Above A Whisper (Whispers of A Planet Book 2)

by Sean Clark

  “You don’t have to tell me that.” Nik laughs more loudly this time, brushing off Cecil’s grim explanation. “Especially for an old guy like me. That feeling after we were woken up… that’s no joke.”

  Cecil looks up to peer out the window again. The planet had drifted out of view once again. Cecil takes his spot up against next to Nikomedes, the two watching the stars slowly drift by in the darkness. After a short while, the round edge of the planet creeps into sight again.

  An alarm sounds through the speakers of the ship. Atreo pokes his head through the automatic doors. “We’re being picked up on its gravitational pull. This is the home stretch, boys.” He retracts himself, the doors closing behind him.

  Nikomedes stands up, stretching his back, before slowly turning around and heading to the door. “I’m going to do some more stretches before we have to suit up. See you by the airlock, kid.”

  ◆◆◆

  Cecil slips on the suit up his torso and over his shoulders. It sits heavily on his frame, as the ship continues to rotate around, providing the deck with its artificial gravity. The outfit feels brand new, not like the ones he had used before on the surface. The rubber seals feel fresh and pliable.

  “You got that, kid?” Nikomedes speaks to Cyrus who is fumbling with his suit.

  “I need to be able to do this myself.” Cyrus grunts, pulling at the collar that had folded itself inside. “Just gimme a sec.”

  Cecil turns away to pick up the helmet off the wall, examining the seals and polycarbonate that make up the dome. The sleek glossy surface faintly reflects his face, old scars and patchy stubble hiding in the glare. The plastic substance gives off a slight hollow sound as he taps his knuckles against it. Taking a deep breath, he places it on his head, affixing it to the seal around the neck of his suit.

  As the seal locks in place, he can hear himself breathing into the face mask. The hot air reflects back at him, and a slight fog appears on the polycarbonate. Cecil plays with the suit functions on his wrist, connected to a series of tubes and lines sewn up the arm of the suit. Twisting on of the dials, a whoosh of oxygen pours into the suit. The familiar smell is somewhere between sweet and rancid.

  Turning his head, Cecil sees Cyrus affixing his own helmet, as Nikomedes makes hand signals at him. Cecil waddles over to them, tapping the panels on their wrists. Looking back down at his own, he fiddles with the diagnostic buttons. The radio crackles on, and he is met with the sound of breathing from the others.

  “Check, check.” Cecil speaks. The others turn up him, surprised. “Try talking.” He motions to his mouth.

  The sound of cracking fades as Cyrus’s voice comes over the speaker. “Hello?”

  “Loud and Clear.” Nikomedes pipes in.

  Cecil taps at the controls some more, the speakers cracking as he switches channels. “Atreo, do you copy?”

  “Indeed.” The director’s voice sounds distant. “Get ready, you should be feeling something soon.”

  Cecil plants his feet on the ground, standing still. He can faintly feel his knees wanting to buckle back and forth. Atreo transmits again. “The planet’s gravity is trying to counteract the ship’s artificial gravity. I’m going to shut it off for now.”

  The speakers crackle, and Cecil can hear Atreo fiddling with his control panel. The ship's speakers flip on. “Attention all crew members.” Atreo announces, full of confidence, his voice echoing through the metal passaged around them. “Now deactivating artificial gravity. Take a seat, buckle up, or otherwise grab onto something bolted down.”

  A buzzer beeps through the speakers ominously. The ship starts groaning loudly, followed by a grinding of metal. Cyrus and Nikomedes latch onto the grab bar by the door, and Cecil finds himself grasping onto a set of straps located next to the extra suits.

  The ship shifts under his feet, and Cecil can feel himself wanting to topple over with it. It stops shortly, but he begins to feel another force upon him. His feet lose traction on the ground, and he finds himself being lifted off the ground.

  “Whoa!” Cyrus exclaims, slowly losing contact with the ground as well.

  “Enjoy it while you can.” Nikomedes remarks, casually. “Once we get into the atmosphere, the gravity will be normalized again.”

  “I’m sealing the door to the airlock, you guys.” Atreo’s voice pops into their ears. “I’ll slowly let out the air pressure in there, and allow you guys to adjust.

  Cecil nods at the other two, directing them to the seat bolted to the wall next to the big metal door of the air lock. Carefully pushing off the wall, Cecil allows himself to float over, grabbing at the handles to secure himself. The others follow, proceeding to buckle themselves in.

  The suit feels light on Cecil’s frame, starting to expand slightly. His ears react. Popping his jaw, the pressure in them normalizes

  “I hope he can land this thing.” Nikomedes speaks up. The ship had begun to rock back and forth ever so slightly.

  “In my experience, all of the landings are mostly handled by the systems down there contacting the ship… giving them the right vectors and everything.” Cecil explains.

  “So what happens if the systems fail? What did they do before all of these fancy systems were installed?” Cyrus asks hesitantly.

  “We had pilots that were level headed and well-practiced.” Atreo’s voice invades the suit communications. “Just like now.”

  Cyrus clears his throat loudly before going quiet. The turbulence around the ship picks up slightly. Outside the windows, the planet casts a pale glow up at them.

  Looking over to the others, Cecil can see Cyrus gripping the seats with vigor, while the old man sits back in the chair at ease. The faint sound of breathing can be heard. The ship starts to rock band and forth, adjusting the pitch for the imminent landing. Loud boosters on the exterior of the ship blast in various directions. Cecil takes a deep breath, his stomach jumping up into his chest.

  Closing his eyes, he attempts to block out the noise. The rocking of the ship suddenly makes him feel sick. He gulps down the air from the mask, but it worsens the feeling. His stomach starts to churn. The ship lurches and rocks, finally coming to a standstill. His stomach sits in a ball for a brief moment longer before relaxing itself.

  As he opens his eyes, he spots Cyrus at the window peering out. Releasing the handholds from his grasp, Cecil shifts upwards to peer out window himself. Outside, the reddish-brown horizon of the planet can be seen. “All good.” Atreo announces.

  Fingers shaking slightly, Cecil undoes the buckle. His knees feel weak momentarily while standing up. Moving closer to the window, he takes a better look.

  The dark figure of the station stands out among the Martian landscape. The runway is covered in a fine layer of red dust. More flies through the air, carried in flurries. The lights on either side of the pavement lead to the focal point of the flight deck airlock, the second biggest on the station. Big spotlights flash in the direction of the ship. A figure catches Cecil’s eyes, making its way out from one of the smaller air locks to the side, meant for people only.

  “Disengaging airlock exterior doors.” Atreo speaks over the communications. “Remember, once you’re in there and have your suits off, we will be out of direct contact for a short time. You guys will be our immediate emissaries. Stand tall out there.”

  “Yes sir.” Cecil concurs.

  The locking mechanism clicks, and Cecil reaches out for the release. The mechanism is heavy and slow to disengage. Taking a deep breath, he pushes it outwards, allowing the door to open on its own. The thin atmosphere outside sends particles of dust into the air, and sandy bits of red dirt fly at his helmet. The figure from the station approaches, standing out in a more antique looking suit. The person waives as they approach the ship.

  Cecil is the first down the short ladder, going one peg at a time. His feet touch the ground lightly. Nikomedes and Cyrus continued down after him, sliding carefully down the ladder. Cecil can see his own reflection in the individual’s da
rk mask. The individual gestures at them as if to usher them back.

  Inside, the airlock closes behind them, and jets of air blast the debris off their suits. The second set of doors slid open, revealing the hangar, filled with several groups of people, including a few who seem to be waiting for them

  The person whom they had followed in releases the seal on his suit, the rest doing the same. Cecil fiddles with his helmet, and the face of the man comes into view. He has dark skin and little hair, and seems about as old as Cecil. Cecil finishes pulling off his helmet and begins undoing the rest of his suit. The dark man starts to pull off his own, stripping down to the body suit underneath. The man looks back up at Cecil, locking his gaze. His eyes flash back and forth, mouth opening agape in surprise. Dropping his suit, he sprints off, bare feet brushing against the metallic floor.

  “What was with him?” Cyrus asks, finally free of his own helmet.

  “Did you happen to catch his name on his coveralls?” Cecil turns quickly to question him.

  “Yeah, some of it. Markus something.”

  Chapter 30

  “Shit.” Cecil utters, sucking on his teeth. He deeply breathes in the air around him, somehow expecting something fresh. The stagnant, oily stench enters his nostrils, and the rush of memories of the place roll through his mind.

  “Did you know him?” Cyrus asks, struggling with the zipper, caught halfway down the suit.

  “I shouldn’t have come here.” Cecil mutters, missing the question.

  “It’s too late for that, my boy.” Nikomedes interjects, picking the suit’s boots off the ground and knocking them together.

  Cecil stares down at the suit by hit feet, looking back in hopes of seeing more familiar faces. Outside the airlock windows, the red ground and the dull brown sky seem to stretch out indefinitely. The ship they had come in on stands motionless and dark on the landing platform. “I really can’t go home, can I?” His head spins.

  “Cecil? Is that you?” Hearing his name snaps him out of his daze. A few of the crew standing around them stare at him. Cecil gulps hard.

  “Let’s not waste any time. They’re probably expecting us at Station Control here.” Cecil, announces, nodding his head to point at the doorway across the room.

  “That’s the spirit.” Nikomedes scoots up to Cecil’s side, landing a heavy pat on the back. “I trust you remember where it is?”

  Cecil scans the walls of the hangar, reading the letters above each of the doors. “A-Block,” he mutters, before starting to march off, Nikomedes behind him. Cyrus stumbles out of the suit’s legs, and quickly runs after them. Exiting the loading bay, Cecil finds himself in one of the larger hallways that ran between the crew quarters and deeper into the back of the structure. Glowing lights dot the space every few feet, casting an eerie glow down upon them.

  The floor grates start to shift slightly under Cecil’s weight, creaking and clacking with every footstep. A big lighted sign finally appears down one hallway, reading “Station Control.” With Nikomedes and Cyrus in tow, Cecil reaches the door, coming to stop in front of it, hesitating momentarily. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the button to automatically open the door.

  A big chair in the middle of the room faces away from the group as they enter. The same musty smell that Cecil recognizes from before is present in the warm air inside. Computer equipment and fans create an audible buzz in Cecil’s ears. He takes a deep breath of the thick air, eyes fixated on the back of the ominous chair. It squeaks, turning around.

  Cassius’s thick figure comes into view, dressed in darkly dyed coveralls, decorated with a few patches that probably mean very little. His long, curly beard brushes up against his sternum as his stare collides with the group. Underneath the mat of hair, his lips begin to move as he begins to address them. “Well, if it isn’t Ruiz to the rescue once again.” Cassius laughs his big belly laugh, fondling the armrests on his chair.

  “Sir.” Cecil replies, ignoring the urge to look away from him.

  Nikomedes steps forward. “Cassius, Sir, we are happy to be aboard and to help.”

  “Don’t be a kiss-ass.” Cassius stops him. “I know what everyone is doing here. Including you, Ruiz. Despite what you may have heard, I haven’t let this station go to hell yet, and I won’t let it now. You fellas are here to follow orders so that we may solve this as quickly as possible…”

  The sound of the automatic doors interrupts Cassius’s train of thought. His eyes shift to look past them, trying to find who had stopped his speech. “Ah, Agrippa. Welcome.” The commander grumbles.

  Cecil’s heart jumps up in his chest. His shoulders drop as he slowly turns around, facing the person who had stepped in through the entrance. The man’s permanently creased forehead shines in the light above the door. His wide cheekbones give an impression of having a permanently stern look on his face. The bags under his eyes are stretched wide, as are his eyes. “Agrippa.” Cecil mouths.

  “Cassius, Sir.” Agrippa speaks, eyes not leaving Cecil’s face. “Do you mind if I borrow Ruiz for a moment?”

  “I do mind. I’ll let it slip though, I don’t have any particular need of him at the moment.” Cassius plays with his beard. “You must be Cyrus, kid? We’ll get you clearance on our systems here so you can connect up to your ship’s comms. Nikomedes… I would like you to work with the guys in the hangar to help unload the supplies from the ship. We’ll continue the briefing later. Now, get outta’ here.”

  Nikomedes nods his head furiously, turning to step around Agrippa and out the door. Cyrus inches to the side of the room, arms crossed behind his back cautiously. Agrippa takes a quick step backwards out of the doorway, and Cecil follows. The doors close silently behind him.

  “Agrippa.” Cecil manages to speak before Agrippa quickly turns tail, walking off quickly down the hallway. “Hold on!” Cecil follows, jumping down off after him. Around the corner, Agrippa stops at a small unlabeled door, immediately clenching down on Cecil’s arm as he comes near. The old man’s fingers dig into his flesh through the coveralls, sliding the door open with his other hand. Inside, unused jumpsuits hang up on one side, and several buckets and mops on the other. Agrippa holds onto Cecil’s forearm, pushing him into the wall while his eyes begin to stare him down.

  “Cecil, what the hell are you doing here?” Agrippa begins to interrogate him, gaze aflame.

  “You didn’t know?” Cecil tilts his head, eyes wide. “Cassius didn’t tell you?”

  “No, I haven’t heard anything. I don’t hear anything, Cecil.” Agrippa spits. “All I’ve known is that a ship was coming, that we were going to have a few people to aid us, and bring us supplies. Just now I had Markus running back to me, telling me what he had seen. I had to come and see for myself. I had no idea-”

  “That it was gonna’ be me?” Cecil completes his sentence.

  “Cecil, you shouldn't be back here. You know this place isn’t good for you. This place will destroy you.” Agrippa grabs at Cecil’s other arm, shaking him slightly.

  “This is something I have to do.” Cecil growls, shaking off Agrippa’s grasp.

  “Why do you always feel the need to do something about everything? You escaped this place, but now you’ve decided to come back… in this state of affairs nonetheless.”

  “Listen.” Cecil says breathily, staring into the old man’s eyes. “The last time… I contracted this same type of bacteria. It’s what caused me to act up back then. I’m immune to it now, and the wiles of this planet. Because of that, I have an obligation.”

  “No! God Damn it.” Agrippa shouts. “The only obligation you should have to keep is to yourself. You don’t owe anybody anything. I can’t understand why you’re doing this to yourself.”

  “Why do you care so much?” Cecil yells, pushing Agrippa back against the shelves.

  “You almost died in my hands, Cecil.” Agrippa clenches his fists. “I can’t have you throwing your life away after all that.”

  “This time is different, Agrippa.
Besides, it’s too late to do anything about it now.” Cecil stops, finding himself breathing hard. Agrippa stares him down, still tense. The old man takes a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders.

  “I guess there’s nothing I can do to stop you, Cecil. You dumbass.” Agrippa sighs. He grabs Cecil in an embrace, holding Cecil’s face into his shoulder.

  Agrippa’s coveralls smell musty, sitting atop his muscular frame. Against him, Cecil feels weak and puny. Cecil feels a lump in his throat starting to form. Agrippa finally releases his grasp.

  “Agrippa, how bad is it? The sickness?” Cecil asks, fiddling with the excess fabric around his waist.

  “The spread isn’t bad… yet. But those people… I feel awful for them. Just the outward symptoms are bad enough; the vomiting, the fever, the convulsions. I can’t imagine what else they’re going through. You said you went through the same thing? How is that possible?”

  “The bacterium act similar to staph… like meningitis. It’s an infection, effecting the central nervous system. It makes you go a bit… crazy, too.” Cecil looks down at his feet. “Luckily in my case, when I went back to undergo cryo, the process stopped it before the bacteria were able to progress. Still…”

  “Does that mean you… the voice down there…” Agrippa crosses his arms.

  “I don’t know. That’s not something I want to think about now. As for my real mother, down on earth… I’ve made my peace. There are no ghosts that can haunt me now.” Cecil shifts his feet, still avoiding Agrippa’s gaze.

  “I’d hope you’re right about that, Cecil… the quarantine…” Agrippa stops suddenly. Cecil looks back at him, waiting for an answer.

  “Where are they being quarantined, Agrippa? How many are in there now?”

  “Cecil, the quarantine is down there at Secundus… down there in that hole.” Agrippa’s eyes drift downwards. Cecil’s eyes go wide, shoving his hands in his pockets before blowing air out between his pursed lips.