When she’d dragged herself to within a couple meters of the dim source, she suddenly stopped cold. Her breath froze, and her mouth fell open. She lost all awareness of the pain in her body. All she could do was stare.
The amber lights blinked at her.
THIRTY-TWO
Esther
Esther and Jim collected anything that looked even remotely important and placed it all on the antigrav sled they hauled around behind them. The debris field spanned several hundred meters in diameter, with an elliptical pattern where the leading edge faced east. In her zeal to find Clayton’s precious gear, she almost missed the frequent rupture scars on the Moon’s surface, as if a massive quake had rumbled through the area.
But that’s impossible. Luna’s inert or, at most, only micro-seismic activity has ever been detected.
Atteberry had been quiet for the past several minutes. As he picked through the debris, he frequently stopped and gazed around the forsaken moonscape, as if by looking over the grey, Mary might suddenly appear.
Esther dumped a mangled viewscreen on the sled and moved closer to him. She checked in with him on a private channel. “How’re you holding up, Jim?”
He turned awkwardly to face her, still getting used to the envirosuit’s bulk and how to work its helmet functions. “I’m trying not to worry too much, but one minute in this place and I—well, it’s hard to believe anyone survived whatever malfunction happened here.”
“You think it was an accident?”
“Sure, I mean, what else could it be?”
Esther strained to see his eyes through the glare in his visor.
“Come on,” she said, “let’s collect what we can and talk on the way.”
They bounced over to an outcrop that had backstopped several projectiles, including what remained of the habitat cots and some storage bins. Jim searched through the material, picking up bits of clothing, a pair of moon boots, and a dust-filled book. He stared at her.
“Mary’s stuff?”
“She preferred. . . prefers books over e-files.” He placed the bin on the sled, paused a moment and gathered himself. “So, what’s up, Es?”
“Yeah that. I didn’t want to broadcast, but I don’t think this was an accident. Check out the blast pattern.” She pointed east toward the leading edge where the habitat and oxygenators had once been, and waved around the area in an arc.
“Notice it?”
“What am I looking for?”
“If you look toward the limb—that way—there’s a series of patterned undulations in the Moon’s surface.” She stood close to him. “If this had happened on Earth, we’d all say an earthquake hit this habitat, but on the Moon there’s nothing we know of that could produce P and S waves like back home.”
His eyes widened with fear and excitement. “So, something else, something outside, must have destroyed the lab.”
“It’s a possibility, and I’d say it was some kind of shock wave that did it. Have you noticed the absence of any scorching?”
He paused a moment before answering. “Well, yes, I wondered why the stuff we’re salvaging shows no melting or burn marks at all. It doesn’t look like an explosion, but I figured it was because of the vacuum.”
She took a few steps away and poked around a pile of thick conduits and other wires, stooping over to pick some up and toss them in the sled. “I can’t think of any natural phenomenon capable of doing this. Not up here, anyway.”
“Are you saying the Rossians were responsible? That they have a weapon powerful enough to flatten the entire lab site?”
Esther’s thoughts drifted to the time the Ross 128 alien ship almost got her and a lot of other people killed back in 2085. Destroying the evidence surrounding that event assuaged her fears and effectively repressed her own emotional fallout from it. Now, she picked at that old scar, unleashing a flood of feelings she hadn’t thought about for years. Yet, here she stood on Luna, with the possibility of first contact within her grasp. Her heart raced.
“It appears the Rossians and their FTL technology brought them here, possibly years ago. So, yeah, I’ve no doubt they’re behind the destruction of the lab. The question for me is: why?”
Atteberry said, “Maybe they’ve got Mary and Kate, too. I know those two: both curious sponges for knowledge, so I’m sure they’re at this ship, wherever that may be.”
Esther pulled a desktop power supply out of the dust, turned it over in her hands, and placed it on the sled. She breathed deeply. “I agree, and judging by the upheaval in the surface, I’d bet they traveled east.” She pivoted. “There’s another problem, too. Clayton Carter wants that FTL tech—we all know that. But if he figures out the Rossians may have weapons capable of this kind of destruction, he’ll want those too. And you’ve already seen how eager he is to start a fight with the other ships.”
Atteberry’s shoulders slumped.
“It’s imperative we find the Rossians, Jim, and if Kate and Mary are on that vessel, rescue them before this situation turns ugly. Let’s not forget there’s at least another dozen boats up there, all targeting Luna.”
“We can’t just piss around here collecting scrap metal for his highness, then. Let’s find that ship.” The unfettered desperation had returned to Jim’s voice.
“Right, but now we’re looking for more clues to their whereabouts. They were working to the east, but they’ve been all over the past couple weeks.”
Atteberry pulled the anti-grav sled to a fresh pile of broken parts while Esther scanned the area. She cycled through the EM filters on her visor, searching for anything to help them determine the location of the survivors and the alien ship. She leaned toward the eastern limb. Apparently, that’s where the most recent surveys were conducted, but scooter trails radiated out from the lab site like spokes from a wheel hub, so Kate and Mary could have gone anywhere.
“Es, what are these things?”
She bounded over to the debris pile where Atteberry, kneeling, scraped around in the dust. She knelt beside him, moved a couple of enormous rocks aside, and helped extract the items from the mess. He’d uncovered three data tubes, two of which contained large dents and deep scratches. The other one appeared to be relatively unscathed.
“Do you know what these are, Jim?”
“Not a clue.”
“Data tubes, capable of storing massive amounts of information. The kind used in massive data collection projects, like geophysical exploration.”
“So, they might show where Kate and Mary were working on the day the lab blew up. Those events could be related.”
“Assuming they contain the latest information, yes. More importantly, there may be intel on that ship, too.” This was exactly the type of clue they needed. “Switch comms back to the main channel.”
He moved his head in the helmet, then gave a thumbs up. Esther did the same, then called out, “Hey Ishani, you copy?”
“Go ahead, Doctor.”
She clicked her helmet cam on and lifted the containers in front of her. “You see these? Titanius data tubes, right?”
“Yep, definitely. I’ve got you on visual. Me and Dub will be there shortly to help search for more.”
“Roger. Copy that, Echo?”
“Captain Powell here, Doctor, and we acknowledge. As soon as you’ve completed a thorough investigation of the area for more, bring everything you have back to the ship post-haste.”
“Will do, Captain.”
“Oh, and one more thing, Doctor. Just a heads up that we’re under a serious time crunch here and with so many other ships incoming, we’ll all need to move fast. Understand?”
“Copy.”
She put her arm on Atteberry’s shoulder. “Let’s scour the area for any more of these. Keep an eye out for other conventional memory devices, too.” Through the visor glare, she saw him smile. Their next steps now depended on the integrity of the information in these tubes. Given their condition, and the amount of dust that likely penetrated the casings, recoveri
ng useful data remained a massive challenge. Still, his smile released those buried memories of their blossoming romance, and a new rush of emotions filled her.
Esther nodded and smiled back, then continued digging in the grey.
THIRTY-THREE
Kate
In her chest, her heart thundered, hammering against her ribs and climbing her throat, catching her breath, and paralyzing her entire body.
Amber-colored eyes, barely visible in the thick, dark void, watched her. Now that Kate understood what they were, she stared right back, unable to process the churn of emotions, the significance of the first encounter, the heavy fear that suffocated her, the joy and shock that tumbled in her mind.
I can’t breathe.
Kate shut her eyes, squeezing every thought away, and focused on taking one short breath . . . just one . . . only one.
Inhale . . . exhale . . .
A measure of calm quelled her shaking body, and by redirecting her thoughts to the pain in her ribs and wrist, Kate tightened control over the visceral terror that threatened her ability to function. She groaned, and her eyelids fluttered open.
The shadowed scene in front of her remained the same: alien eyes, thick darkness, and a low level hum permeating whatever this place was. She stared at the unmoving glow and wondered if her mind was playing tricks.
Are those blinking eyes or flickering lights?
She shifted her weight on the floor, relieving the pressure on her ribs, and continued staring at whatever those things were. For several minutes, nothing changed: no movement, blinking or anything else.
Kate’s rational mind took over from the frightened prehistoric amygdala and reasoned that these lights were inanimate. She gathered her strength and hoped her voice wouldn’t be lost.
“Mary, are you out there?”
No response came. Kate took several shallow breaths, comforted by her body’s return to normal operating parameters to the extent it could, given the injuries. She reached out with her good arm and resumed inching along the smooth wall toward the shadows.
This time, there was no mistake.
They moved.
Kate suddenly felt nauseous and fought to control her physical reaction to what she experienced. But it was clear: something else hid in the gloom, watching as she crawled, keeping a respectful distance.
If this other being was a Rossian alien, it didn’t square with her idea of what a technologically superior creature should look like. Perhaps she, like so many other humans raised on science fiction movies and other over-the-top shows, had been culturally brainwashed into believing aliens must be larger than life, reptilian, crab-like warmongers who spoke English. As Kate wriggled along the wall, pausing after each shift of her body, the size and shape of the Rossian became clearer even though she only caught glimpses of its rough silhouette and features. It made no threatening moves.
She approached an obtrusion, a type of pedestal, and moved her hand around it in the dark. Like the other physical objects of this ship she’d already sensed, this small dais was smooth at the edges, half a meter or so square, and another half meter high and flat on top. A stand? Command platform?
The amber eyes continued staring from across the gloom, and as the minutes passed, Kate’s curiosity supplanted her initial fear of first contact with an alien life form. She estimated the distance separating her from the creature to be about five meters though it was impossible to be certain given the darkness.
She leaned against the pedestal, easing her weight on it for support while keeping eyes fixed on the Rossian. After another few minutes during which Kate listened for any anomalous sounds in the space, she grunted, pushing the pain aside, and whispered, “Welcome to Luna.”
Her voice quivered more than she wanted it to, and her mouth had dried out completely. She tried to salivate by moving her tongue around and faux-yawning to stretch her jaw muscles with limited success.
The alien remained frozen in its place.
“My—my name is Kate. Do you have one? A—a name, I mean?”
Silence.
She gulped. “Have you seen my friend Mary?” She waved her arm desperately, pretending to outline Mary’s form.
Nothing.
Kate winced as pain spiked up to her shoulder like a gunshot. She readjusted her position against the pedestal. “I need to find . . . her. My friend Mary that is.” The absence of any recognition from the alien filled her prehistoric brain with new life, and a fresh wave of fear spread across her thoughts. Cold sweat broke out anew on her forehead. Before she caught herself, Kate already began speaking. “Did you take my suit? That keeps the . . . pressure on my injuries. Painkillers would help, too.” She narrowed her gaze and grunted. “Any of this making sense?”
It blinked.
Perhaps talking to this creature had an effect. Perhaps this being, living in the dark, was as curious about her as she was about it. She spoke just above a whisper.
“Can you tell me where you’re from? I’m assuming Ross 128, but that’s—that’s a name we call it.” She surveyed the gloomy space again, shifted her weight, and said, “It’s really dim in here, don’t you think? Hm?”
An old tune popped into her head, one her mother used to sing when she needed cheering up, when the darkness filled her brain like a black mist. She forced herself to inhale and hummed out loud.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey . . .
Perhaps it was the absence of words or the raspy sweetness of her humming, but when the alien heard Kate make this sound, it scuttled in its place. That’s the only way she could describe the sound, like dog nails on a marble floor, a clicking, scratching sound, the sound of claws on metal. Then, she realized the Rossian wasn’t making random noises. She stopped humming and listened. The pattern made her blood run cold.
Click.
Click.
Click Click Click Click Click Click Click Click
Jim’s tap code, the atomic numbers for H2O. If any doubts remained hiding in the recesses of Kate’s subconscious mind regarding the truth of this creature, the familiar code that symbolized the discovery of alien life forms chased them away.
She dared not move. The Rossian tapped several more times before stopping. Kate wasn’t sure given the hyper-sensitive state of her mind, but she thought it had made a noise, something guttural and ancient, lasting a fraction of a second. Her desire to find Mary remained at the forefront of her thoughts, but maybe the creature needed to establish her motives before helping out. First things first.
The eyes blinked again.
Kate curled her hand into a fist and with her knuckles, rapped the same code out on top of the pedestal. The taps against this hard surface sounded dull and muted compared to the high frequency clicks the creature made, but she mimicked the rhythm of the pattern as best she could, repeating it the same number of times (five or six?), then pausing.
More scuttling.
She sensed the alien’s movement more than seeing it, faint wafts of grey and black shadows against the dark background, the eyes turning away, turning back. Then a harsh light flashed, catching her off-guard and causing her eyes to shut and her head to turn. After a moment, when she reopened them, the creature had moved closer. She instinctively pressed against the rounded wall behind the pedestal and drew in her legs, despite the pain ripping through her chest.
The creature stopped. It stood a couple meters away. Kate saw a much clearer image of it now. The Rossian appeared to be about a meter tall with a head and torso, and spindly, jointed legs, tapering down to points on the end.
Four limbs? Six?
The creature held an object close to its torso, then placed it on the floor and scrabbled back into the shadows where it grew silent again.
“Something for me, eh?”
Kate groaned as she stretched out her legs and wriggled toward the object, pausing frequently so as not to startle this skittish being. When she’d moved close enough, she reached
out. It felt like a cup, tiny in her hand, and filled with warm liquid. She raised it to her nose and sniffed. It smelled of. . . lavender? A flower? It could very well be water, but just as easily something deadly.
Her parched throat ached for whatever this was, poison be damned, so Kate sipped the contents of the cup once, twice, then downed the remains in one gulp and waited.
THIRTY-FOUR
Atteberry
They found six more data memory tubes scattered in the dust, all in dubious condition. Ishani retrieved a few other items too, pieces of equipment Atteberry would have missed, but held importance to her and Titanius.
They entered the ship through the supply airlock and, once inside the Echo, helped each other remove their helmets and gloves. Carter met them near the stores, and Ishani debriefed him on the salvage operation. They spoke in low whispers, but he caught the odd word from them, like “memory” and “disaster.”
Carter suddenly beckoned him over. “Jim, I want you to work with Quigg and get these tubes analyzed right away.” He didn’t wait for Atteberry to reply; instead, he marched toward the bridge, barking more orders to Ishani and Dub along the way.
He stumbled after them in his moon boots. Carter yelled back at him, without missing a step. “For crissakes, lose the goddamn suit!”
Esther joined him and released the clasps on the side of his envirosuit, then unbuckled the boots and heaved them off.
“Thanks.”
“Jim, keep your suit at the ready just in case. I’ll join you guys in a few minutes.”
He slipped into his flight shoes and jogged up to the bridge where Quigg and Jenson inspected the memory tubes. Neither looked pleased as they turned the cylinders over in their hands.
“How can I help?”
“Take these two,” Quigg said, “and get ‘em cleaned up in the workshop.”
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