Marcus and Commander Faulkland were in one of the habitation pod dining halls, which stretched the definition of “hall.” It was a tight compartment just a smidgen bigger than any other on the ship. The men were seated on either side a metal table, where they were sipping reconstituted sludge from small plastic sacks. It was supposed to be coffee, but the resemblance was faint. Marcus had come to really enjoy that sludge, but it was an acquired taste.
He nudged the deck of magnetized playing cards on the table, which had been shuffled but otherwise ignored for hours, and Commander Faulkland waved him off.
“Couldn’t focus on a game right now,” Faulkland said.
That was the last thing Marcus expected to hear from the greying and hard-faced commander. “Way you tell stories, I figured you could play a hand of poker with your pants doused in burning napalm.”
Faulkland chuckled and took a slurp of his black sludge. “It’s not the mission. I’ve got a weird feeling. Something’s not right.”
Marcus felt a pang of guilt. He’d hardly felt them at all since they left Earth orbit, but now they were coming back with a vengeance. He decided it was finally time. “Listen… can I come clean about something?”
“I know ya been cheating at cards, Marc. Buy me a steak when we get back home, and I’ll think nothing of it.”
Why did everyone always think he was a cheater? “No, no… About the mission.”
Just then, the intercom lit up and produced an F-sharp. “Commander needed on the bridge. We’ve arrived at Waypoint Lambda-Five.”
“Roger that, bridge. On my way.” He flashed a toothy smile at Marcus and said, “Showtime. Whatever you wanted to tell me can wait for later.”
“Probably not,” Marcus muttered, but the ship’s commander was already through the door. Marcus had no choice but to follow.
The bridge was like the rest of the Shackleton, except another inch more spacious, and every surface covered with a dizzying array of switches, dials, readouts and other things Marcus had no business fiddling with. It was also the only part of the vessel with a view of the outside, which at that moment was filled with a vast field of asteroids looming in the dark.
Faulkland climbed into the captain’s chair and strapped himself in. The rest of the bridge crew were already at their stations and fastened down with five point harnesses. “Take a seat, Doctor.” The last word had a sarcastic sting to it, as it always did. “You don’t want to be floating free during this.”
The commander grabbed a black handset, pressed the button on its side, and in response, the F-sharp rang out again. As he spoke, his voice echoed through the halls. “Attention all crew and passengers. We are now preparing for final deceleration before entering the asteroid field. Find a suitable harness and strap yourself down, or you’ll be in for an unpleasant ride.”
Marcus clicked his belt, and then his eyes were filled with those asteroids. He picked through them trying to find his target, wondering if she might be visible from this distance, but it was no use. Zebra-One was still too far out to identify, if she was visible at all.
“Alright, that’s long enough. Mr. Macek, bring us about one-eighty counter vector.”
“Roger,” Macek called back. As soon as the word was out of his mouth, the ship began to spin along its axis and the view of the asteroid belt ran from Marcus’ hungry gaze. “Maneuver complete, Commander.”
The commander tapped his personal display and scratched his beard, then looked up and said, “Sixty-percent thrust for 326 seconds, on my mark.” The room was silent as a tomb while waiting for the command, and Marcus imagined the commander was stalling just for drama’s sake.
“Mark!” Faulkland barked.
Then it began. The entirety of the Shackleton was filled with a roar as its engines magnetically accelerated ions into space. The sound was shocking at first, but it was so constant and pervasive that Marcus numbed to it quickly. He was reminded of a class field-trip to a hydro-electric dam in the fifth grade. He’d been impressed enough by the massive structure itself, but the trip took on legendary proportions when he stood beside the dam’s thundering outlet. It was only then that Marcus began to understand some fraction of the billions of metric tonnes of water held on the other side, and the almost unimaginable force contained within.
Now he was in the depths of space, imagining that dam’s immense strength at his back, straining against the Shackleton’s momentum. He started to wonder how the ship’s reactor compared to the dam, but abandoned the math. Better to enjoy the ride, he thought, and so he relaxed and stared out through the thick polycarbonate panes. He was pressed into his seat with a force equal to Earth’s gravity, and with a little effort of imagination, he was lying on the ground back home, watching the glittering night sky. During an earthquake. Next to a waterfall.
The engines’ fearsome thrust lasted for just under six minutes, and then cut off as abruptly as it had begun. The sudden absence of noise left Marcus feeling hollow and reverent, like sitting in a church as the bells finished ringing.
The ship came back around and the windows were again filled with a field of charcoal black stones that stretched into the distance. They were closer now, close enough that the size of the asteroids could truly be appreciated. As Marcus stared on in amazement, he wondered how humbling that view might be to the architects of the Foundation’s cathedral.
“Not very,” he mumbled, only to realize he was talking to himself out loud.
Faulkland glanced over at him. “Come again, Doctor?”
Marcus looked a little sheepish. “Nothing, Commander. My internal monologue slipped out.”
At the start of the voyage, a comment like that would have been followed by an uncomfortable silence, but Faulkland was accustomed to the Gypsies’ eccentricities after five months together. He just nodded and said, “Understood. A view like this is liable to shake the best of us.”
The commander took another moment to admire the view, then grabbed the intercom mouthpiece and announced that it was once again safe to move about the ship.
With the very talented Mr. Macek at the controls, The Shackleton slipped into the asteroid belt like a surgeon’s scalpel, using only the lightest thrusts to carve a path to their objective. The passing asteroids grew to even more fantastic proportions as the ship progressed, many dwarfing the largest mountains on Earth.
Rao entered the bridge compartment quietly and found himself a spot next to Marcus. A glance at his face revealed a scientist in rapture, suddenly closer to the subject of his research than he’d ever thought possible. He was the first in his field to view these asteroids with the naked eye, and Marcus thought he could hear Rao’s heart thumping madly in his chest.
Faulkland indulged the eager scientist and asked, “Would you care to tell us what we’re looking at, Doctor Rao?”
“Of course.” Without skipping a beat, Rao moved closer to the windows and started pointing out features on the asteroids, the way a tour guide introduces animals in his zoo. “These are largely C-Type asteroids, composed of silicates, sulfides…”
Then, 228 days after Marcus made his presentation at the Foundation headquarters, after a half-hour of Rao’s excited lecturing on the composition of rocks, The Shackleton Expedition finally arrived at Zebra-One.
Chapter 5:
Contact
As the Shackleton Explorer approached its destination, there was nothing ahead of it but empty space. The atmosphere on the bridge had been peppered with excitement and discovery a moment before, but it was now thick with confusion.
Then the ship passed through… something. It was like a thin film or the surface of a liquid, and there was suddenly something massive out in front of them, so large that it filled the entire viewport and made all the nearby asteroids seem shrimpy by comparison. The object was long and thin like a cannon, and Marcus knew from his studies that it stretched more than thirteen kilometers from end-to-end, with a secondary structure attached to its hip that, while shorter, was stil
l more than eight kilometers long.
Seen for the first time in person, the sheer scale of Zebra-One was confounding.
The air of discovery rushed back into the bridge, electrified with total astonishment. It was moments before anyone could muster the ability to speak.
Faulkland spoke first. He furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and said, “Ms. Park, bring up the survey image of Zebra-One.”
She looked to Marcus questioningly, and he nodded his assent. An instant later, the image Marcus had presented to the GAF was floating above the holographic projector at the front of the bridge, right beside the viewport where the real thing could be seen. The image showed an object of the right dimensions, but with a glistening exterior that was black like obsidian, and ringed by a series of vertical ridges. The real Zebra-One was entirely different, a greenish shimmering iridescent surface half caked in a layer of sediment, and bristling with tiny spires that evoked Roman architecture and insect anatomy all at once.
Faulkland looked back and forth between the reality outside the window and the holographic fake. On his face, Marcus recognized the look of a man who had just been cheated at cards. “Doctor Donovan. You wanted to come clean about something.”
“I did, Commander.”
The beleaguered commander ran a hand through his greasy hair, past veins that were starting to throb on his forehead. “Now would be the time. What in hell am I looking at?”
Marcus unbuckled himself and floated out to the front of the bridge, taking up station beside the projection. “Park, please bring up the original.”
The image of his fictional asteroid was replaced with the final scan from Copernicus. “Commander, this is Zebra-One, an artifact of unknown origin which my team and I have been researching for the past seven years. We haven’t been able to determine what she is exactly, but I suspect she’s not from our neck of the woods.”
Rao, awkward and nervous, said, “Wait, it’s not metallic hydrogen? I must have been mistaken.” It was half-way between a weak lie and a bad joke.
A growl rumbled deep in Faulkland’s throat. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Donovan. You’re telling me this is what? Some kind of alien craft?”
“Maybe, or maybe the alien itself. We couldn’t be sure from Earth, which is why we’re here.”
Faulkland’s arms were crossed, and he was staring straight through the massive artifact. His breathing was slow and methodical. “They never would have approved that mission,” he finally said. “The windbags would’ve destroyed your data, and you along with it. Made sure you couldn’t get a job teaching grade school science in Siberia. You’re a real son of a bitch, Donovan.”
“Thanks… I think.”
Faulkland unbuckled his harness and pushed off into the middle of the bridge, his eyes fastened on the strange object. “I know I should be furious right now, but man alive, this is really something. Something wonderful.”
Marcus drifted over to meet him, and then turned and pointed out at Zebra-One. His pose mimicked every painting of an explorer discovering a lost city. “A promise just waiting to be fulfilled. Besides, where would you prefer to find your name in the history books, Commander? By a manned mission to Jupiter, or first contact with extra-terrestrial life?”
“Yeah,” was all Faulkland said. Then he woke from his stupor. “Shen, prepare a status update for Bangalore. Tell them that we’ve arrived at Zebra-One and will begin initial survey within the hour.” He gave Marcus a knowing nod.
“That might be a problem, sir,” Mason Shen said in consternation. He was working furiously at his station. “I’ve lost contact with Earth, sir.”
“Solar flare?” Faulkland asked.
“No, sir. The forecast is spotless, and radiation is within tolerance. Signal just went dead about five minutes ago, and I haven’t picked up a thing since. I’m still receiving a carrier signal from Mars, though.”
“Strange. Probably nothing. Relay through Mars until we can re-establish contact.”
“Aye aye.”
Faulkland turned back to Marcus. “What now, Doctor?”
Marcus had years worth of plans ready to unfold. “This is our first glance up her skirt, and I’d like to make a few passes along the length of her. Get the lay of the land. With any luck, we might get some insight into how her camouflage works. After that, we go out to meet her in person. Rao’s team identified a number of structures we call irises, which they suspect are air-locks, or else some kind of unknown organ. Either way, our investigations should start there. Iris Charlie on the starboard side of the main hull appears to be the most accessible.”
“How many times have you rehearsed that speech?”
“Thousands,” Marcus replied. Then he noticed something about Faulkland’s demeanor that he couldn’t immediately put into words. “You’re coming along,” he said incredulously.
Faulkland had a smile as wide as the stars. “Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”
“Isn’t that kind of reckless?”
“If we weren’t a little reckless, Marcus, we wouldn’t be space cowboys.”
Marcus Donovan reflected on that and decided that truer words had never been spoken.
***
Copernicus Observatory was dark. Its generator was off-line for routine maintenance, and during this part of the station’s orbit, the sun was completely hidden behind the Earth, leaving the distant stars the only remaining source of light.
Nils Jansen was floating around near the main power console, idly looking over a wiring diagram with a flashlight. He was wearing most of a skin-tight pressure suit, all except for the helmet which was still dangling from his hip. The station was reasonably comfortable, and he could hardly stand to wear the stuffy thing. It made him feel claustrophobic, and he likely wouldn’t put it on until air inside the station began to taste foul.
Other than Jansen, the spherical control center was completely deserted. He was part of a three-man skeleton crew who kept things in order while Bangalore controlled the scanning array from the ground. Research teams occasionally came through on short tours, but in the mean time, Jansen and the other two technicians kept the seats warm, made sure the place didn’t fall apart, and tried not to kill one another.
It wasn’t Jansen’s dream job, but the salary was alright, it was easy work, and he accrued enough leave to visit his family every few months.
It could be worse, he assured himself. He could be hurtling through space on some fool alien hunt.
He flicked his headset on. “Marco?”
There was another moment of silence, then his earpiece crackled to life. “Polo.”
Jansen groaned. “When are you gonna give up that lame, tired ass joke?”
“About ten seconds after you start addressing me properly.”
“Fine,” he said. “Technician Jansen to Technician Esquivel: Are you done yet? I wanna turn the power back on. Over.”
“Nope. Two blown fuses at Junction D7. I just sent Hopkins off to get replacements.”
Jansen looked down at the crinkly wiring diagram and found Junction D7, then started looking for the nearest storage locker. He found it a hundred meters away. “You sent Hop? He’ll take a week.”
“He’s getting faster,” Marco said hopefully.
Jansen shook his head. “No, he’s not.”
“Just let me pretend.”
“You guys realize I can hear you, right?” Hopkins asked.
Jansen folded his wiring diagram back up and tucked it into a pouch. “Do me a favor and hurry up, would ya? I’m missing a Jefferson’s marathon.”
“And the whole world wept,” Marco said caustically. “Over and out.”
Jansen covered his microphone. “Dolt wouldn’t know quality TV if it bit him on the ass.” A moment later, he began to twiddle his thumbs, hoping that the pressure suit’s thick gloves might make the task more challenging. He was sorely disappointed.
Then Nils Jansen heard a noise like none he’d ever heard before. It was
so strange that he couldn’t even begin to describe it. So strange that he began to wonder if it was a noise at all, or if he was suffering some kind of hallucination. He was pretty sure “space madness” was only an urban legend, but he sometimes had his doubts. This was one of those times.
“Guys, there’s something weird going on out here,” Hopkins’ ever-pitiful voice squeaked, huffing and puffing between words.
Not a hallucination, Jansen decided. “What is it?”
The response came back fast. “I don’t friggin know, Nils. If I knew, don’t you think I would’ve said something more descriptive than something weird? Jesus.”
“Jansen, I’m in an access tube right now. Can you see what he’s blubbering about?”
Jansen was already moving around to a better vantage point. “Which direction, Hop?”
“Heading… I dunno. Just look towards the moon.”
He wheeled around and there it was, whatever it was. There was a slight shimmering in empty space, like photos he’d seen of the aurora, but the pattern was all wrong. It reminded him of the house he grew up in, when the late summer sun would reflect off the pool, leaving undulating patterns on the screen door and the ceiling.
“Do you see it, Jansen?”
He was dumbfounded.
“Jansen?”
He snapped back to attention. “Yeah, I see it. I don’t know what the hell it is, either.”
He stared at the undulating field of light, slack-jawed, while colors played across it in every shade of the rainbow. In another moment, he was sure that it wasn’t just one field of light, but seven spaced out evenly.
Then solid shapes began to emerge from within. The lights stretched around them, clinging like latex, until they were whole and complete. The light shimmered and faded away, revealing seven jagged discs like nothing Jansen had ever seen before. There was a lot of that going around.
“You see ‘em, Hop?” He asked.
“Sure do. They look like… like bone or something.”
“See what?” Marco demanded.
Stars Rain Down Page 4