Alpha Centauri: First Landing (T-Space: Alpha Centauri Book 1)

by Alastair Mayer

  “This is Simms in meteorology. We’ve got what looks like it might be a major weather system building over the Western Ocean.”

  “What sort of weather system?”

  “A tropical depression that’s picking up a lot of moisture. The whole system is moving eastward at about twenty kph. There’s already some gusting ahead of it.”

  “What’s the significance?”

  “Worst case it could build to a sizable storm that will come ashore somewhere between the Krechet and Chandra landing sites.”

  “Are we talking about a typhoon here?”

  “I don’t think so, unless it surprises us. We still don’t have a good model of the ocean circulation here to make a reliable prediction. It could just start to rain itself out before coming ashore, although that’s unlikely.”

  “How long?”

  “About two days at the current speed. We’ll have a better picture tomorrow.”

  “All right, keep an eye on it and keep me posted. Let me know if the situation changes for the worse.” Not that there was much he could do about it. “And give the landing parties a heads up.”

  “Of course.”

  Chapter 21: A Night Out

  Somewhere between Krechet and Chandrasekhar landing sites

  The sun—Alpha Centauri B—was low in the western sky when Tyrell and Klaar saw the lake. It was about three kilometers off, down in a valley beyond a smaller hill than the one whose peak they’d just crested.

  “There it is, I don’t think we’re going to make it before dark,” said Tyrell.

  “No. We should stop and set up camp while we still have some light.” Alpha Centauri A would be bright, but there were enough scattered clouds that they couldn’t rely on it.

  “Agreed.” He looked around. They were in a small clearing just past the crest of the hill, Twenty to thirty meters down a gentle slope the bare rock, possibly limestone, showed through the thin soil, forming a slightly tilted but flat surface about five meters wide and forming the lip of a drop off. Tree tops showed just beyond it.

  “How about there?” He pointed at the rock shelf.

  “That works,” she nodded. “Nothing is going to approach from downhill and we can build a fire on the rocks without worrying about burning the forest down.”

  “A fire? Sure we can do that,” Tyrell said as they started down to the ledge. “Grab what deadwood you can find, you’re not burning my staff.”

  “I just wish we had marshmallows.”

  By the time they reached the rock ledge, Klaar had an armful of firewood. She dropped it at her feet and unshouldered her pack. “What do we need to do while it’s still light?” she asked. In fact the light was fading quickly. Centauri B’s light was more orange than the Sun’s to start with, and it was dimming to deep red as it settled toward the horizon.

  “Gather more firewood, set up shelter, check out the area for hostile wildlife.”

  “Such as?”

  “Snakes, spiders, whatever other creepy crawlies there might be,” Tyrell said. “Probably no bears though.”

  “Okay, do you want to set up camp while I gather more firewood?”

  The idea sounded great to Tyrell, who had been pushing his limits for the last half-hour of the hike. He didn’t want to let Klaar know though, she’d worry about him. He’d be fine after a night’s rest. But “Sure. Just stay within sight, we don’t want to get separated.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, and headed back up to the trees.

  Tyrell busied himself with digging their gear out of the backpacks. He had considered the survival packs an unnecessary waste of space and weight for the small plane, but it was part of the mission rules and the commander had insisted. Tyrell was now glad that he had.

  He pulled a small package about the size of a soda can out of the backpack and read the label:

  “Tent, survival, two-person. To deploy: place on ground, pull ring tab, stand clear.”

  There was a thumb ring at one end. Tyrell thought it made the whole package resemble a smoke grenade, but for the lack of a handle. The instructions helped that impression. He shrugged and set the package down.

  Steadying it with his left hand, he pulled the triggering ring. The package spoke to him:

  “Please step back. Deploying in three, two, one. Now.”

  Tyrell had been so amused at the thought that someone had bothered to put a voice chip in a tent that he’d forgotten to stand clear, and jumped back as the package suddenly extended a shaft a meter long and began unfolding itself like a compact umbrella. It went through a rapid sequence of unfoldings and unrollings, until at last it formed a geodesic half-cylinder a meter high with a base about two meters square. One end had a flap entrance. Tyrell stuck his head through the flap and a stripe running the length of the ceiling lit up with an orange glow. He looked around and saw a small rectangle at one end of the strip with the universal “on/off” symbol on it. He touched it and the light strip turned off. He shook his head, gently. Survival gear had come a long way since he’d been a Boy Scout.

  He was almost disappointed at the low-tech sleeping pads, which also started out soda-can sized but had no voice chip and simply self-inflated when he rotated the end-cap to allow air in. The sleeping bags, of a filmy fabric that felt like silk but with smart pores that regulated the temperature, simply unfolded from their fist-sized stuff bags.

  Klaar had already delivered another load of firewood and gone back for more when he exited the tent. With the tent set up, Tyrell dug out the small camp stove and pots, then dug through the food. It was all concentrated food that needed minimal preparation. He wondered about the stove and realized that it would be useful for boiling water, or for melting snow for drinking water under other circumstances. Thankfully they weren’t anywhere near the snow line, and it was summer.

  Klaar came back with another load. “How are we doing?”

  “Good. Are you ready to eat?”

  “I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

  “Ration bars. Sorry, it’s a survival kit. The tent is fancy, but not the food I’m afraid.”

  Klaar sighed. “I suppose that is to be expected. We can go without food for a lot longer than we can go without shelter if the weather is bad.” She’d been arranging the firewood as she spoke, first sorting it into piles by size, then starting to build the basis for the fire.

  Tyrell got up and stretched. He needed to pee. “I’ll be back,” he said, and started walking toward the trees.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find a tree. Won’t be long.”

  “What? Oh. Right.”

  When he got back, Klaar was getting the fire lit. The dried deadwood caught easily, and soon they had a crackling blaze. By now Alpha Centauri B was below the horizon and the red glow of sunset was beginning to wane. The fire wasn’t essential for survival—the bags and tent would keep them warm in anything less than arctic conditions, and the ration bars needed no cooking—but psychologically it helped immensely, Tyrell reflected. People had been using fire for a quarter million years or more, it was part of what made us human.

  They sat in silence, chewing on their food bars and staring into the flames. Occasionally a piece of burning wood would split with a crack and send a shower of sparks skyward. Overhead the stars were beginning to come out.

  “How far do you think we’ll get tomorrow?” Klaar asked.

  “Hard to say. We were slowing down at the end here, but if we head out at first light, after a night’s rest, we should make pretty good time. It depends on the terrain.” He unfolded the omni’s big screen and opened the satellite photograph of the path ahead. “Once we get past the lake we’ve got another line of hills, but it looks like it’s still lightly forested. We might be able to make the river by noon, early afternoon perhaps.” He finished the last bite of his food bar (yummy peanut-butter flavor!) and washed it down with the remainder of the contents of his water bottle. He tossed the wrapper in the fire and watched as it fl
ared up. The empty water bottle he stowed back in his pack, they could refill it when they got to the lake in the morning.

  “Yes, we should head out at first light,” Klaar said. “And you should get all the rest you can. That bump on the head you took gave you a concussion, you should have been resting the whole time, not hiking cross country.”

  “I know, but we had to get moving.” Tyrell’s head was still throbbing, but in fact he felt much better now for having eaten and rested. With any luck he be perfectly fine by morning. “Okay, let’s turn in,” he said, getting to his feet.

  Klaar tossed the last of her food wrapper in the fire and stood up too, then turned to look at the small tent. “I’ll have you know that I don’t usually sleep with a guy on the first date.”

  “Trust me, all I’m going to be doing is sleeping. I’m beat.” He started to crawl into the tent, then stopped, kneeling at the entrance. “Wait, what did you mean ‘usually’?”

  “None of your business,” she said. The words were tempered by the grin on her face.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Midway through the night they were both awakened by a raucous shrieking.

  “What the hell is that?” Klaar asked, sitting up abruptly.

  “I have no idea. Some kind of animal, obviously. Too high pitched to be anything big, though.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe Centauri animals have naturally high voices.” She paused. “No, that doesn’t make sense, it’s simple physics based on the size of the resonating organ.”

  “Wow. How are you awake enough to think that through? I’m still trying to figure out what you meant by ‘resonating organ’. Oh, vocal cords, throat length, whatever.”

  “Yeah, and it was the adrenaline. But the noise has stopped.”

  “Might have been a predator making a kill, or perhaps a couple of animals fighting over territory. It did sound a bit like a pair of tomcats fighting.”

  “Yes. It just startled me. Now I have to try to get back to sleep with all this adrenaline in my system.”

  “It’ll wear off.” Tyrell lay on his back staring up into the blackness. He could just make out the roof of the tent above him by the dim light from outside. Either the moon or Alpha Centauri A must be up. “Hey, want to hear a joke?”

  “Sure, it’ll take my mind off whatever that was.”

  “Okay. Sherlock Holmes and his buddy Doctor Watson—uh, you do know who Sherlock Holmes is?”

  “Of course. The detective, yes? Everyone knows that.”

  “Oh, right. Anyway, Holmes and Watson decide to get away from London for a few days and go on a camping trip. They set up camp, eat dinner, and settle in for the night.”

  “The situation sounds familiar.”

  “Hush. Anyway, they’re asleep when something wakes up Holmes in the middle of the night.”

  “A blood curdling scream?” asked Klaar.

  “Who’s telling this joke? Now be quiet.”

  “Sorry. Okay, I’ll be good.”

  Tyrell continued his story. “Anyway, Holmes nudges Watson.

  “‘Watson, wake up!’ he says.

  “‘What?’ Watson says, blearily, ‘What is it, Holmes?’

  “‘Look up above you, Watson, tell me what you see.’

  “So Watson looks up. It’s a beautiful clear night, the stars are shining bright, the moon is out. ‘I see the stars, and the Moon, Holmes,’ he says, wondering what the point is.

  “Holmes says, ‘Indeed, and what is the significance of that, Watson?’

  “‘The significance? Well, the number of stars reminds us how vast the universe is, and how insignificant we are by comparison.’

  “‘Anything else?’ asks Holmes.

  “‘Let me think.’ By now Watson figures this must be some kind of test, so he starts seriously pondering what he sees. ‘Well, the moon is half full, waning as I recall, and it is about halfway up the eastern sky. That must make it about three o’clock in the morning.’

  “Holmes is getting a little frustrated by this point. ‘Very good Watson, but there is something more fundamental. What else?’

  “This is too much for Watson. Some random thoughts come to mind—the lack of clouds means it will be a fine day tomorrow, the faint smell of smoke means there’s a fire somewhere not far away, but he doesn’t know what Holmes is asking for. ‘Sorry Holmes, I don’t see what you’re getting at. The weather? The smoke?’

  “‘Damn it, man, you see but you do not observe. Somebody has stolen our tent!’”

  Klaar collapsed in a peal of laughter. “Ha ha ha, that is priceless. I had not heard that one before.”

  Tyrell smiled. She had a nice laugh. “Glad you liked it. Now, nobody has stolen our tent, so get back to sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  “You’re right. Goodnight.” Klaar stretched out then rolled onto her side.

  “Goodnight.” Tyrell lay awake for a while longer, listening as her breathing shallowed in sleep. He was acutely aware of the young woman now sleeping beside him. Under other circumstances . . . but between the after-effects of the concussion, and the responsibility he felt for crashing the plane in the first place, he’d be happy with a good night’s sleep. They had a major hike ahead of them, and who knew what dangers they might encounter. Eventually he too drifted off.

  Chapter 22: Day After Crash

  The campsite

  The sky to the east was barely aglow when the two awoke and began striking camp. Klaar pulled out ration bars and water bottles from the packs as Tyrell began to roll up the sleeping bags and pads.

  “I’d kill for some coffee now,” Klaar said.

  “Coffee? That would be wonderful. As would real food for breakfast instead of those bars.” Tyrell stowed the rolled-up sleeping pads into the pack and examined the tent. “Any idea how this thing disassembles?”

  “Hm? There should be instructions on the label.”

  “That was how to deploy it.”

  “Look again, it’s probably context sensitive.” Klaar said.

  “Oh, sure.” The technology had been around for a while, but Tyrell hadn’t seen it in use much. He lifted the end of the tent.

  Sure enough the label now read: “Tent, survival, two-person. To refold: Ensure tent is empty. Apply pressure at diagonally opposite corners. Keep fingers clear.”

  He picked up one corner of the tent, leaving the opposite corner on the ground. He pushed, and the frame bowed a bit then sprung back. He pushed again, this time holding the pressure. The voice sounded “Tent will fold, please keep fingers clear. Folding in three, two, one, now.” The resistance against Tyrell’s pushing on the tent corner suddenly went away, and the tent started to shrink, the framework folding at odd angles as he watched. It folded slower than it had unfolded, but still quickly enough to be hard to follow. In less than a minute it was back to a soda-can sized package. Idly Tyrell wondered what would have happened if his fingers had been in the way. He hoped it would have stopped folding, but he wondered just how smart the tent was.

  The sky was brighter now, with a bright light to the east where Alpha Centauri B was just beginning to poke above the horizon.

  Klaar said “I’m done eating. Here,” she handed him a food bar and a water bottle, “eat your breakfast while I put the rest of the gear in the bags.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Tyrell took the food bar and started to unwrap it. “‘Bacon and egg flavor’? Really?”

  “I think somebody has a cruel sense of humor. But mine wasn’t as bad as I had expected.”

  “If you say so.” He peeled the end of the wrapper off the end of the bar and cautiously took a small bite. The texture was exactly the same mealy texture as the peanut butter bar he’d eaten the night before, but the taste was indeed vaguely eggy and bacony. “You know, I think they make these things taste the way they do so that you don’t pig out on them. One at a sitting is all anyone could handle.”

  Klaar laughed. “I think you must be right. Deviously clever, these survival planners.
” She finished packing the bags and stood up. “Ready to go?”

  Tyrell put the last bite of bar into his mouth and the wrapper into his pocket. “Jus’ a sec,” he said, still chewing on the last bite of breakfast. He took a swing from the water bottle. “Ah. Sorry, yeah, now I’m ready to go.” Klaar handed him his pack and he picked up his staff from the ground. The fire had burned itself out in the night and there was a small pile of charcoal and ashes on the bare stone where they’d built it. He was sure it was too cold to start up again, but his Boy Scout training wouldn’t let him just leave it. They didn’t have water to spare, but. . .. “You go on, I’m going to make sure the fire’s out.” He waved Klaar ahead.

  “What, how? Oh.” She blushed and turned away to start down the hill.

  He caught up with her a minute or two later.

  “Is that something you learned in Boy Scouts?” she asked him.

  “You’d be surprised what I learned in Boy Scouts.”

  “I don’t think I want to know.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Landing Site One, aboard Chandrasekhar

  Elizabeth Sawyer was reviewing data at one of the consoles in when the call came in. They weren’t due for check in just yet.

  “This is the Chandra, Sawyer speaking. What’s up?”

  “Chandra, that tropical depression we mentioned yesterday is turning into a storm, it’s building off the coast. The winds have picked up, so it will probably hit you late tomorrow, possibly sooner.”

  “Roger that, Heinlein. What do you recommend?”

  “You’ll need to secure the lander, it probably wouldn’t hurt to double the tie-downs. And finish up the lightning mast.”

  “Will it affect the Krechet?”

  “They’ll get some rain but it looks like the storm track is to the north, they should be okay. I’m talking to them next.”

  “What about Fred and Ulrika?”

  “They were doing fine at last check-in. They’re between you and Krechet so it’s difficult to say how hard it will hit them. If they can keep up a good pace they might make it back before the storm hits. We’ll be checking in with them in about a half-hour.”