recall any pain or even any real discomfort. The doula told me later that I was really out of it, but didn't seem to be in any real distress.

I do recall what felt like 'fever dreams'. I dreamed again of the probes scattering like spores through the empty universe for eons on end. The one that found us. And found me. And transferred to me, its payload... its ...gift. I became more than I was. Still me. But the best me. The ideal me. And more. I had the gift. The gift that would be needed to respond to the message in a bottle that was the probe. I remembered these things vaguely from my earlier dreams, but that was one of a torrent of dreams. This dream was solitary and clear. There were no other thoughts to interfere with the message.

I knew I was chosen. I was ...accepted... humanity was accepted as worthy of the gift... the proof that we were not alone.... the invitation to reach out to, and eventually join a community far more vast than we could ever imagine. The gift was held by the emissary. I knew I had been chosen. That made me the emissary.

So I thought. But it was clear now. I was chosen. I had a very, very important role. A duty and responsibility that I knew would be as easy for me to fill as drawing my next breath. I was the ambassador. I was the representative of humankind. Not chosen by humankind, but chosen by those who sought us out in the great gulf of the universe. There was an emissary. The one who now held and embodied the gift. The one who would someday raise our eyes to the stars and reach out to bring the stars to us.

“Congratulations. It's a girl!” Yvonne the doula said handing me the freshly swaddled infant.

“I know.” I whispered as I came out of my fog, everything finally clear. I looked up to see the tender smiles of those gathered around me. Dianne and John, Carol from up the road, and

“Chloe!” I croaked out through dry lips. I reached out a hand. The moment she took and squeezed it, I felt the baby stir. I knew in that moment that this bright, curious girl with her limitless sense of wonder and adventurousness, would be a big part of my child's remarkable life.

“I came as soon as my Mom told me.” She beamed. “You were kind of out of it when I got here, but it looks like I arrived just in time!” Her eyes sparkled as her other hand reached out to grasp her moms.

“Just in time.” I smiled.

“Have you picked a name dear?” Carol asked.

I looked at the room. At the faces gathered around me. I felt a bit like Dorothy at the end of The Wizard of Oz. But I knew this wasn't an end. It was a beginning.

“Dawn.” I said.

Everyone smiled and nodded.

The moment the word left my mouth it tasted ...wrong.

I scrunched up my face. “No. That's not right.”

Their faces furrowed in mild surprise.

“Dawn is a good name. But not the right name. ...Maybe as a middle name...”

Everyone continued to regard me, mild consternation growing on their face. Suddenly it became clear. As clear as my life up to the moment finally was.

“Hope.” I said.

And the baby stirred in my arms.