Connelly glanced at Robert. "You want to go first?"
Robert shook his head. "Beauty before the beast."
Twenty-one…twenty-two…twenty-three…
"Well, Ethan isn't here, so I guess we'll have to go at the same time."
"I can still hear you, you know," Willard said through the headset.
A smile crept onto Robert's face. Connelly always seemed to know when he needed a mood lightener, and taunting Willard always did the trick. He nodded his confirmation and raised his hands to his helmet. Simultaneously, the pair worked through the series of seals and locks that glued their hood-like helmets to the rest of the PMS suit. Two minutes passed before they were ready for the final step. Their eyes met and both removed the hoods, sliding them back over their heads.
Robert sucked in a long breath, letting the cool, dry air flow through his nose and fill his lungs. He held it for ten seconds and let it out quickly. His next breaths were just as deep, but much quicker. With each breath he became more relaxed and more confident that he was breathing good air into his lungs and not just the frozen void of space. He looked up at Connelly. She was already strapping herself into one of the seats. He took his place next to her and buckled himself in tight.
Fifty-eight…fifty-nine…sixty…
After both were settled and comfortable, Connelly switched on the interior com system and spoke, "You there, Ethan?"
"I hear you. How's the old man holding up? He looked pretty freaked when you guys took off the hoods." Willard's voice reverberated all around them, projected from the sphere's speakers, the same speakers that would allow them to hear any sounds flowing through the water below.
"I'm fine," Robert said.
"Air is holding," Connelly added. "All systems green?"
"Green like Kermit."
"Lower us down."
"You got it, boss."
With a quick jerk, the sphere lifted up off the base. Robert strained for a view of the deep hole as they dangled above it, but the seatbelt held him secure. A good thing, too, Robert thought. The sphere warbled back and forth as it stopped above the ice shaft. Seconds later, they were descending.
"Get ready for some steam guys," Willard said. "Looks like we have a few feet of ice to melt again."
The bluish-white walls of the chasm began to pass by all around them. Just as Robert became fascinated, a plume of steam rocketed up around them as the sphere's blazing hot base melted through the ice. Moisture quickly collected on the glass top of the sphere and refroze, obscuring the view in all directions. Robert suddenly felt confined, buried alive in a spherical elevator being lowered into the depths of hell.
His breath caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth, expanding a tightness in his throat he thought would cause his neck to burst, spewing blood all over the interior of the sphere like a Japanese anime cartoon. Robert bit down on his lower lip as sweat began to bead up on his forehead.
A sudden pressure on his knee almost made him gasp. He jerked his head up and came face to face with Connelly, who looked both concerned and amused. "Robert, you stopped breathing."
Robert made a deliberate effort to breath. He closed his eyes as he continued breathing, trying his hardest to ignore the sinking feeling created by the downward motion of the elevator. Of TES, he forced himself to think. Not an elevator.
"Hey…" Connelly's voice was soft, comforting.
Robert looked opened his eyes and met Connelly's. "Keep counting," she said.
Robert nodded.
One hundred thirty-three…one hundred thirty-four…one hundred thirty-five…
* * * * *
"How's this for privacy?" Connelly said after switching off the com system inside the sphere. "Now what did you want to talk about?" Connelly knew exactly what she wanted to talk about and had resisted the urge to bring up the topic for as long as she could. She wanted to get the unavoidable lecture out of the way before they broke the surface of the water. Not because Robert's words of wisdom would sour the moment, but rather, she knew that after taking a dip in the Europa's ocean, Robert would most likely forget what he wanted to discuss. She'd always valued his opinions, welcome or not, and didn't feel right taking advantage of his forgetfulness.
"Think it's safe to undo the belts?" Robert said as he stretched the safety belt away from his belly.
"Not much a seatbelt will do if we fall, right?" Connelly noticed Robert's expression sour. "Sorry."
Robert undid his seatbelt and let it slide back into the sides of the chair. He looked Connelly in the eyes, his gaze expressing the seriousness of the subject about to be broached. "There are security cameras in all the Surveyor's vital compartments, including the Bio-lab."
Connelly had assumed as much after Robert's initial attempt to speak back in the docking bay. "Right…" She tried to sound as casual as possible, like she already knew there were security cameras. "I don't suppose you saw anything of interest?" She couldn't help but let out a nervous chuckle.
Robert scratched his head as his serious tone diminished slightly and his cheeks turned rosy red. "Ahh, you mean other than the budding romance?"
"Exactly." It was Connelly's turn to sound serious.
"I'm not your father," Robert said.
"What are you then? My brother?"
"Brother? No, I, ahh… Hey, that's not even what I wanted to talk about."
Connelly felt surprise and relief, but a tinge of disappointment churned within the brew. She wondered if she really did want to hear what he thought. Maybe Michael was not good, but she couldn't see it? She'd seen the same thing happen to other women. "You don't?"
"God, no."
"Oh..." Connelly could feel the skin on her forehead bunching up as she tried to figure out where Robert was heading. "What else was on the tape?"
"As you know, the Europhid tracked Michael's movements, displaying that it had senses beyond that of your garden variety vegetable."
"Right."
"I reviewed the tape several times, close up, frame by frame. I'm fairly sure that Europhids, or at least this one, displayed some signs of higher intelligence."
"Compared to garden variety vegetables," Connelly added.
"Exactly."
"What was most intriguing about the footage was the timing of the attack. It played innocent, moving almost cutely back and forth, until the exact moment Michael was completely distracted."
"Your saying the attack wasn't just a reflexive action?"
"More than that. The Europhid, an alien organism that has never come in contact with a human, recognized how Michael perceived the world visually, through human eyes. It understood what his eyes were used for and how they worked. It knew to strike the moment he focused on you. How does a creature that has no knowledge or evolved experience with humanity know how Michael's eyes work?"
Connelly shifted in her seat, not sure if she was uncomfortable with the topic or if she had picked poor padding for the seats. Either way, something was causing her spine to ache. "Have you ruled out coincidence?"
"Barring putting my hand in front of another Europhid and looking away, I'd say the tape is fairly conclusive. Have a look at it when we get back. I think you'll find the video convincing enough." It was Robert's turn to shift uncomfortably. "I would have brought it up publicly if the stinging incident wasn't accompanied by more…intimate matters."
Connelly felt her face flush. Robert said he'd watched the tape several times, close up and frame by frame. How many times had he seen her closing her eyes and reaching out for Peterson? She didn't mind Robert knowing the truth, but it was damned embarrassing. Connelly pushed the topic from her mind and kept to the more urgent, and honestly, more interesting subject at hand. "If the Europhid had a true understanding of human physiology, which would have to be in depth if it really knew when to strike, why did it inject Michael with a poison that had no effect other than to produce a slight infection?"
Robert leaned back in his chair. "Now it's our turn to attem
pt understanding the actions of an alien creature. We assumed the substance was a poison simply on the basis that on Earth, organisms that inject anything almost always inject toxins or poisons with the intent of paralyzing or outright killing their enemies."
As Robert pursed his lips tightly, they turned. "This is an alien species. The injection could be anything. A pheromone for instance. It could be used to track his movements or attract something to him. Or maybe it's a slow acting poison, meant to kill over time. It could do nothing at all. Or it could just affect his mind, cause him to act irrationally and put the rest of us in danger."
"He was acting irrational when he put the Europhid in the incubator," Connelly said with a grimace.
"Your affections can do that to a man."
Connelly shot a fiery stare in to Robert that threatened to broil his brains inside his skull.
"Sorry," he said quickly. Robert regained his composure and continued. "But it's most likely something we haven't even conceived of yet. We have to remember that these are alien organisms. They may not have arms, legs or even mouths, but we know by observing the environment they live in, they're survivors. Of course, I'll be damned before I let a one foot tall, red eggplant outsmart me. If the Europhids can understand the human eye, I'll have them figured out soon enough."
Robert played with his beard for a moment. "The real question is, for what other reason could Peterson have been stung?"
* * * * *
Peterson stood before the Med-lab doors, pushing the button to open them over and over. But the doors were locked. He turned to the security panel and accessed the door mechanism. The lock was password protected.
His head shook. Drool collected at the corner of his mouth. He stared blankly while twitching, his voice making a scratchy click with each breath. Then he typed: Quaren104—the password known only to Harris and Choi.
Stumbling like a stiff legged man in the middle of a grand mal seizure, Peterson made his way through the halls of the Surveyor. He bumped loudly in the walls and nearly tumbled over with each step. What was left of his personality and consciousness was tucked away in the far reaches of his mind, like watching a baseball game from the nose bleed section. His eyes, once deep and brown, were now glazed over with a dark crimson haze.
After a skin-bruising five minute stroll, Peterson's movements became smoother. Along with an increase in balance, his steps became even and quick. With a quick jerk of the head, he stopped moving in the center of the hallway. Twisting with a robot-like rigidity, he looked back over his shoulder, back the way he came, toward a dimly lit hallway.
Peterson's red eyes glowed with recognition. He spun on his heels and pounded toward the hallway. Rounding the corner at top speed, he tipped over. His shoulder hit the smooth wall and his tilted body slid as he continued walking forward. A moment later he sprung back up into a vertical position. With each step, his feet hit the floor harder and harder. His knees began bending and he broke into a sprint.
Three more turns and two long stretches later, Peterson skidded to a stop and peered at a labeled doorway. His lips mouthed the words three times before his lungs provided the air to give them voice. "Bio-lab."
Looking at the doorway, he scanned up and down and eventually turning his red eyes to the button next to the door. He pushed the button and door whooshed open. A crooked, unattractive grin spread on his face. With a wrinkled brow, Peterson lifted his hand and rubbed his mouth, inspecting the smile.
Interest in facial expressions quickly waned as he stepped into the Bio-lab, taking in the scenery. Trees, flowers and plants filled every nook and cranny of the room, except for the research area closest to the door. This is the section that attracted his attention. He stepped forward and bent down to the shielded plant incubator still containing the Europhid. He felt the broken glass on the floor with his finger tips, rubbing back and forth. He smiled again, this time, with more control.
Peterson stood up and turned his head to a yellow closet marked, "Supplies." He shuffled forward, dodging incubators and work benches, but never took his eyes off the double-door closet. Taking the closet door handles in both hands, he threw the doors open, revealing an array of metal gardening tools. Shovels, hoes, trowels, even a pitchfork.
Reaching forward, Peterson took hold of a spiked, metal rake. He brought it out and admired it briefly before tapping his hand on the sharp spikes. He winced and pulled his hand back. A trickle of foamy blood slid out from a fresh wound on the palm of his bandage-free hand. He watched as the blood slowly trickled down his thumb and began dripping onto the floor.
A perfect Michael Peterson grin flashed onto his face and he chuckled lightly. The chuckle grew in fervor, becoming a manic laugh. He stopped suddenly and turned toward the exit.
OCEAN
CHAPTER 16 -- THE DEEP
Dim light from the sphere's interior dome lamp filtered out through the glass, past the water surrounding the sphere and reflected off the smooth ice walls outside. Variations in the color and texture of the ice revealed millions of years of Europian history. But now, instead of taking core samples by drilling into the ice, Robert and Connelly were gliding straight to the bottom.
Robert had been silent for the past twenty minutes. Connelly could tell he was concentrating on his counting. Elevators alone were enough to throw him, but this was a fully enclosed system with water on all sides, and there would be no sedative to knock him out this time. At least the water dulled the feeling of downward motion. If not for the layers of ice sliding past, she wouldn't even know they were moving.
Seeing Robert had calmed, she decided it was time to conclude their previous conversation. It had been left open ended. It wasn't that she needed a detailed battle plan, just a feeling of where they stood. Would they report their findings and recommend keeping Peterson under quarantine? Would they put Peterson to sleep in one of the impact chairs until they went back home? Several worst case scenarios plowed through her mind and the nervousness began to build inside her stomach like an expanding elastic ball.
"So…" Connelly started.
Robert jolted slightly and then turned to Connelly, his lips still mouthing numbers. Connelly quickly read his lips, "Two thousand fifty-three."
Geez.
"What do you recommend we do about Michael?" Connelly asked.
Robert ran his lower lip beneath his teeth. "Not much we can do aside from wait and see what, if anything, happens to him."
Connelly frowned. "So he's a guinea pig?"
"Of his own design," Robert said. "May I remind you that the experiment involving the Europhid and plant incubator didn't exactly conform to the rules of good science? Sorry if I sound callous, but he brought it on himself."
Connelly felt a surge of embarrassment, knowing that she had played some part in the scientific debacle Robert was referring to. The incident in the bio-lab was not one of her finer moments and had convinced her to put her feelings for Michael on hold. Indefinitely. "You're right," she said.
Robert sighed, relieved she didn't argue the point.
"So," Connelly said, "We wait and see if he grows a third arm. If nothing happens, we'll keep this half-assed theory about little red Jell-O molds having brains to ourselves."
Connelly flashed a smile at Robert and he returned it.
The sphere jerked to a stop and swayed gently in the water.
Robert gripped his knees. "What's happening?"
Connelly leaned forward and flipped on the com system.
"H-e-l-l-o! Can you guys hear me?" Willard's voice boomed loudly from the sphere's interior speakers. "If you don't respond in thirty seconds, I'm pulling you up."
Connelly turned down the volume. "We hear you."
"About time," Willard said, sounding truly annoyed. "You've reached the bottom."
Jerking her head up, Connelly looked through the glass and was surprised to see the ice walls were now gone. They hadn't even noticed the transition from light grey to pitch black. "It's a little dark down he
re. Hit the exteriors."
After a moment, a dozen lights embedded around the outer circumference of the sphere's glass top blazed into the water. The liquid glowed eerily white, like over-aerated water. The bottom of the ice shelf hung above them, smoothed into swirling rises and falls, like an upside down Zen garden.
Robert was on his feet, staring at the watery haze. "Sure is cloudy."
Connelly joined him by the glass and furrowed her brow. "Could they be microbes? Europian phytoplankton maybe?"
"There would have to be bazillions of them," Robert said.
Connelly smirked. "Bazillions?"
Robert pointed to the com systems microphone. "Don't make me tell Willard about the video," he whispered.
Connelly's smirk disappeared. "See anything yet?"
Robert shook his head, no. There was nothing out there.
Nothing at all.
* * * * *
Five minutes of silent staring was all Robert could take. His disappointment grew with every passing second and the swaying created by sub ice currents began to turn his stomach. "This is hopeless."
Connelly shook her head, conceding, "I thought there would be more. I don't know. I guess we were expecting too much."
Something began to tickle at Robert's memory, something he had forgotten. Robert ignored Connelly and focused on recalling the faded memory…of what?
"This is like trying to explore the United States by looking through a straw," Connelly said. "We need to get a better view somehow; find out what's going on out there beyond the few feet we can see."
"That's it!" Robert shouted, startling Connelly back into one of the seats.
"God, Robert, what's it?"
A smile was stretching on Robert's face. "I just remembered the tech that landed me this gig."
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