Wolfgang Riebe knelt next to the cot his wife lay on. He had just finished pouring the water he had boiled with a tiny dash of salt, then allowed to cool to room temperature, into her IV bag. The doctor told him there were no more supplies, and that was the only way he could keep her hydrated.
Leah, the Swiss hiker who hadn't left Wolfgang's side since they returned from the dragon rock, sat on his wife's other side, dabbing her forehead with a wet washcloth. She had been amazing, helping Wolfgang take care of his wife and daughter when only minimal medical help was available. Once Wolfgang's family had been categorized as fatal cases of radiation poisoning, the limited medical resources were redirected away from them to individuals who might survive.
Wolfgang's daughter died the day after.
His wife hung on, her pain abated by morphine, but that would run out soon and Wolfgang didn't know if he wanted his wife to die to spare her the suffering, or to hang on, and by some miracle, survive.
He prayed like he had never prayed before.
When he first found his family in a makeshift hospital, he laid his hands on their heads and administered a priesthood blessing, as he had been taught to do, trusting God's will. But when his daughter died, when he saw all the death around him, he couldn't begin to understand what God's will was.
The American soldiers in his hiking group stopped by to check on him once. They told him of reports about the nuclear war with Russia and the one sided war with the aliens. Nuclear missiles, anti-satellite missiles, even bombs loaded on conventional rockets, had all been sent towards the alien spacecraft, and none of it had done a thing. The aliens then began dropping meteors all over the Earth. There was nothing the military could do but disperse. Any concentration of man or material was struck by meteors. They had no defense.
As they spoke, Wolfgang sensed the tragedy. The Earth had fought its first interstellar war, and it had lost.
Had this been God's will?
Wolfgang took care of his wife because he didn't know what else to do.
Stanley Russell fled the command cockpit yet again, it was becoming a habit, leaving Commander Samovitch and Lieutenant Commander Purcella behind to stew. There had been no contact with Earth for over a week, and the two were panicking.
He had to admit, he had also grown concerned when ping stopped working. Ping always worked as long as an operating system ran on a server somewhere. Now it wasn't.
Purcella could communicate with the three unmanned resupply vehicles on their way to Mars, they had automated responses that reported status and position, but he couldn't contact anyone on Earth or the Moon, even using the resupply vehicles as relays.
And now Irina wanted to do the one thing Stanley didn't want to do.
That woman irritated him. He wished he could fire her, but there would be none of that. She had been appointed second-in-command by the United Nations Space Agency, or UNSA, just as he had been appointed commander.
He had been UNSA's second choice, a little known fact that Stanley worried would come to light. The first choice, Lieutenant Commander Spencer Grant, had been the model astronaut and military officer, and he would have known instinctively what to do in the situation Stanley found himself in now. The man would have been promoted years early to Captain, skipping a rank, and would have served the Beagle well.
Only he had been caught with the young, trophy wife of one of the members of the UNSA selection committee. Grant had retired quietly afterwards.
Which left them with Stanley. He had achieved his position as second in consideration based on his academic record and several key friends at the Space Agency, but the selection committee still debated for a week, even evaluating other candidates and going as far as bringing several in for interviews. The delay, and obvious lack of trust on the part of the committee, angered Stanley, but he had kept his mouth shut. It was always wise to agree with the committee, acknowledging their need to ensure the right commander for the mission.
And it had worked.
He was selected by a vote of five to four, had been 'requested' to take Irina Samovitch, a naval officer, as his second-in-command, and two years later he kissed his wife goodbye, roared up into space on a shuttle, and took over his spacecraft.
Six months to Mars, six months on station, and then an eight month return voyage because Mars would be farther away from Earth on the return leg than it had been when they were outbound.
It was a long time to put up with Irina and her lack of confidence, which mirrored that of some of the committee members.
In his frustration, Stanley found himself angling down a side passageway, the one that led to atmospheric chemistry. It was the only lab down that passageway, the rest of the area used for storage, and since only one crew member worked in that lab, it was an often empty passageway.
He had told himself he wouldn't visit her any more like this. But when Irina was too much, he needed a break.
He knocked on the door to the lab and Sherry, the Beagle's lone chemist, looked up at him, turning away from the laptop on her workbench. He smiled at her.
The chemist was an odd duck, by most standards. On Earth, she normally worked from home, analyzing data on computers much more powerful than any company would provide her, and she was used to working in her pajamas. She told the crew once she had even shown up for work in pajamas, not even thinking about changing, showering, or doing her hair. Her work was more important than such aesthetics.
She was in her late forties, kept her hair short so she wouldn't have to take care of it, and had never been married. Stanley didn't find her ugly, but she wasn't attractive and she didn't do anything to make herself attractive.
"Hi," he said simply.
She sat and watched him. She didn't say anything.
"Busy?"
She shook her head. "I'm always busy."
"I could come back another time," Stanley said softly.
"Okay." Sherry returned to focusing on her screen, one leg tucked up on her chair, her arms hugging it, her face resting on her knee as she stared at something.
Stanley watched her. He should just leave. It would be better for everyone if he did.
"Samovitch wants to abandon Mars. She wants to bring up the crews of Opportunity and Spirit and return to Earth."
Sherry just kept hugging her leg and staring at her screen. She rocked a little in her chair.
Stanley moved into the lab. "All these years! All the time we've spent preparing for this mission. We're supposed to be the ones who learn everything there is to learn so we can establish a permanent colony on Mars. That's what we're supposed to be doing!" He slammed his hand against a wall and Sherry jerked, looking up at him like she wondered why he was still in her lab.
"If we leave now, if we abandon this mission because of a minor communication bug, do you know what I'll look like?" he said, jabbing a finger towards the woman. "I'll look like an idiot, is what I'll look like. Everyone will say it should have been a military commander on this mission, not some weak civilian. But it's the military ones who want to leave. Commander Samovitch and that idiot Major Crayton from Opportunity are just panicking. They'd wet themselves to get back to Earth right now."
Sherry turned back to her screen without saying anything.
"If Opportunity and Spirit are abandoned, do you know how many years it will take to restore a human presence on Mars? It took us fifty years too long to get here in the first place. Do you think we'll ever go back?" he harangued. "It's stupid."
Stanley paused for a breath, then continued, "Besides, don't military types get shot for deserting their posts?"
He waited this time for Sherry to say something. They stared at each other, Sherry looking uncomfortable, but she finally answered, "The silence from Earth could be because of the Hrwang."
"The Hrwang." Stanley threw up his arms. "Everybody is terrified of them. You know what
we should be doing, don't you? We should be finding out how the Hrwang got here. Do you know what it would take to cross interstellar space? We've spent decades just to get eight people set up in two bases on Mars. There's only ten of us on board this ship. Eighteen people at Mars, about forty on the Moon, and the Hrwang have crossed interstellar space! We should be worshipping them, learning everything we possibly can from them. Who knows? Maybe there's no contact with Houston because they've found a better way to communicate, and a spaceship with new gear will be popping out here soon, and everyone will finally realize that just because aliens show up, they're not the bogeyman."
"Wouldn't they have told us that's what they were doing?'
"What? Are you're afraid of them, too?"
Sherry shrugged and looked back at her screen.
"You're an idiot," Stanley said. "You're just as bad as them."
She didn't look away from the screen.
"This is stupid," Stanley complained and shut the door behind himself.
Drone 1804 was refueled and outfitted with a new weapon, a hollow tube that fired round, ball bearing like shot. The parameters of its mission were downloaded into it, and it left the Hrwang ship eagerly, ready for a new challenge.
The hostiles on the planet had only one moon, like Hrwang, but only one tiny outpost on it, a single domed structure.
1804 jumped close to the moon, then floated, inspecting the structure from a distance.
A geodesic dome within another geodesic dome, the lunar base was surrounded by boxy structures attached at ground level. The Hrwang had little data on the base, and part of 1804's mission was to learn as much about it as possible. It moved closer.
It circled the base twice, probing for weaknesses, wondering if the base had defensive weaponry, but encountering none. It could see movement within the inner dome and estimated the base housed no more than forty personnel.
The boxy structures seemed to be air handlers. 1804 determined that there was a 60 per cent chance six of them were carbon dioxide converters, designed to convert carbon dioxide and water to an aldohexose and oxygen. It was an expensive process, and only in locations where oxygen was more valuable than life, and abundant solar power was available, was it even feasible. 1804 would be careful not to damage those units.
Solar panels surrounded the dome, and the likelihood of successfully cutting off power to the base was slim. It inspected the air handlers again, and determined that a shielded conduit that led to the main dome could be breached. It was designed to withstand random meteorites, but 1804 felt sure it could not withstand a repeated attack.
It jumped away from the moon, and lined up over one of the handlers. It jumped in close and fired its weapon, imparting the jump momentum to three ball bearings in sequence.
It watched as the first struck the conduit housing, shattering it, the second punching through, and the third destroying the connection between the handler and the dome. Air and water outgassed for a while, but then stopped. There were safety valves that prevented more damage in case of the loss of a handler.
1804 figuratively shook its head. This would not be quick enough.
It flew lower, no higher than the height of the dome, noting that it consumed a significant quantity of fuel in doing so. It would have to find a weakness soon.
It could see movement within the dome, individuals pointing at it, and it took a fraction of a second to ponder the lives of those individuals. It wondered why they had attacked the Hrwang. It was foolish to attack a superior race. They should have been subservient at first contact.
It must be an indication of their warlike nature, and 1804 moved back away from the dome out of an abundance of caution.
The bullets firing out of the opening airlock just missed it. 1804 jumped away from the moon, lined up over the airlock, and then jumped back, firing five ball bearings this time.
The first struck a figure emerging from the lock with a firearm of some sort. Two more struck the door, shattering it, and the last two bounced around the inside of the airlock, killing everyone inside.
That gave 1804 an idea. It jumped away again, then jumped back at a flatter trajectory, releasing three ball bearings into the airlock. The inner door shattered and there was a huge release of atmosphere from inside the dome, enough that 1804 felt it. It jumped away to observe what happened next.
It detected radio signals from the base, could hear them, but didn't understand them. Known translations of the hostile languages had not been downloaded.
"Mayday, mayday. We surrender. Mayday, mayday, this is Armstrong Base. We are under attack. We surrender. Mayday, mayday."
It dutifully forwarded the text from the message to its Hrwang handlers. The message repeated several times, but 1804 only sent one instance.
There was another airlock a quarter of the way around the dome, and 1804 attacked it, blowing up the outer door and then the inner door. More atmosphere outgassed. It moved to the third and did the same.
The inhabitants surprised it on the fourth airlock, and when the outer door blew open, explosively driven projectiles hurtled towards 1804, several striking it. It jumped to a safe distance.
A quick damage assessment indicated it was mostly superficial, with one of its six legs missing and several dents. The ball bearing weapon would still work. It returned and destroyed the remaining airlock inner door.
There must have been further inner airlocks as there still appeared to be atmosphere inside the dome. 1804 floated in place to observe and ponder what to do next.
Part of the mission parameters were to leave the dome as intact as possible. The Hrwang could use the base as a safe haven from hostiles still alive on the planet. Moons were typically rich in mineral resources, and an automated factory could be established there without interference.
It could fire its ball bearing weapon at the transparent material the dome was made from, but it doubted it could penetrate it without shattering large sections.
1804 jumped back to just above the dome, then used its tiny control jets to land on the surface. It pondered what to do next, coming up with and discarding ideas. It wished it had a drill. With a drill it could bore a small hole through both layers of the dome and when the Hrwang arrived they could patch it easily.
It knew it couldn't use the ball bearings against the dome. It would have to fire them at a great enough velocity that most of the dome would shatter.
It tapped on the dome with one leg, assessing its evaluation. After a few taps it decided that it was correct; the dome was thick enough to survive meteor strikes. The local hostiles would have had to plan for that on the atmosphereless moon.
1804 wondered why they hadn't built below ground, then almost laughed at itself. A dome would have to be first so the workers would have someplace to live while they worked. The locals didn't have advanced drone technology like the Hrwang.
So it had to find another way.
Looking inside the dome, 1804 could see the remaining residents running around, putting on space suits. Perhaps they were planning another attack. It had to make up its mind.
Then it had an idea.
It had destroyed all four airlocks, but there had been some form of redundant system. There were probably a lot of redundant systems.
But what if it destroyed the wall past the airlock. It could start at a sufficient distance, jump from there so that it carried enough momentum to launch ball bearings through an open airlock to destroy the wall behind it. It determined the most likely composition of such a wall and decided it would have to expend all of its remaining ball bearings in the attack. Its momentum would carry it into the airlock before it could fire all of its ammunition, meaning if there were blowback from the explosion, it could be hit before it could jump free.
It calculated that its odds for survival were good. It would precalculate jump coordinates, thus w
ould only be inside the dome for the merest fraction of time, yet it knew that its odds of survival were not one hundred per cent. It thought about that for a few moments, not knowing if it wanted to take a risk.
It modeled a few other possibilities and eventually decided this was its only option. It signaled the Hrwang with its intentions.
"Ever fight a robot before?" Shinji asked, testing out the comm system in his helmet.
"No," Anika replied, her voice quavering. She was terrified.
Shinji felt terrified also, but he acted strong. He'd heard of Bushido, and now that it was his turn to try to stop the alien monster, he would fight with honor. Besides, someone had to kill that thing or everyone in Armstrong Base would die.
He thought about those that had already died. Neil, Konstantin, Sally, Werner, Chiaki. Chiaki. A tear almost came to his eyes when he thought of her loss. He and Anika needed to succeed.
"Ready?" he asked.
"I guess," she replied, then added something in Swedish.
"What's that mean?"
"It's a prayer."
Shinji nodded.
He never learned if his idea to fight the alien would have worked. The wall next to them erupted, metal fragments bursting into the main hall of the dome, shrapnel shredding everything in its path, including Shinji, Anika, and many critical systems. Atmosphere vented through the gaping hole and out the destroyed airlock, and the survivors were helpless to stop it. As soon as the air in their tanks ran out, Armstrong Base would officially be dead. Some of its occupants didn't wait that long.
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