Proxima Rising

by Brandon Q Morris

  “Psst.” The noise comes from behind Adam, and he slowly turns around, trying not to frighten the spider creature. At the edge of the pit stands Marchenko in his robot body.

  “Don’t worry, I think it is harmless,” Adam tells him quietly.

  “Yes, its habitat is really on top of the leaf canopy,” Marchenko says. “I watched an animal like it up there.”

  Now everything is clear. This animal must have fallen when the trees started to move. Afterward, it probably hid inside the ruin.

  “It doesn’t stand a chance, does it?” Adam says, hoping Marchenko will contradict him, but he only shakes his robot head.

  “I don’t think it can find the right kind of food down here,” Marchenko replies. “Otherwise we would have already discovered additional specimens on the forest floor.”

  “We could feed it,” Eve says, stepping out of Marchenko’s shadow. “We have the leaves of the tree we cut down, and the two tree corpses out there in the open zone.”

  “It won’t be enough,” Marchenko says. “These animals are rare. I discovered only one in a very wide radius. I think they graze a larger territory. And they also don’t eat the whole leaves, just the uppermost layer, which is worn down. Also, we are only here for a few more days.”

  “Then we have to carry it up there,” Adam says.

  Marchenko waits for a whole minute before he answers, “I am afraid it won’t work, Adam. We would have to catch the creature, somehow tie it up, and then I might be able to lug it to the top of the tree. But do you think the animal would submit peacefully? It’s not a domesticated animal and wouldn’t understand us.”

  Adam nods. He might have to accept this. They just cannot help this strange creature.

  “Catch! I am throwing the rope down to you now,” Marchenko says, trying to distract Adam. Adam takes one more look at the giant spider. Unlikely as it is, it might understand his thoughts or somehow read his facial expressions. He pities the animal and would like to help it, but there is no chance for that. He turns toward Marchenko. From the corner of his eye, Adam sees the spider waving to him with one leg, but it probably is just his imagination. He has Marchenko pull him up and already mentally prepares himself for being scolded. By the time they start their walk back to the camp, the strange creature has once more retreated into the ruin.

  Suddenly Adam remembers he wanted to go into the pit for a specific reason: The inscriptions! We have to examine them!

  “Marchenko,” he says, “there were symbols on the roof. Perhaps we can use them to decipher the alien script.”

  “Yes, don’t worry, Adam,” I say. “I recorded and saved everything, and have even started an analysis. In two or three days we might have a rough translation.”

  January 17, 19

  I had actually hoped I would eventually be able to forget the shock I suffered the day before yesterday. By today, for instance. Shouldn’t two days be enough to get such a trauma out of the head of an adult, particularly because in the end everything worked out fine?

  All this self-recrimination! After I descended the tree, I was consumed with worry about what might have happened to Adam and Eve, until I finally could walk on two legs again. Of course all my scenarios ended with their deaths. I did not know my imagination could be so cruel. I am essentially an optimist, even if I am in danger myself, as I know well. Otherwise I would not have survived the events on Enceladus. But the fact that Adam and Eve had disappeared must have deactivated some control mechanisms in me.

  Luckily my thought processes were still working. The inventory module reported that a flashlight, a rope, some food, and a shoulder bag were missing. That’s not what predators would usually drag away. Therefore, Adam and Eve must have gone for a hike. Their destination must have been related to the battle of the trees, so I first walked to the edge of the forest. North or south? The tracks I discover point in both directions. I probably would have gone to the north, if I had not heard Eve’s voice just then, from the south.

  Afterward, everything happened very rapidly. I was immensely relieved when I pulled Adam out of the pit, and therefore I delayed the dressing-down he deserved for the following day. But by then, scolding him did not seem to matter anymore, somehow, and particularly because I wanted to tell Adam and Eve about the signal. I have reserved this piece of information for today.

  “Well, due to all this excitement we haven’t had a chance to discuss the results of my excursion,” I begin.

  Eve gives me a sheepish look. I am absolutely sure the idea to wander off did not come from her.

  “Yes,” Adam says, dutifully and without much enthusiasm, “then tell us about it.”

  “The risk of us being squashed by fighting or running trees during the coming week is relatively low, 2 percent to be exact.”

  “Well, that’s what I figured,” Adam says. “Otherwise you would have already hurried us along.”

  I nod. I try to mention the decisive detail in a very casual fashion.

  “Oh, by the way, up there on the leaf canopy I once again detected the signal that led us here,” I say.

  Neither is saying anything. They seem to need some time to absorb the information and realize what it means.

  Eve is the first to jump up. “We have to check on this right away,” she says, “who knows for how long it can be received.”

  Adam nods vigorously.

  “I have triangulated the origin of the signal,” I reply. “Its source is far in the east. We could never get there within nine days.”

  “It doesn’t matter how long it takes us,” Adam says.

  “Yes, it does,” Eve answers in my place. “The next flare will arrive in nine days.”

  “We could at least march a few days’ closer to our destination and build a new bunker there,” he suggests.

  “That’s way too risky,” I say. “We are not even finished here, and we don’t know what the soil would be like at another location. If it’s solid rock, for example, we would need much more time with the equipment we have.”

  “But Eve is right,” Adam says. “The signal is probably going to disappear again soon. Maybe it is already gone now. Why didn’t you inform us earlier?”

  Because I suspected something like this, I think. I knew you would want to start out right away. “We wouldn’t have made it either way,” I answer evasively.

  “You waited to tell us so that we would have to wait out the flare here,” Adam accuses me.

  “If you continue being so impertinent, I’ll leave you in the pit the next time. Together with your spider friend,” I threaten him jokingly.

  “That would have been better,” Adam retorts. “At least the spider didn’t lie to me.”

  “I have a second interesting piece of news,” I say.

  “Oh, really?” Adam asks with a skeptical look.

  “The glyphs,” I explain. “Thanks to the text on the roof of the building you discovered, we now know more about them.”

  “That doesn’t sound as if you actually deciphered them.”

  “That would be saying too much. I now know more about their structure. The signs on the beam, for instance, show the way to a specific destination, but we will never know which destination it is. For that we would need some context. At least the location where the beam was originally placed.”

  “And what about the text on the roof?” Adam asks.

  “It describes the function of the building,” I reply “Decisions were made there, so it might have been some kind of town hall. The text invites persons to appear there with questions and problems.”

  “That doesn’t tell us anything about the inhabitants of the planet.”

  “Yes, Adam, unfortunately that is true. But they must have possessed communal structures, and there probably would not have been a civilization without them. They had a writing system and were technologically more advanced than humanity, at least by a few thousand years ago when these structures were created.”

  “This makes finding th
e signal even more important,” Adam says.

  “Once we make it through the flare, we have another 40 days,” I say. “We are going to find the signal source during that time, I promise.”

  January 26, 19

  The bunker was completely finished the day before yesterday. It’s really a pity we are going to leave it again tomorrow, but we might return to it someday. I somehow cannot shake the feeling that some disappointment will await us at the source of the signal, yet I do not mention these concerns to Adam and Eve. They are literally living for that day and for the message. What would be the meaning of their lives if it turns out we came much too late?

  Yesterday, we used our free time to take a look at the pit again, and there a sad surprise was waiting for us. The spider creature had retreated into the darkness of the ruin and died there. I examined it closely. Its legs are hollow, which is what makes it so light. The six joints on each leg could turn in any direction, a very impressive construction. I could not determine whether it has a sex or how it reproduces. There is nothing inside its body that is reminiscent of ova or sperm. Like many plants, perhaps it is able to reproduce by division, and the fact that there seem to be so few specimens would support this theory. If these creatures reproduce sexually, then they would have to travel long distances to do so.

  The most interesting part is the nervous system. The nerve pathways consist of silicon fibers running through the entire body. Therefore, I at first considered it a kind of cyborg, a manipulated creature with added machine technology. But after further inspection I then found cells in the body capable of weaving these inorganic fibers—like spiders producing spider silk for their webs—and then placing them within biological materials. This might be the reason why the inhabitants of this planet started so early using semiconductor strands in their buildings. Nature practically pushed them toward this idea.

  The spider animals do not appear to have brains like organisms on Earth do. Yet inside their bodies, particularly in a layer on the outside about four centimeters thick, the silicon fibers are so close to each other that their capacity must allow for cognitive activities. I calculate the spider creatures should have the cognitive ability of mammals on Earth. Perhaps they even were—or are—related to the intelligent inhabitants of Proxima b who sent us the radio message.

  All three of us decided to leave the animal in its refuge and to close the entrances. That way, absolutely nothing would disturb its rest. Then we examined the rear of the pit and found a smaller structure built by the extraterrestrials, reminiscent of a guard shack. A tall human could have stood inside it but would not have been able to sit down.

  By now we are waiting for the solar eruption. The entrance of our bunker is closed, but before closing it I distributed cameras and sensors outside. Those recordings will be sent to my memory. I wondered if I should build a kind of monitor screen for Adam and Eve, but there will probably nothing to see. Neither the hard X-ray and UV radiation nor the particles that the planet’s magnetic field is unable to keep out are visible to the human eye.

  If we didn’t know what was about to happen, we might spend the day outside without suspecting anything. Then after a few hours, Adam and Eve might wonder where the intense sunburn on their skin came from, and a few days later they would die from radiation sickness. Those of my circuits not hardened against radiation would also be destroyed, though the storage module containing my consciousness would be sufficiently shielded.

  We do not know the exact time of day when Proxima Centauri will erupt. Only the 40-day rhythm is confirmed. Therefore we have to wait. Adam and Eve sit on the ground in the corner, playing a game they must have made up themselves. They are only allowed to use their hands in this game. We did not build any furniture, since we only have to stay here for a few hours and cannot carry it with us afterward.

  The X-ray detector responds.

  “It is starting,” I say. Adam and Eve are looking at me. It is a strange sensation because we cannot feel anything. Is our shielding working? We will see. Right now, the dose rate is minimal, since we receive more radiation from the interior of the planet than from space. But outside, the radiation intensity is slowly increasing. Proxima Centauri must have erupted a short while ago, and the radiation reaches us at the speed of light, while the particles take significantly longer.

  And now something unexpected happens: It is getting bright outside! What happened? I turn the outside camera toward the leaf canopy. The sky is visible, and a few clouds are racing across it. I zoom in closer on the leaves. They have folded up, exposing only a small diameter to the radiation. Nature must have adapted to the event that has been repeating every 40 days for millions of years, just like the plants on Earth became used to the seasons. During my research I had not noticed that the leaves have a joint in the middle. Then I remember a line leading from the point where they are attached to the tree all the way to the tip. I pan the camera a bit. In this bright light the forest looks much more inviting than in the eternal twilight.

  “It is very bright out there,” I explain. “The trees have folded their leaves.”

  “Wow,” Eve says, “I’d love to see that with my own eyes.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I warn her, even though I know she is not serious.

  “But won’t that take away some of our radiation protection?” she asks.

  That’s true. I included the leaf canopy in my calculations. “I’ve worked with a sizable safety margin, so don’t worry,” I say, but I am concerned.

  A quick estimate shows me the safety margin is gone. We have to hope the flare isn’t much stronger than the previous one. While there is no reason it should be, I still feel queasy. During the following hours I do not take my eyes off the instruments. The dose rate increases continuously, but down here in our bunker it stays within a tolerable range. I wonder about possible emergency procedures. I could try to shield Adam and Eve with my body. But down here direct radiation does not play such a big role. I would practically have to wrap myself around them.

  Three hours later, the avalanche of electrons rolls towards Proxima b. I once more aim the camera at the sky, expecting a spectacular sight. The atmosphere does not disappoint me. Too bad, though, it does not get dark here. The aurora flickering across the sky is not nearly as impressive in normal brightness.

  Otherwise, the magnetic field is doing a great job. It diverts the charged particles around the planet. This creates a bit of bremsstrahlung—breaking radiation—but that poses no problem for our shielding.

  The forest tells us that the eruption is over. Four and a half hours after it all started, the leaves unfold. The eternal twilight emerges from the shadows and becomes dominant again.

  “It is over,” I say. “How about taking a little walk?” Adam and Eve eagerly get up. I remove the obstacles near the exit.

  Adam goes out first. “Awesome!” he yells. I can imagine the reason why.

  “Marchenko, come here,” Eve calls. “You’ve got to see this!”

  I smile silently. I slowly climb the stairs and turn around. There is shimmering light in all directions. The variety of hues is overwhelming. It was worthwhile planting a large colony of mushrooms on our bunker. Now they are emitting the excess energy of the flare in all colors of the spectrum. It looks unique, like a coral reef on Earth, just without fish. I hope this image will be engraved in Adam and Eve’s memory forever. Both stand there, mouths agape, breathing in the aromatic air smelling of ozone, and marveling at the secret of a planet that is supposed to become their home at some point.

  January 27, 19

  We start out early in the morning by Earth time. Almost 200 kilometers lie ahead of us before we reach the coast, but I do not expect any problems. My view from above showed me that the forest is going to stay basically unchanged, and this should also hold true for the forest floor. Just in case, though, I modified my walking appendages. Now I have four legs that I can move independently. This way, I can safely traverse even difficult terrain. To
keep my balance I placed my torso in the middle and added a section to my arms.

  “What do you call that thing between the lower and the upper arm?” asks Eve.

  I know Eve is only teasing me, but I answer without hesitation, “A middle arm!”

  She replies with a giggle.

  “You look like a fat spider someone tore a couple of legs off of,” Adam says. When he says it, it almost sounds like a compliment. He has a cheerful demeanor, just like Eve. It is good to be on the move again. If I had not received a signal, I would have been forced to invent one.

  About an hour or so after our first rest break I hear the rushing of water. Soon afterward Adam and Eve perceive it, too.

  “It must be one of the rivers we saw from space,” I say.

  The two of them hurry along. We are really lucky. We have found something new on our very first day, and after 20 minutes we reach the side of the stream. It runs from west/southwest to east/northeast. Our plan was to walk straight to the east.

  “Should we follow the river? Then we’ll get to the coast two days later.”

  “Absolutely not, Marchenko,” Adam says. I suspect that he is less focused on the time lost than on the adventure of crossing the stream.

  “A little swimming certainly wouldn’t hurt us,” Eve adds.