Obscura

by Joe Hart

  Gillian listened to Orrin talk about various aspects of the lander and how long the trip would take, but it was background noise. While they walked, she studied the others in the group.

  Carson walked directly behind Orrin, and she followed, Easton and Lien on either side of her. Carson had barely acknowledged her that morning. His stoicism was overshadowed by Lien’s, a single inclination of her head the only greeting when they’d met in an adjacent hallway in the level above. Easton was the exception. He asked Orrin constant questions about the station and cracked several jokes he laughed loudly at, even when no one else did. Gillian imagined each of them depositing the bottle of pills in her room, trying to catch a look of guilt in their expressions.

  “So the lander’s an Exo Mark 3?” Easton asked as they turned a corner, coming even with an intersecting hallway to the right.

  “That’s right,” Orrin said over his shoulder.

  “We did some simulation training on those back home. Got some get-up-and-go.”

  “That’s for sure.” Orrin slowed at the mouth of the branching hallway and pointed to a set of sealed doors. “This is elevation control. Inside is the technology that keeps us tethered above the planet.”

  “I was wondering about that,” Gillian said, and all eyes turned to her. “I noticed we weren’t orbiting.”

  “It’s all in there,” Orrin replied. “In essence, the most powerful magnet in creation is behind those doors. It works against the planet’s magnetic fields and the sun’s solar winds carrying magnetic field lines. There’s also a reverse field around the whole area to keep the integrity of the station in place. My dad explained the whole thing to me once, but you’ll have to ask him if you need more details. All I know is, steer clear of that area if you’ve got any metal on you. You’ll end up flipped on your head or worse.”

  They started moving again, and Gillian eyed the double doors, seeing a key card reader beside them and a sign in bold letters listing a dozen or more warnings about proceeding beyond this point.

  Past the juncture, they stopped at an unremarkable door, which Orrin scanned them through. Inside was a waist-high bank of windows. Beyond the glass was something that made her slow and stop, one hand pressing against the barrier.

  The teleportation unit was exactly like the one she’d seen in Ander’s test videos; only it seemed much larger. The tube was nearly four feet across, and the quantum computer umbilicalled to it towered over every other piece of equipment in the room.

  “Through here, Dr. Ryan,” Orrin said, holding the next set of doors open down the hall the others had already filed through.

  “Sorry,” she said, stepping past him.

  “It’s okay. Guessing it’s the first time you’ve seen one in real life.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kind of unreal knowing what it does, right?”

  “Very.”

  The next chamber was a narrow waiting room with several chairs and benches placed along the walls. A tall man with a crew cut stood beside an archway leading to what looked like towering cubicle walls set in rows.

  “This is our pilot, Byron Guthrie,” Orrin said. “He’ll take it from here.”

  Orrin passed by them, shooting her a quick smile as he left the room. Guthrie gave a small wave and placed his hands on his hips.

  “Don’t normally have so much company on the trek. Usually just the two people rotating every few weeks. Be a nice change of pace.”

  Something hissed in the next room, and a plume of what looked like steam rose over the sections of walls, pooling foglike at the ceiling.

  “So here’s protocol: There’s two decontamination stations in there, left and right. Go in one at a time, no hanky-panky, guys.” When no one laughed, he cleared his throat, face sobering. “So once you’re through decon, put the clean jumpsuit on, then your space suit. Once you’re suited up, I’ll . . .”

  Guthrie’s voice became blunted, something unintelligible. Gillian breathed in deeply for a second time through her nose, senses blistering.

  Couldn’t be.

  She took a step back, watching the others, their attention glued to Guthrie, who was droning on about an airlock.

  But she wasn’t listening. Couldn’t hear anything over the slamming of her pulse.

  The smell. She knew that smell. How could she not have recognized it before?

  She sucked in a quick breath, and Easton glanced at her, expression going from surprise to concern like a flipped switch.

  “Doc, you all right?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, couldn’t gather the air, he grasped her forearm. “Hey, Commander, something’s wrong here.”

  Gillian searched past the group as they gathered around her, looking for the source of the smell, but it was obvious. The clouds of steam. Had to be.

  “Gillian, what’s the matter?” Carson said, coming close.

  She swallowed once, twice, trying to gather saliva that wasn’t there. “The smell on the ship I told you about. Now I remember. I remember where it’s from.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Gillian drank the water from the plastic cup in several gulps, its taste metallic with a hint of chlorine.

  She and Carson sat across from each other, the smell still drifting out of the decontamination area’s entrance at the far end of the room making her stomach roll on itself. The others stood talking quietly near the door leading to the teleportation unit.

  Carson waited, watching her finish the water. “Want more?” he asked when she set the cup down.

  “No.” Her mouth was already drying out again, the fear she’d felt earlier lingering in the form of a tang the water hadn’t washed away. When Carson continued to stare at her, she leaned back, settling her shoulders against the wall. “Before Kent died, he stabbed me with a pair of scissors in the hospital when I went to see him. It was near the end. He had no idea where he was or who he was. He lashed out since he didn’t recognize me either.”

  “Jesus, Gill,” Carson said. “I didn’t know.”

  “No one did other than the nurses and doctor who stitched me up.” She glanced at the decontamination area. “Kent used to smell like that. It was some antibacterial compound they coated him with so his bedsores wouldn’t get infections. I hated that smell. It was like they tried to make it nice, something like vanilla and lavender, but fell short. It stunk.” She brought her gaze back to him. “I smelled it on the ship while you were all in stasis.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go to the surface.”

  “I’m not crazy.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Carson, someone else was awake. I didn’t kill Tinsel.”

  His jaw worked side to side. He was quiet for nearly a minute, motionless except for his eyes tracking back and forth on the floor between them. Finally he said, “You think you can make it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even with going through decon?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get moving.”

  Gillian tried breathing through her mouth, but she could still smell the decon compound, cloying funeral flowers rotting in a vase. She’d hurried through the sprays of fog in the labyrinth-like area and toweled as much of it off as she could before donning the fresh jumpsuit. But now, strapped into the lander’s seat with her space suit and helmet on, the scent was building, coalescing into something alive on her skin and intent on flowing into her lungs with every breath.

  The small ship shook once, everyone in the seats across from her jerking with the movement. The two crew members being taken to the surface to relieve their counterparts appeared almost bored through their visors. She tried recalling both of the men’s names, but they escaped her.

  “Okay, people. Here we go. Little drop as we clear the station, then a bit of turbulence when we enter the atmosphere. After that, smooth sailing,” Guthrie said through the earpiece in her helmet.

  The sensation of falling was overwhelming, much stronger than any roller coaster she’d ever been on and e
clipsing the parabolic flights during training. She gritted her teeth, every nerve in her body humming as they plummeted away from the station. Someone swore, and she could feel a moan trying to break free as gravity returned full force, sinking her into her seat.

  The ship turned halfway over before righting, and then they were falling again.

  Outside the viewports, the wide bottom of the station slid away, leaving only empty space behind.

  The ship rattled, tossing them all forward against their restraints.

  “Whoa now,” Guthrie muttered.

  “Pardon me, everyone, but woo-hoo!” Easton exclaimed.

  “Easton,” Carson said.

  “Sorry, Commander.”

  “You’re not sorry,” Lien said, a smile in her voice.

  “Sorry, not sorry,” Easton replied.

  The ship bucked again, and the atmosphere outside became a white gauze as it passed the ports.

  “Ander arranged for two of the botanists to show us around. We’ll split into two groups when we land,” Carson said. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”

  There was another free fall followed by the hardest shudder yet, then silence and steady gravity as the ship leveled out.

  “Apologies,” Guthrie said. “Some drops are smoother than others.”

  “Fucking say that again,” one of the station members muttered.

  “I thought it was butter,” Easton said.

  “You’re a sick man, you know that?” Lien said.

  “Just enjoying the thrills when they come along, that’s all. It’s invigorating. This thing I call ‘life.’ You should try it some time.”

  Icy silence from Lien. Despite her suspicion, Gillian had to smile as Easton caught her eye and winked.

  The lander descended quickly, and less than five minutes later, they pivoted hard to the right, and she felt the craft slow almost to a stop. A moment later, there were two bumps as its gear set down. They’d landed.

  Everyone unbuckled, and a minute later, the entry port near the front of the ship corkscrewed outward and slid to one side, revealing a wide airlock they moved through.

  “We’re pressurized now, so we can get rid of these suits,” Guthrie said, unlatching his helmet. “You guys are going to be touring the main and secondary spheres before heading over to number three. Put your gear on the cart outside the door, and I’ll run it down to the next lock for your walk outside.”

  Gillian unhooked her helmet and twisted it free. Easton did the same beside her as she began unzipping her suit.

  “We’re going outside?” she asked him.

  Easton tilted his head. “Didn’t you hear Orrin say that up top?”

  “No. Guess I missed it.”

  “Technical briefings can be some real boring shit, that’s for sure.”

  She tugged off the last of her suit and folded it over one arm. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself back there.”

  Easton grinned. “Whole reason I’m here, Doc. Love the rides. Always flew a little faster than I should have back in the military. Dreamed of coming out this far someday. Would go farther if they let me.”

  “You two ready?” Carson asked from the airlock’s door.

  “Lead the way, Commander,” Easton said.

  Carson opened the door and stepped inside.

  A thick blanket of wet air laced with the pungent smell of fresh dirt washed over her. Beyond the airlock, the biosphere opened up, and she blinked, taking in her surroundings.

  Green was everywhere. Plants of all varieties grew in raised beds above a white, plastic-sheeted floor, some only a few inches tall while others towered six feet or more in luscious canopies. The walls of the dome were at least a hundred yards apart, crowning up to meet overhead in a high arch crisscrossed with pipes fitted with sprinklers. Ahead between the rows of plants, a rectangular pond stretched all the way to the farthest wall, where a stand of young trees grew in the illusion of a forested edge.

  Carson nudged her shoulder, pulling her attention away from the spectacle. He motioned at the nearby cart holding the rest of the crew’s suits and helmets. She placed hers alongside the others, and Guthrie pushed the cart away, moving toward the opposite side of the pond.

  “Alien invaders,” a voice said from the nearest row of bushes, and a middle-aged man appeared carrying a long plastic bag. He was short and thick through the shoulders with a bullish walk. He smiled, revealing very even teeth.

  “Same damn thing every time we rotate out,” one of the station crew said in a dour tone, passing by Gillian. “Get some new material, Vern.”

  Vern’s smile didn’t dim. “Hello, everyone. Vernon Figg,” he said, shaking hands with them all. “I’m the ranking botanist on staff and your tour guide for the day. Everyone calls me Vern.” He glanced at the rotating station members, who were heading off through the rows of plant life. “The itinerary’s been updated, guys. Make sure to take care of your checklists before you—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Vern. This isn’t our first rodeo,” one replied over his shoulder as they continued away.

  Vern watched them go, frowning slightly before clapping his hands together. “Okay. I’m told you all need a look around. I’ll give you a little tour.”

  “Dr. Figg?” Carson said. “I was told another member of your team would be able to brief my other crew members for efficiency’s sake while we’re here. Is he available?”

  “Oh. Guess I didn’t get the memo. Not at the moment, he’s in number three.”

  “That’s fine. They’ll suit up and make the walk over.” Carson turned to Lien and Easton. “Take a look at all the sample data. Make sure it corresponds with what we’ve seen at the station. We’ll meet you there if you’re not back by the time we’re done.”

  Easton and Lien headed off through the plants in the same direction Guthrie had gone, their footsteps squeaking on the synthetic flooring.

  “I was under the impression we’d all stay together,” Vern said. “But never mind. I’m sure Ben will take care of them. Right this way.”

  Vern led them to the left, the same direction the station members had gone. As they walked, one of the sprinkler heads opened up and rained on several rows in a gentle drizzle.

  “Starting with the sphere itself,” Vern said, turning partially toward them as he walked, “it looks opaque, but the solar panels on the outer shell actually allow the correct amount of the sun’s rays to penetrate and reach the plants while also collecting enough energy to run the facilities.”

  They came upon a door set into the left wall, a keypad and scanner beside it.

  “What’s in there?” Gillian asked as Vern moved past it.

  “Oh, that’s the teleroom. What I call it anyway. Teleportation unit’s inside. Been sealed up since the issues began.”

  “Have you shifted before, Doctor?”

  “Please, call me Vern. Yes, about a dozen times or so.”

  “I noticed you haven’t complained of any of the issues the other crew are experiencing.”

  Vern laughed, a loud booming that died against the foliage and rounded walls. “No, no. My memory’s sharp as a tack. Haven’t had a problem. Actually, it’s pretty exhilarating. Have you had the honor yet?”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “Pity. It’s really something.”

  They continued on, meeting an archway that led to a small work area with two folding tables cluttered with computers and several trays of sprouting plants. Beyond the tables was a kitchenette where the two station crew members leaned, both sipping on cups of coffee.

  “This is our main workstation. Pigsty, I know, but it does its job. I collected all of the physical printouts like you asked, Commander,” Vern said, grabbing a large binder off the nearest table. “It will match all of the digital readouts logged on the station.”

  “Have you taken any other samples from the surface since your initial explorations?” Carson asked, taking the binder.

  “No. Not since Orrin Ander was down wi
th his rover. Not really our specialty. We’re solely here to see if we can create a habitable biosphere in the most inhospitable environment.” Vern grinned again, gesturing to the walls. “And we’ve succeeded. We’re no longer using the CO2 scrubbers. This sphere would support fifteen people full-time with the amount of plants we have here producing oxygen. Major accomplishment.”

  Gillian listened as she moved past the men into the room, ignoring the station members’ eyes on her as she studied the walls and work surfaces. The smell of coffee nearly overpowered the greenhouse scent in this closed space, and she realized, thankfully, she could no longer smell the decon on her skin.

  “Both of you have shifted?” she asked without taking her eyes off a whiteboard with a sloppily drawn bar graph in its center.

  “Yeah,” one of the men answered. “Twelve, fourteen times.”

  “Any problems with memory? Lapses in consciousness, anger issues?”

  “Only when Vern eats all the best freeze-dried meals.” The other man snickered into his coffee.

  “Have either of you come into contact with anything strange? Seen or heard anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Lady, this is Mars. There is no ordinary.”

  She turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “We work in isolated conditions where a minute mistake could kill you instantly. Tension is a constant. That’s all. Some are better suited to it than others.”

  “You’re saying the people who have symptoms are unbalanced? Weak?”

  He shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “I’m saying this place can get to you.”

  Gillian looked at him for a moment before nodding. “I can see that.”

  Vern clapped his hands together. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

  The station member smiled and held Gillian’s gaze. She turned and followed Carson and Vern from the room, feeling the heavy weight of the man’s eyes on her as she left.

  “I’m sorry for those two. They’re both very good at botany, not so good with people,” Vern said, leading them through a row of blooming orchids beside a planter of cornstalks heavy with tasseled cobs.