Expedition Nereus

by Ilya Martynov

  In sheer terror, the lieutenant ran along the house wall, trying not to think about anything except the sacred door that would open automatically. When Jack reached the corner of the pavilion door, he glimpsed the beast in his peripheries readying to pounce on him from the side. Jack gritted his teeth and zigzagged only for the beast to mirror his every move. Still, judging by the shifting sand, Jack realized the beast drifted to the side slightly when it would turn. That little fact gave Jack a sliver of hope. He vaguely remembered what happened next.

  Rushing through the door, it automatically started to close behind him. He prayed for the door to close as fast as possible, but it had only one speed. Turning around, Jack saw two tentacles in the darkness managing to hold on to the closing door.

  "If it gets in here, it's all over," the lieutenant thought, panicked.

  The tentacle pushed and shifted the doors aside allowing the sharp beak to force its way in. Two yellow predatory eyes met Jack's.

  "This is the end. It'll split my head open with its beak before I can even reach the weapons locker," Jack thought.

  The beast shrieked again, but this time it was different, as if it were a shriek and roar mixed together. It recoiled harshly away from the door. Not of its own volition, but rather like something pulled it away. The door finally closed, sealing off Jack from the nightmare outside.

  Life rages on

  14

  Earth. The Directorate of the Space Agency Testing Center.

  A broad-shouldered man of 50 years, with a little bit of a belly and bald spots on his head, walked with confidence down the wide corridor, still dully lit at such an early hour. Each step caused his slightly chubby cheeks to jiggle. While walking, he almost didn't sway his arms, yet despite his importance, a slight stoop in his posture could be noticed. After so many years of service at the behest of the Space Agency, he was burnt out. Inescapable fatigue overcame him, the kind of exhaustion that only high-level professionals who worked their hands to the bone to achieve the perfect result could feel. He didn't know any other way to work, partly because the success of missions depended on people such as Herbert Norwell.

  Completely dedicating himself to work, Herbert hadn't taken a vacation for many years. At his age, no longer so young, such a schedule was taking its toll. Initially, the effects were harmless and unnoticeable, but eventually, more evident consequences affected his physical health, sleep, and lifestyle. The sad news about the explosion of two shuttles only added more gray hair to his head. After forty years of work at the Agency, no project had been as disastrous as Nereus. He knew he would eventually be called to the office of Arthur Newland, the Space Agency Director. Herbert had enough time to think about many things. He could already see a semi-circular door on the left.

  "Are you aware of the latest news about the shuttle landing?" Director Newland asked, staring at Herbert with an incredibly penetrating gaze through his round, stark glasses. Like Herbert, he also had a bald spot on his head, albeit a little smaller. His already aged, elongated face with high cheekbones still preserved traces of military masculinity and the keen, determined stare, both of which betrayed the director's brave past.

  "Yes, I am, Director," Norwell answered with no sign of worry.

  "And you're calm about it!?" the director asked a bit annoyed, still staring at him through his glasses.

  "Yes," Herbert Norwell replied, looking at the bridge of his boss's nose.

  "And you're calm about it?" the director repeated the question as if asking himself. "We started off losing two shuttles with probes, then we lost the final two from the third, and now five astronauts are dead while the last one is alive God-knows-how?"

  "Yes, I've been informed as such. We're taking appropriate measures. We're in damage control mode. The office hasn't slept for a second week straight. They've been working round-the-clock," Herbert explained, his facial features stone serious.

  "Herbert, we've known each other since last century, damn it! You know what the government will do to me and then to you!" Director Newland lost his temper.

  "We didn't have enough time to acquire all necessary information about the planet before sending the crew, and..."

  "We broke every deadline! As usual in this damn Agency!" The director started shouting.

  "We couldn't..."

  "Don't interrupt me! Linda Robore warned me that your team's arbitrariness and tyranny would lead to no good. It seems she was right this time. I've relied on you so many times..."

  "Arthur," Norwell suddenly stated in a patient, almost friendly tone. "I know we failed here. But now we're redesigning the whole mission plan, establishing the basis for it, and we're investigating."

  "Investigating!? What the hell are you investigating, might I ask?" The director craned his neck and leaned forward, bending over the table.

  "The reason for the crash," Norwell responded, raising his eyebrow and trying not to flinch.

  "Ah, the reason for the crash! Isn't it too late now that it happened? There haven't been so many accidents in forty years! Forty!" The director spat with rage, tiny drops of saliva raining down on the table.

  "Arthur," Norwell continued, trying to speak calmly and assuredly. "I admit my mistakes. I'm correcting them. Everyone's working hard at the office."

  "I'm sorry, Herbert, but I have to..." Arthur hesitated for a moment, leaning back in his armchair as if sinking. He glanced away, not moving his head, before returning his gaze back to his employee. Looking at Mr. Norwell through his austere glasses, the director's eyes narrowed. "You're fired... you need to take a rest."

  It seemed that Herbert Norwell, the head of the Department of Intergalactic Missions, was actually ready for everything. No muscle moved on his face. He patiently stared at the director, who turned his head away.

  Herbert waited for a few moments and then asked, "Is that all?"

  "Yes..." Director Newland spoke, drawling with a slight hesitation as if he wasn't sure what he was doing was right. "You have until next week to move your belongings."

  "What belongings?" Herbert was a bit surprised.

  "Your work capsules and info bars with reports," he said, carelessly waving his hand.

  "Why do I need to move them anywhere? I'm fired. Let the droids take them away wherever they're needed," Herbert remarked, trying not to betray the sad tone in his voice.

  "No, Herbert, you're moving to a different place."

  "A different place?" Herbert Norwell asked in cool surprise.

  "Yes."

  "I don't understand. Or did you decide...?"

  "Yes, exactly. You're being transferred to a different section! Did you think I'm going to let an employee like you get off so easily? Forget it!" He grabbed the edge of the table.

  "Are you serious?" At that moment, Herbert Norwell's face transformed, and the smile of a person who had just learned some good news shone through the mask of indifference.

  "Yes. You're being transferred to PR to work as press secretary. Elena is leaving. She's tired of answering questions about the failed mission. Since you know everything so well, you're going to answer all the questions.

  Herbert's face went serious again for a moment, but then he smiled, allowing himself a grin.

  "Roger that, director."

  "Just do it. But think of a more likely version of what might have happened. You know, blame robots and the computer for everything... Mmmm, wait, no, they'll require the data from the computer. Those political officers... Look. Tell them that due to the legal restrictions and bans against using robots and computers, it was impossible to carry out a sufficiently detailed preliminary analysis and other stuff like that. Let's blindside them so they feel their own mistakes. We'll put some pressure on the government too. Maybe they'll provide us with more robots next time."

  Herbert nodded, looked into Director Newland's eyes, and went through the portal that formed in front of him.

  Norwell didn't consider the director to be a bad person. On the contrary, he seeme
d to be pretty good-natured. They had worked side by side for many decades, covering for each other as much as they could. And there was a lot to cover for...

  Despite the incredible strides in technological development, space flight over larges distances still remained a major, sometimes even risky, endeavor. Herbert was surprised he had been reassigned. Even though, in a sense, it had been to a more prestigious post from a public perspective. But he had no idea how much he needed to think over, get out of, and lie.

  "It's strange that I was only informed about the wreck four days ago, but according to the actual data, they've been there for already two weeks. Someone blocked access to the information... Newland is obviously hiding something. Damn! What game are you playing, you sly old fox?"

  Herbert didn't quite understand how he should explain to the public that robots and computers, or to be more precise the lack of them, were the reason for the death of the crew.

  He knew in advance he'd hear exclamations like, "You're comparing people to machines again!" or "The Agency always wants to have fun with toys. Even people are toys for them."

  Of course, somebody had to mention the popular line by activists.

  "A robot's life was more valued in the Agency than a human's."

  15

  Exiting the central doors, he noticed a woman with a strange haircut that looked like a double bun. She had a somewhat uneven, nervous step. It was the same Linda Robore the director mentioned. She was hurrying to the director's office.

  Passing Herbert, she gave him could hardly be considered a smile, and in a forceful, almost arrogant, way, she greeted him.

  "Good morning," she said, the revolting look of a toad on her face.

  "Morning," Herbert muttered, continuing on.

  "She probably already knows about my dismissal," he thought. "Eh, I don't care. I'm spending today with my family. At least I'll get to chat with my son. He's been wanting to introduce me to his new, as they have, ‘ever-sequence’ for a long time now."

  With this thought, he boarded a transit car. Sitting in the back seat, he fell asleep, confident that the droid would automatically drive him where he needed.

  Once home, Herbert found his still sleeping wife in a soft silk bed.

  Changing into something more comfortable, he stood by the window and looked somewhere far away at the tall maples, then turned his head and stared at the closed eyes of his beloved Mary. This woman was a strong, reliable rock that allowed him to anchor on and live through many adverse moments in his hard career, but would it be enough for his new position?

  Mr. Norwell walked to her, bent over, and gently kissed her thick dark hair.

  Mary opened her eyes from the suddenness of it before waving him away. But the next moment she sat upright, her eyes wide-open.

  "You're home already? What happened!?" she blurted out immediately without thinking.

  "Nothing," he shook his head and gave her a soft smile, placing his head on her hand. Then he straightened up, walked around to climb into bed, hugged his wife, and fell asleep for a few hours.

  16

  It was still challenging for Jack to catch his breath after sprinting so hard. The adrenaline raging inside him was only made worse after his encounter with the beast. Twilight encompassed the space around him, darkening the moonless night over the entire plain. Nereus had no moons, but there were many small asteroids rotating around the planet. But Jack didn't think about that now. He struggled with his fears, trying to compel himself to go to the window or switch on the lights. He stood still, motionless.

  Jack was uncertain about his home's security despite being made of strong nanocomposite material and the glass being capable of surviving a meteor strike. Covered in cold sweat from head to toe, he stood there without the slightest hint of motion for a few minutes, which seemed to last hours in his mind. Regaining his senses, he slowly moved towards the weapon container, crawling carefully so as not to reveal himself. When he reached it, he withdrew one plasma rifle before taking a second. But after some thought, he put them back and armed himself instead with a long-barreled grenade launcher.

  "I'll freeze that damn beast so that it'll never set foot here again!" he thought.

  At one point, he even resolved to set out and hunt down the nocturnal predator, but common sense prevailed. He sat in bed with the grenade launcher in his lap for nearly the whole night, constantly keeping eye on his surroundings until sunrise. When his gaze reached the blanket draped on Anne's body, he shuddered as if a cold surge of electricity went through his body.

  "Can I live next to her like this? I'm going to go crazy sleeping next to a corpse every day," he mused.

  Only when the sun had completely risen did Jack realize nothing was waiting beyond the glass barrier. The beast retreated. This time...

  17

  Jack slept until two in the afternoon Earth time. When he woke up, he didn't immediately recollect why he was still wearing his clothes or how there was a grenade launcher next to him. The officer sat on his bed, rubbed his eyes, looked around, glanced at the door, and then remembered yesterday's events.

  Unfortunately, it hadn't been a dream.

  Rehydrating his dried ration of salad leaves and vegetables, Jack thought about why the beast retreated. It wouldn't have left on its own volition. Something had to have taken it away. Something much more massive than it was. Having finished his salad, Jack started analyzing the beast's behavior as he sipped on his protein shake. Comparing what he had seen on the hill the previous time with what happened yesterday, Jack came to the conclusion that the beast was a nocturnal predator that avoids daylight.

  By Jack's estimation, the creature's size meant it likely hunted herbivores that were returning from the watering hole near where Jack had built the unlucky glass pavilion. Armed with a grenade launcher, Jack finally summoned enough courage to leave his home. If his theory was correct, there would be no beast outside. Holding the heavy grenade launcher at the ready, the weapon was loaded with a liquid nitrogen shell capable of freezing his whole house and the cliffs next to it. Reassured by that fact, Jack nearly leapt outside. Everything was clear and no beasts could be seen anywhere. Only the day's warm air could be felt drifting through his hair and ears.

  Jack advanced a couple meters and saw something that clarified a lot of the questions he had. Unfortunately, it also saddened him.

  Trape, mutilated, mangled, and covered in dust and grime, was lying on the ground. Its manipulator had been twisted in a tight spiral. Trape must have clamped down on the beast, using its multi-jointed limbs like claws to prevent the creature from entering the house.

  Its central segment was turned up, and the small balls and numerous tentacles on which it moved hung loosely from the bottom of its soles.

  Jack was terrified about how strong the creature had to be to do this to the robot. The lieutenant was perfectly aware that a single strike of the beak would be enough to kill him.

  He walked along the facade of the panoramic wall, studying his footprints and the tracks left by the beast. Its tracks were deep, especially where it rested on its tentacles, which left behind triangular imprints.

  Suddenly Jack realized he needed to kill the beast whatever it took. Only one of them could live on that stretch of land, and it would be either him or the beast.

  He decided that until he came up with an idea on he could eliminate the beast, he would make sure to return home by dark.

  18

  Entering the house, he clung to the teleport, hoping to catch at least the faintest of signals. After an hour of uselessly listening to the silence, Jack glanced at the bed where Anne's body lay under a blanket. In order to kill the grief of his loss, he decided to reminisce about pleasant memories of Colonel Petrow. The story she told about the stars came to mind before he remembered their trip on the ship. Then he recalled her words about the ship.

  "Of course, the Avant Light!" Jack exclaimed.

  He had to make contact with the ship if the Center rem
ained out of contact.

  To his own surprise, as he browsed the instructions using the neuroband, Jack quickly managed to connect with the ship.

  In the center of the teleport box, an elongated semi-transparent image of the ship formed, then its symbol appeared, a beveled rectangle with stars in the corners.

  "Hello, First Lieutenant Sallenge," he heard the voice of the Avant Light's computer say in a tone so habitual and painfully familiar, yet at that moment even very near and dear.

  "Hello, Avant Light," Jack replied shortly, but cheerfully.

  "All systems are stable and all basic support compartments are pressured," the computer began reporting.

  Waiting until the end of the official procedure, Jack briefly recounted the situation to the computer.

  "Under the current circumstances, while contact with the Center is lost, I assume control of the mission," the computer stated.

  Jack felt a chill course down his spine. Now the ship was his boss. Everything would be clear and according to the instructions. Any tiny violation would be immediately sent to the Center. This new balance of power disheartened Jack for a minute.

  "First Lieutenant Jack Sallenge, according to protocol 1135 F-3476..." Jack wasn't listening already, his thoughts wandering elsewhere. He was pretty certain in advance what the computer was going to tell him to do, and what he'd need to do to accomplish the mission, survive, and return home.

  "It is necessary to take samples from sector G-112 in triplicate," the Avant Light's computer enumerated the primary tasks.

  He had to set about it immediately since the days for the mission were strictly limited. With a downcast look on his face, Jack left the pavilion carrying a small case filled with different test tubes and bottles before heading to the hoverbike.