"Here's what's going to happen," Connelly said. "You do whatever you need to with him." She motioned at Peterson with her head. "But my mission will continue as scheduled. The blame for this incident lies on all four of us and whoever higher up in the food chain decided to keep Benson's death a secret. I am going to tell Ethan and Robert about this, and I expect," Connelly looked into Choi's eyes, "that you will answer any questions Ethan might have regarding our safety."
After thirty seconds of silence, Harris uncrossed his arms and relaxed his tensed up shoulders. "Departure is scheduled for twenty minutes from now. Give us a half hour?"
Connelly nodded.
"What about me?" Peterson asked, as he stood up.
Choi placed her hand firmly on Peterson's shoulder and pushed him back into the chair. "Twenty-four hour quarantine. Standard procedure. Harris will monitor you via the video feed."
Peterson began to complain, but Choi's next words came quick and loud. "While blame ultimately rests on all our shoulders, your actions today could have cost you your life, not to mention the lives of everyone else on board. You should be grateful a day in the Med-lab is all you're getting."
Connelly turned to Choi and said, "See you in a half hour." Then she strode for the door, not wanting to show any concern for Peterson. She knew the lingering feelings for the man were still there, but she wouldn't soon forget what he'd done. How could she trust a man who so easily kept dangerous secrets?
"Kathy," Peterson said.
Connelly paused at the door.
"Be careful down there."
The door whooshed shut behind Connelly as she left without another word.
CHAPTER 14 -- CHANGES
After meeting with Connelly and being told about the incident in the Bio-lab, Robert had helped himself to a copy of the security feed. He was now watching the replay for the fifth time on his digital tablet. The crystal clear, high def video and impeccable sound allowed him to focus in on visual and audio details that might otherwise be missed.
He played the footage again.
Robert watched as Peterson crouched in front of the plant incubator, waiving his hand back and forth, allowing the Europhid tendril to follow his every move.
How could he be so foolish?
How could Kathy?
Peterson's voice came from the tablet. "It seems intelligent…at least enough for motion tracking. Maybe it's an automatic reflex? Like Venus Flytraps?"
"Venus fly traps react to touch."
"So?"
Robert sighed. No wonder the man works with rocks.
"If the Europhid is tracking your movements…it can see you," Kathy said on the screen.
Body tensing for the inevitable, Robert leaned forward. He knew that this was where the first of the two tragedies took place. Robert paused the feed, framed out Peterson and zoomed on Kathy's face. Her eyes were closed, so she didn't see what happened next. But what stood out the most were her pursed lips, which curved up in a slight smile.
"Ugh." Robert leaned back in his chair and frowned. Why him? A confusing and nearly overwhelming feeling of jealousy clenched his throat, tightening in to a painful knot. He loved Connelly, but not as a lover.
That's what he told himself, what he'd been telling himself for so long that he now believed it.
Almost.
Zooming out and resuming the feed, Robert watched as the plant incubator shattered. A blur of red struck out, hitting Peterson's hand as he fell back—a perfect shot. The Europhids could not only sense movement, they were damn good shots.
After briefly rewinding, Robert played the footage in slow motion, while zooming in on the Europhid tendril. He watched as Peterson turned his head toward Connelly, and just as he lost sight of the creature, it reeled back and stabbed forward with a quickness that Robert had only seen in rapid striking Earth predators such as the wolf spider or king cobra. The sting had pierced Peterson's hand before the glass hit the floor.
Robert paused the footage and zoomed in again, focusing on the Europhid tendril. Playing the feed, frame by frame, Robert was able to witness what Connelly and Peterson did not. As the innocent looking tendril snapped back, a retractable stinger emerged. It launched forward, broke the glass and stabbed into Peterson's hand. But as it pulled back into the incubator, the stinger was still there. A split second later, the thorny weapon had been retracted, only the tip was missing.
Was the Europhid truly like a bee, only able to sting once? Or would the stinger that was left behind in Peterson's hand regenerate, able to strike again? But that's not what concerned him the most. The tendril and stinger were fascinating, but there was something more to this video…something he couldn't quite place…something that chilled him.
He watched the video again, frame by frame. As Peterson turned his head and the tendril struck out, Robert realized what he was seeing. The Europhid isn't just seeing, it's thinking. Strategizing. The Europhid had waited patiently, amusing Peterson, until his attention was diverted and his hand was in striking distance.
The act was deliberate and planned. The Europhids were intelligent.
They were more than just plants.
Robert scratched his head, creating a bird's nest in his hair. His hand stopped moving when he came to a realization.
The tendril and stinger are weapons. Just because we haven't seen them on the other Europhids doesn't mean they're not equipped with similar appendages. If they're all able to attack maybe they're not the harmless plants we've taken them for.
Maybe they're predators?
* * * * *
After spending five minutes in a blazing hot shower, Connelly felt the confusion surrounding the events of the last hour beginning to fade. She dressed quickly and hurried to the docking bay, where she waited for Robert. Willard and Choi had boarded Lander One three minutes ago. The hum of electricity emanating from the lander told her the ship was prepped and ready to go. So was she.
Where are you, Robert?
Just then, the decon room's doors hissed open and Robert stepped into the landing bay. He removed the PMS hood as he walked, revealing his bushy beard, messy head of hair and thickly wrinkled brow. He strode toward Connelly with sweeping, rapid steps.
Connelly could see that something was bothering her old friend, but had enough stress for one day and hoped to bypass any serious discussions. He had yet to lecture her about the incident involving Peterson and the Europhid, and she was thankful for that, but she knew it would eventually come. Still, she couldn't just ignore his urgent demeanor. "What's got your forehead so wrinkled?"
After coming to an abrupt stop, Robert took a deep breath, let it out slowly and licked his lips nervously. "So I was reviewing the security footage from the Bio-lab."
Connelly held her breath for only a moment, but enough to reveal her discomfort with the subject. "You have?"
Robert nodded slowly. "Yes, and—"
"Hey, boat's leaving," Willard said as he leaned out of Lander One's hatch. His jovial demeanor sounded forced. She had given him a quick rundown on what she'd found out about Benson. His mood had dulled since, but he was trying to remain optimistic. He couldn't help it. His glass was perpetually half full.
"Can it wait?" Connelly said. The words were shoved out with an anxious quickness.
"I'm just the messenger, boss," Willard said. "Choi said to get your asses in here. Well, those weren't her exact words, but—"
"We're coming," Connelly said with an effort not to sound upset. Connelly rolled her head on her shoulders and sighed. "Can we finish this later?" she said to Robert. "Maybe when we have a little more privacy?"
Robert squinted his eyes, expressing his confusion without saying a word.
"I don't want everything that happened in the Bio-lab to be public knowledge," she whispered.
"Ahh," Robert said, a trace of a smile emerging on his face. "Understood."
"Thanks."
As Connelly turned to enter Lander One, Robert squeezed her shoulders and conti
nued to do so, all the way up into the ship. "Don't worry," he said, "if we find anything remotely like what was discovered on the surface, all of the days mistakes will be forgotten."
Connelly chuckled as the lander's hatch sealed shut behind them. Moments later, the hiss of depressurization filled the bay and the docking bay doors peeled apart. Jupiter's great red spot swirled before them. Lander One lifted gently off the floor and glided out into space.
* * * * *
The silence in the Med-lab began to chew at Peterson's nerves. With no one to talk to, no one to ease his nerves, he had grown increasingly nervous. His palms became slick and his forehead dripped with sweat. He attempted to distract himself by thinking about the chemical composition of the red soil on which the Europhids grew, but his thoughts always returned to the Europhid and its daggered appendage.
He looked at his bandaged hand and noticed that blood had begun seeping through. He willed his thoughts to a better topic.
Connelly.
Kathy.
He wasn't sure she would have anything to do with him after the dust settled, but he hoped so. She was brilliant, strong and could hold her ground—an attribute he valued in women. He had always found himself attracted to independent woman. He wondered if that's why he was still single. He had always thought his bachelorhood had developed as a result of spending so much time in the arctic. But maybe it was just his taste in women.
Peterson's thoughts flashed back to the Bio-lab. He could see Connelly again, closing her eyes, puckering her soft, inviting lips. He wanted nothing else in the world than to kiss her at that moment. All his attention had been focused solely on her. That was when the Europhid struck.
A chill rippled across Peterson's flesh, raising the hairs across his legs, chest, arms and neck. Images of the large Europhid filled his mind's eye. He saw the foam spilling from his hand. He remembered the stinger as it was pulled from the wound. And the smell—foul like feces—from his hand.
Peterson's stomach turned over and he was violently propelled to the floor. A fountain of vomit exploded from his mouth, taking his breath away. Gasping for air and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Peterson climbed back to his feet. He stumbled to the nearest table and attempted to compose himself.
A series of cold pains rose up his spine, out through his arms and down to his fingertips. Without warning, he lost all feeling in his arms and they flopped uselessly to his sides. "Oh no… No."
This is what happened to Benson!
Peterson ran towards the nearest intercom, desperate to call for help. He knew Harris might see him on camera, but he could just as easily be engaged in one of his many other duties. His arms flailed at his sides with every step. As he rounded an operating table one of his arms smashed into the corner, opening a deep wound. Peterson saw the bloody gash, but he felt no pain.
He ran faster.
Reaching the intercom, Peterson went to push the button, but the hand he was expecting to reach up didn't come. It was as though his arms were no longer attached. "Shit!"
He leaned forward and made several attempts to push the button with his nose, but it wasn't working. He couldn't push the button in far enough. A flash of hope surged when he remembered the medical emergency alarm. He looked across the room and saw the yellow button, which was protected by a pane of glass and labeled "EMERGENCY".
Racing across the room, careful not to smash his useless arms into any more sharp objects, Peterson planned out his next moves. After reaching the glass, he could shattered it with his forehead and push the button with his nose. Then what? He'd have to wait. Harris was the only other crew member on board, but he had medical training.
Half way across the room, Peterson reached his top speed. That was also when his legs gave out. It felt like every sinew of his leg muscles had torn at once. He screamed as he tumbled to the floor, his dysfunctional limbs flapping helplessly. A sickeningly sharp spasm tore into his groin and through his stomach.
He vomited a second time, only now he was unable to wipe his mouth or slide his body away from the acrid smell of his bile. Slithering on the floor like a wounded snake, Peterson did his best to cover the distance to the emergency button. It was only after twenty seconds that he realized he was no longer moving. His head moved up and down, but his torso no longer complied. He was paralyzed from the neck down, like a living statue.
Looking down, Peterson caught a glimpse of his bandaged hand. Crimson foam was seeping through, spilling out onto the floor, mixing with his vomit. Without the control of his muscles, Peterson's body slipped over onto its back. He lay, gazing up at the bright lights of the ceiling, weeping.
"Damn this moon to hell," he said through gritted teeth.
"Hell is a human concept. You are human."
Peterson held his breath. Was there someone in the room or was he hearing things?
"Harris? If that's you, I need help! Harris?"
"Not Harris."
"Willard."
"No."
Peterson's eyes darted back and forth, but all he could see was ceiling. "Where are you?"
"I am everywhere."
"That's not possible."
"Through me, all things are possible."
With that, Peterson felt his will slip away. He watched through his eyes, but was unable to look. He was fully aware, taking in information through all his senses, but it was all he had left. The rest of him was floating inside his mind, like a detached soul, clinging to the body of a dead man.
It was then that Peterson saw his hands rise into the air. His fingers flexed several times. Something had control of his body! An arctic fear froze Peterson's thoughts. He was losing his mind—hallucinating—trapped forever within a useless shell of a body that no longer responds to his commands.
Still…was he speaking with his own deformed psyche? Or was the voice in his mind something more? He decided to ask.
Who are you? Peterson thought.
"Michael…I am God."
CHAPTER 15 -- INTELLIGENCE
The flight down to Europa's surface had been smooth, touching down on the frozen surface only ten minutes after leaving the Surveyor. While Lander One wasn't an elevator, the view from the window reminded him that if anything mechanical went wrong, Lander One would plummet to the moon's surface. Europa's gravitational pull wasn't nearly as strong as Earth's, but in a descent from orbit, the impact would be enough to transform the ship into a heap of metal, wires and human body parts.
Robert shook his head and focused on the task at hand. Tightening his grip on the support bar, Robert helped Connelly pull the TES sphere to the side of the watery hole, which had already frozen over. The sphere dangled only inches above the platform, held aloft by the three TES cranes. After pulling the sphere up, the cranes had moved it towards its locking position atop one of the TES panels. The final lockdown could have been done automatically, but Connelly insisted on guiding the sphere onto the base by hand. Luckily, the task wasn't as difficult as it sounded. Europa's low gravity made the monster-truck-wheel-sized orb much lighter than it had been on Earth.
Robert squinted to adjust to the new light. Last time they had been on Europa's surface, the area had been well lit by the distant sun and reflected light from Jupiter's gaseous surface. But now they were on the dark side of Jupiter, where all light was blotted out by the massive nearby planet. The portion of space that Jupiter's body consumed was now solid black. Robert couldn't remember a more empty sky. It was haunting. The only proof that something existed in the black space was the occasional flash of lightning from one of Jupiter's storms, a phenomenon not visible on the lit side.
Robert brought his attention back to the sphere as it locked silently into position. Connelly turned to Willard, who had been working the cranes from the control panel on the other side of the chasm. He was starkly illuminated in the spotlights shining from the TES panels. "Nicely done. Go ahead and pop the hatch."
Willard nodded and worked the controls. The upper glass half of th
e sphere glided open like a clam shell. It stopped at a ninety degree angle. Robert motioned to the open sphere with both hands. "Your chariot awaits."
Connelly stepped inside without a word. Robert wondered if she was feeling the same mix of nervousness, excitement and trepidation. Robert stepped up into the sphere and scanned the interior. It was just as he remembered. Four comfortable-looking chairs sat in the center of the sphere, two facing one direction, two facing the other. The floor was a flat, metal panel, three and a half feet down so that the glass and metal merged at waist level. Three thin stairs leading to the floor marked the only break in computer consoles around the circumference of the sphere's interior. It reminded Robert of a futuristic, alien escape pod.
As soon as Robert took his seat and buckled in next to Connelly, he signaled to Willard with an upturned thumb. "Lock us in."
The hatch slid closed over them. As the sphere's cabin pressurized, Robert became aware of a slight hiss. His heart began to thrum as he thought his suit had sprung a leak, but he quickly realized that with the return of pressurization, also came the return of sound. The hiss was just the cabin being pressurized. But his momentary panic attack was enough to reveal his emotional state. He was on edge. And the ride down to Europa's ocean was going to be a very long elevator ride, ending beneath countless feet of ice. Robert began counting in his head.
One…two…three…
"Start the oxygen feed," Connelly instructed.
"You got it." Willard's voice still rang clear through the sphere's thick outer shell. Through the glass, Robert could see Willard twisting a knob on the side of the TES control panel. A rush of air brushed across Robert's body, though he couldn't feel its coolness through his suit.
"O2 feed is steady and levels are good to go," Willard said. "You may now breath freely."
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