Wherever Seeds May Fall (First Contact)

by Peter Cawdron

  Nikki switches controls.

  A short burst of the attitude thrusters on the Orion changes the direction they’re facing. Nikki swings the craft around and over. Although the term is descend, to Nolan it looks as though An̆duru is above them. He looks up, seeing the massive alien object creeping closer. From his perspective, they rise toward the fractured, glassy surface. He can see their remote probe almost immediately above them. It’s spotlights glisten off the polished surface of the strange alien artifact.

  “And we are at one hundred meters and holding,” Nikki says.

  “Iris, Houston. You are clear for probe deployment within An̆duru.”

  “Copy that.”

  Once again, Nikki switches her controls to the probe. With a deft touch, she positions it over the open crevasse. Nikki takes the probe well beyond the Orion, allowing the fracture on An̆duru to slowly pass beneath them as the alien artifact turns. As she lowers the probe, she has to adjust its position. She has it drift slowly backward. The net effect has the probe remain still relative to An̆duru. She’s one helluva pilot.

  “Descending.”

  Nikki tilts the camera, giving them a forward view.

  “And we are beneath the surface.”

  A sheer wall faces the probe. From above, the fracture appears jagged. Beneath the surface, the walls are as smooth as glass.

  “What are you thinking?” Kath asks Nolan. Usually, that’s his question for her.

  “This is not an interstellar probe.”

  “Passing through two hundred meters,” Nikki says.

  The smooth wall slides past, barely changing with depth.

  Kath says, “ESA is reporting five other crevices opening at roughly even intervals.”

  “Great,” Nolan says, shaking his head.

  “Coming up on a depth of three hundred meters,” Nikki says. “Slowing descent.”

  “Picking up internal heat,” Kath says. She switches the view to infrared, which shows a clear gradient in the glass. The increase in temperature becomes more pronounced the deeper the probe descends.

  “Pitching down,” Nikki says.

  She points the nose of the probe into the darkness. Spotlights illuminate the bottom of the casing surrounding An̆duru.

  “Will you look at that,” Nolan says. “It looks like agate—a thunderegg.”

  “Egg?” Nikki calls out, alarmed by that notion.

  “A geode,” Nolan replies, clarifying his comment. “On Earth, volcanic gases get trapped in pockets of lava. From the outside, geodes look like rocks, but crack them open and—”

  He gestures to the crystals glistening beneath the spotlights. The interior of An̆duru is hollow. The cavern is covered in a chaotic mess of hexagonal columns that reflect and refract the light. A cascade of color dances within the chasm. Crystals rise from all sides, reaching toward the center. They’re semi-transparent. The motion of the probe causes light to ripple around the massive, empty chamber.

  A few of the crystal columns rise hundreds of feet, far further than they could on Earth. Most of them are a jumble, stretching around the edge of the cavern. They crisscross each other, branching at different angles. The columns are perfectly straight, being capped like a pyramid. It’s as though an obelisk like the Washington Monument has been copied using murky, smoky glass.

  Thousands of crystal structures have been broken and discarded. They lie scattered throughout the cave.

  “It’s beautif—”

  Kath stops mid-sentence.

  Out of the darkness, a vast creature rushes at the probe, thrashing against the sides of the chamber. A dark shape collides with the crystals lining the cavern, breaking them. Splinters ricochet behind the animal. Claws grab at the columns rising from within An̆duru, allowing the creature to propel itself on. Hundreds of white spikes flash before the camera. They’re arrayed around a circular mouth, curling back into the creature’s throat like hooks of bone. What appears to be teeth are set in sequential layers reaching down the animal’s throat. The serpentine-like creature is not happy about being caught in the light. Jaws flex and close on the probe. Metal is crushed in utter silence. Then comes the darkness. Static flickers on the screen and the probe is gone.

  Nikki says, “What the—”

  Before she can say any more, the Orion is jerked toward An̆duru. The capsule rocks, being dragged in by the tether. The cabin twists around them.

  “Shit,” Nolan says. His computer tablet flies out of his hand. It crashes into a backpack and spirals around the cabin.

  Nikki is hard at work flicking switches. In the confusion, she’s still operating the now dead probe. Nothing actually happens onboard the Orion.

  “Damn it,” she says, frantically changing controls. A series of sharp jerks drag their spacecraft toward An̆duru. “Tether away.”

  They’re being drawn closer to An̆duru.

  “It’s stuck,” she says. They’re being hauled in. The Orion is shaken like a rag doll. “The release mechanism is jammed.”

  A warning light flashes as their spacecraft collides with the edge of the chasm. Two of their four solar panels crumple. They collapse like tinfoil as the craft scrapes against the surface of the alien structure. The Orion is being dragged into the fracture. Smooth dark glass glides past the windows as they’re pulled within An̆duru.

  “Get us the hell out of here,” Nolan yells.

  “On it,” Nikki says. She cranes her neck, peering out the windows of the Orion. She’s struggling to understand their orientation relative to open space. Bursts of gas turn the vessel. “I can’t see it. I can’t find the goddamn opening.”

  Nikki works with her joystick controls. She fires the attitude thrusters, spinning the craft around as they sink deeper within An̆duru. As depressing as the cold, pitch black, dark of space has been over the past few weeks, there’s nothing else Nolan wants to see. He’d be happy with anything other than the fractured resin lining the alien artifact.

  “There!” Kath yells.

  A single star drifts over one corner of the far window, giving them a sense of direction. Metal scrapes against the chasm. Chunks of obsidian-like glass break free from An̆duru, pelting the hull of their spacecraft as they’re dragged deeper.

  “Firing now,” Nikki yells.

  The main engine at the rear of the service module ignites. A burst of fuel and oxidizer surges into the engine chamber, unleashing a violent exothermic chemical reaction. A wall of superheated exhaust gas rushes from the engine bell. With that, they’re pushed back in their seats. The edge of the Orion scrapes along the side of the chasm, crushing the hull as they race out into space.

  “Houston, Iris,” Nikki says, keying the transmit button. “Houston? Are you reading us?”

  Nikki fights with the controls to maintain a rough heading. The thrust from the main engine launches them toward Earth.

  Iris feels lopsided. The craft rotates. It seems it wants to spin out of control, forcing Nikki to fire the attitude thrusters to keep them facing in the same direction. The Orion shakes under the stress of the burn. After a minute or so, Nikki cuts the main engine and the rush of acceleration disappears.

  Nolan’s body drifts against his seatbelt as his heart threatens to burst out of his chest.

  “Houston, Iris?”

  Nolan is silent, willing the equipment before them to spring back into life. Being hundreds of thousands of kilometers from home, he feels helpless. Nikki works frantically with the controls in front of her, talking them through what she sees.

  “We’ve lost three solar panels. Batteries one, four, and five are failing… Shutting down auxiliary circuits. Damn, it’s going to get cold in here… Fuel is good, but I’m not getting any readings from the attitude controls on the port side. I think they’re gone… The Orion’s umbilical is damaged… pressure is spiking in the service lines… Gotta shut them down… external coms is offline.”

  She flicks through the metrics flashing up on her screen.

  “O
h, no. This is not good,” she says. Neither Nolan nor Kath respond, giving Nikki room to elaborate. “Sensors are showing the heat shield has shifted against the Service Module. Damn it! I did not come up here to die.”

  Nikki slams her fist into the side of the command console before burying her head in her hands for a moment. There’s quiet as she breathes deeply, steeling herself.

  “Okay,” she says in response to something neither of them actually said. Her training is kicking in. She composes herself. “Let’s see what’s working. What can we work with? I need solutions.”

  Nolan’s expecting Kath to say something, but like him, she’s in shock.

  Nikki says, “…and we’re venting oxygen from the cabin. Fucking great!”

  Coming at the end of a very bad list, Nolan’s sure this last point is in the category of absolutely catastrophic. Damn it!

  “Visors down. Gloves on,” Nikki says. She unclips her harness, removes her umbilical cord and floats out of her seat. “I need you guys to run on emergency until I can figure this thing out. We’ve got reserves within the Orion itself, but we won’t be getting anything from the Service Module.”

  Nikki pushes off, drifting in front of them. Her visor is up. She’s brisk. She grabs the umbilical cord leading from Kath’s suit to the main supply line. Nikki checks the point at which it connects to the port on the left side of Kath’s trouser leg. Then she grabs Kath’s wrist, twisting it so she can see her suit’s control panel.

  “You’re good.”

  Nolan sees what she’s doing and makes sure his umbilical port is open. He holds up his wrist so Nikki can see the readings.

  “Good,” she says, leaving them strapped in. Nikki pulls on his seat harness, tightening the straps. Too late, but okay.

  “Wh—what are we going to do?” Kath asks.

  “Find that goddamn leak.”

  Nikki’s still got her visor up. Nolan would feel a lot more comfortable if she lowered it. That she hasn’t suggests she’s being cautious, getting them to run on the Orion’s life-support system. As much as he wants to trust her professionalism, he’d feel a lot more confident if she was running on an umbilical. If they lose her, they’re screwed—not that they aren’t anyway.

  Nikki grabs a packet of orange juice. She removes the cap on the straw and squeezes, easing a few bubbles into the air. Orange blobs undulate within the cabin. They drift upwards in response to her motion. After a few seconds, they peel away as if falling to one side. Nikki follows them, watching as they approach the edge of the far window. The closer they get, the faster they move. One by one, they collide with the thin joint running around the window frame. The juice is sucked out into space, leaving an orange smudge on the plastic.

  “Can you fix it?” Kath asks.

  “I don’t know,” Nikki replies. She swivels upside down and rummages through a storage compartment. Nikki squirts the contents of a tube onto the panel beside the window. She follows up with a daub of clear liquid from another tube and mixes a paste together with a tiny plastic knife. “This is epoxy resin. If this doesn’t hold, nothing will.”

  Nikki massages the gooey white paste over the joint, sealing it with a strip of duct tape.

  “Okay,” she says, breathing heavily as she turns back toward them. “I’m going to vacate the capsule to give this stuff a chance to set without being sucked out.” She works with the controls on her screen, saying, “The cabin will be lowered to a vacuum, but you’ll be fine in your suits. Nothing to worry about.”

  Nothing. Yeah, Nolan doesn’t believe that for a second. Given they’re lost somewhere between Earth and the Moon, he’s worried about everything. At least she finally lowers her visor and connects to the umbilical cord extending from beside her seat. The cord is roughly six feet in length, limiting her movement. Nikki positions herself in front of the two of them. She peers over the monitors in front of the hatch, making sure she can see both of them. Nikki takes both of their gloved hands and talks over the intercom. “We’re good. We’re okay, right? We’re going to be fine.”

  Nolan laughs. His voice breaks, betraying the rush of emotion he feels as he says, “Liar.”

  Nikki laughs as well, but her laughter is far more refined. “That’s it. A little humor won’t hurt.”

  She squeezes their fingers through the thick glove material, holding them tight. Right now, they all need a reboot.

  Kath asks, “Was the camera running? You know, the one that shows the glowing engine bell.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Nikki says, working her way around to face the control panel. She begins punching in commands as she says, “Why?”

  “I—I want to see what happened. I need to see that thing.”

  Nikki brings up the video and jogs the position, rewinding to the point where the main engine fired within An̆duru. The video replays in silence. The main engine flares, pushing back the darkness. Claws are visible on the edge of the frame, climbing up toward them, only they’re huge. Each one is easily ten feet in length.

  The Orion clears the chasm. An̆duru falls away. The severed tether flaps into and then out of the fiery exhaust. Large chunks of the surface crack open, widening the chasm further.

  “It’s breaking up,” Nolan says.

  “We have to establish contact with Earth,” Kath says. “I think I know what’s happening.”

  “What?” Nolan asks.

  “Something my grandfather would warn us about each spring,” Kath replies. She pauses, picking her words with care. “Birds gather wherever seeds may fall.”

  Wherever Seeds May Fall

  “Houston, Iris?”

  There’s no reply.

  “Well, it was worth one last try,” Nikki says. She gathers the loops of a tether together into a bundle, working them like a garden hose and handing them to Nolan. “Okay. I’m going to spacewalk and see if I can reconnect the high-gain antenna.

  “Nolan, you’re going to be in the hatch. You and Kath will remain on umbilicals, with you on a double to extend your reach. I’ll use a life-support backpack. That’ll give me twelve hours. I shouldn’t need more than an hour. I hope.

  “Kath, you watch the control panel. Tell me as soon as you see mains power being restored to the communications array.”

  Nikki switches to a backpack, talking as she does up the straps.

  “Our pumpkin suits aren’t designed for EVAs. They’re intended to manage depressurization within the Orion, but a short EVA will be fine. If the cooling fails, I’ll fry to a crisp, so I’m going to make this quick.”

  Nikki opens the hatch. All that lies beyond the white rim of the Orion is the endless darkness of deep space. There are no stars. Nothing. She addresses Nolan.

  “If you get too hot standing in the hatch, act like a BBQ rotisserie chicken and keep turning. You want to try to even out the temperature. If you have to, drop back inside.”

  “Understood.”

  Nikki pulls herself through the open hatch.

  Black boots drift up before Nolan, knocking gently against the clear faceplate of his helmet. Within seconds, Nikki is out of sight. She clambers over the side of the Orion and into the narrow band between dark and light.

  Nolan pushes off the back of the console, bringing the bundle of cord with him, letting it out slowly. With his upper torso above the hatch, he gets his first look at the damage. Whereas once they had four solar panels, now there’s only one. Scars streak the side of the Orion. The launch access hatch is surrounded by crushed sheet metal. Deep scratches have worn the craft bare at points. Panels have been dented and torn open. A couple of them are missing, exposing the insulation, tubes, and wiring beneath.

  The spacecraft is tumbling end over end at a leisurely pace, slightly off-axis. Seeing the shadows change makes the motion more obvious. Nikki reaches for what scant handholds there are on the Orion as Nolan lets out the tether behind her. He can hear her breathing heavily over the intercom. She’s working hard as she pulls herself up to the ports conne
cting the Orion with the Service Module.

  “I—I can see the main joint. It’s been crushed. Several of the lines have been severed,” she says. Nikki works sideways around the curved edge of the Orion. She inspects the damage to their lifeboat. “The mounting plate is bent. Ah, the Orion has shifted sideways. We’re not seated properly on the service module. We are not aligned.”

  Nolan turns with her motion, facing her as she grabs the rim of the Service Module. Nikki works her way into the darkness. Lights on the side of her helmet come on.

  “Damn it. The heat shield is damaged. We’ve lost a chunk the size of my backpack. The honeycomb beyond that is cracked. I can see the goddamn titanium support structure.”

  Nikki goes silent, breathing deeply for a few seconds and calming herself. “I’m sorry, guys. We’re not going home.”

  With that, she pushes on. Nolan wants more. The end of his life shouldn’t be announced so casually. Surely, there’s more to be said. There must be something they can do. What chance do they have? That Nikki offers no alternatives is brutal.

  Nolan watches as her orange pressure suit and her white backpack disappear over the rim of the Orion, followed by her black boots. Just like that, she’s gone. He continues letting out the tether, unable to see her as she searches for handholds on the Service Module. Occasionally, there’s a tug on the line.

  The heat of the sun radiates through the back of his helmet. It’s uncomfortably warm rather than scolding hot.

  “Okay,” Nikki says from out of sight. “I’ve reached the antenna. The dish is bent. Reconnecting the cable. Give it a try.”

  From within the Orion, Kath says, “Houston, Iris. Houston, do you read us?”

  No response.

  “Houston, this is Iris.”

  They get a partial reply. “Iris—away—cannot—over.”

  Nikki grunts, working with something out of sight. “You should see an emergency transmit option. Top right. Push that.”

  “Done.”

  “Okay, tell ‘em. Tell ‘em about the seeds and the birds. You’re now broadcasting on the international emergency channel.”