THE WAYS BETWEEN WORLDS
Volume I
PETER COOPER
by: Larry E. Clarke
Cover Art by Tim Kelly
Copyright © 2018 Larry E. Clarke
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER l
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
FLYLEAF:
Peter Cooper is approaching middle age as he begins his third rotation to the international research station on the moon’s far side. His life is satisfying but generally uneventful until he and his partner discover an alien artifact hidden at the bottom of a crater.
When the device suddenly activates Peter is flung, naked and alone, to a half ruined transportation terminal on a new world.
Hundreds of years before his arrival beings from dozens of alien races had been similarly stranded by a widespread failure in the ancient transport system. Starting with nothing those beings struggled to maintain the old knowledge and to restore some portion of their original cultures and technologies. Peter’s sole hope of return is to cross thousands of kilometers to find a second transport site marked on a hand drawn map.
As a youngster Peter devoured the heroic accounts of ERB’s John Carter or John Norman’s Tarl Calbot. Now he is learning that real adventure is more about staying alive than conquering half a planet or winning the love of a beautiful princess.
If you yearn to explore distant worlds, to survive hostile environments, to encounter alien friends, and battle alien fiends, join Peter as he seeks out The Ways Between Worlds.
CHAPTER 1
3,328. . . 3,329. . . 3,330 The brightest star in the roughly octagonal group I'd dubbed "The Stopsign" had just slipped below the “western” horizon. I had been counting heart beats, making a rough calculation of the length of day. From the time it had taken "Stopsign alpha" to travel the estimated 15 degrees I placed the day at 19 hours +/- 3.
A naked man sitting beneath a dark alien sky had to do something to stay sane and to keep his imagination in check as he struggled to figure out just what the hell happened . . .and how he had come to be here.
Just hours ago Elad Snooc and I had been scouting magnaflux variations on the backside near Nasen. He had taken the rover back to the command ship to relay our report on the 17:30 satellite pass. I stayed behind to scout some fluctuations we'd mapped coming in.
We were supposedly looking for ore deposits. Elad and I were always quick to jump on any excuse to get out of the dome and poke around. On the way to a mission LZ we always stopped to investigate anything that caught our attention. Approaching middle age may have thinned our hair and thickened our middles, but so far had not dulled our curiosity. A lot had been learned here since '69. Still, there was a hell-of-a-lot we Lunatics didn't know. We now had two permanent research stations, one "Earthside" and ours "Backside" (the source of endless joking from our friendly rivals at the Earthside station). Each station operated jointly under alternating U.S., Russians, Chinese, Indian, and European commands. With only about 2% of earth's volume the moon still had a surface area four times that of the United States. Some of the most rugged areas were here on the backside. Near the poles the shadows were long and deep as the sun never rose far above the horizon.
Just ahead was the wall of the small broken crater I was making for. Switching on my suit lamp I began to struggle up the lip. Ordinarily I wouldn't have bothered but this was the apparent source of one of the small anomalies Elad and I wanted to investigate. A dozen meters to my right a secondary impact had smashed open the rim and offered a relatively easy way down. Below, in the shadow of the rim, the terrain vanished into blackness. I swept the sensor side to side and was surprised by a strong reading from the direction of far wall.
Before starting down I confirmed suit gauges were all in the green and called Elad to tell him I'd be out of touch for a few minutes. He made some crack about me being “perpetually out of touch” then added that he'd join me as soon as he raised the bird and sent the report.
The far rim was less than a soccer field away. I "mopped" (Moon-hopped) out to the center and grabbed another reading. The instruments were going crazy, running up to maximum and then down to near zero in two or three second cycles. "Malfunctioning" I thought, then decided it was unlikely they'd all be affected at once. If the phenomenon were real it might one for the books or at least a nice long journal article: "The Cooper/Snooc Effect: 0.3 Hertz Oscillations in Flux Density in Lunar Lodestone Sites" or something like that.
This was definitely not like anything I'd seen before. A field might taper on and off gradually in the course of the lunar day, but never anything like this. The field from the lip had been nothing extraordinary but it was more intense now. Not only oscillating but it rose rising then fell off on an unnaturally steep curve as if "contained" or folded back very tightly on itself. The source centered on a small lava dome.
I circled slowly letting the recorder run as I went. Half way around I saw that the thing had a goddammed airlock. Nothing natural. . . an airlock! If I had seen my grandma flap her ears and fly out the window of her nursing home I could not have been more stunned. I kicked the suit radio to high power and tried to raise Elad but got no answer. I shouted into the mike and fared no better the second time. "Too little signal scattering out of this rat hole to be heard". When it dawned on me just what I was doing the last words died in my throat. I backed away from the lock looking to see if anything inside had noticed the fool outside shouting into his radio.
Careful examination of the area suggested that whatever this was it hadn't been built by the U.S., the Russians, the Chinese, the E.U. or anyone else from Terra. Where were the signs of construction? The tracks in the moon dust after crew change? The surface must have been brushed clear. The only tracks were my own. The dome itself was pitted with micro-craters. It had been here a very, very long time.
My hands were sweating so I edged back the suit's temperature control. "Deep slow breaths. . .think. . .be a scientist" I coached myself. My heart slowed and my anxiety eased a bit. I resumed my slow circle. I judged it to be only about four of five meters high but slightly wider, a flattened hemisphere the same dusty color as the surrounding surface. It would easily have passed for a natural feature save for the lock and the precision of its shape.
My mind tripped over itself forming and rejecting one theory after another about what it did? how it got here? when it got here? who put it here? It was “pointless” I told myself to go on speculating in a near total absence of data. I called Elad again and was heartened to hear him reply. He'd just come down the rim and was mopping toward me raising mini dust clouds on each bounce. I motioned him toward the south side of the dome with the hand lant
ern then headed there myself.
"My God Coop, this thing has a lock in it" he whispered into his suit mike.
"It's not ours and it’s not theirs and it is really old." I opined, stating what must have already been obvious to him.
"Damn" he whistled, "It's a lock all right."
Set in the side of the dome beside the lock were two disks, one purple, the other magenta, standing out brilliantly from the duller surface in the reflection of our hand lights. Without really thinking I reached out my gloved hand and touched the purple oval lightly. It gave a bit. A seam opened and the hatch slid silently aside trailing a tiny whisp of moon dust.
"Dammit Coop, don't touch anything." He chided like a Mom to a toddler in an antique store.
Inside I could see what may have been lock instructions, and a couple of meters along was another bulkhead with and two similar disks. The "instructions" were in a script that looked like sparrow tracks. I was about to step through for a closer look when Elad's hand on my shoulder stopped me.
"Hold on. Let' think this over a minute" he cautioned. "We may already have messed up something worth knowing just by all the tramping around we've done outside this place. We could have obliterated tracks in or out of here?"
"No, there was nothing. It was as clean as it always is."
We stood there helmet to helmet not knowing what to say, just trying to force ourselves to think clearly. After brief consultation we agreed that I would step inside the lock while Elad watched from a short distance. If there were trouble he would be able to decide how to help. Also, we'd be less likely to disturb anything in the interior if only one went in.
More tentatively this time I moved back to the lock, played my lamp over the rather featureless interior, took a deep breath, and stepped in.
"So far, so good"
In the circle of light I could see a low wide bench beneath several empty wall racks. They had likely held equipment at one time. It was clearly a place for suiting up and hanging gear. ”Elad, I'm getting the whole thing on the video."
"Yeah and, Peter, keep the video on and record the outputs from the rest of the instrument pack too. I’m doing the same. And, watch your step."
I flipped on the camera lights and continued recording a I did a slow 360 giving extra attention to the script.
"Elad, I want to take a look inside, just a short look. We ought to take back enough information about what's here for the real experts, whoever the hell they might be, to have an idea of what they are getting into."
"Its your skin Ace but I’d be just as happy if you backed out of there now. If you do get in. . . DON’T touch anything . Just stick in the camera and record what you can without wandering all over the place. You probably can't open the inner hatch without closing this one and I bet when you do we'll lose contact."
I told him I'd have preferred to go in and out to just to test the lock but Elad reminded me the place was ancient. We agreed it would be best not to drain what little power might be left just to test the lock cycle.
"I'll see if the inner lock will cycle without closing the outer door" I told Elad, knowing no self respecting engineer would permit a design without safety interlocks. Elad backed away, signaling he was set. I shuffled a couple of steps to the inner lock controls, and pressed the purple disk. Nothing happened. .
"I'm going to have to shut the outer hatch. I plan to stay inside three minutes, five tops. I'll try to leave the inner lock door open when I go in. If I have any trouble I'll try to get back inside the lock. Try the lock if I'm not out in five minutes. If that doesn't work get back to the ship and call in what we found."
A light touch on the magenta disk and the outer door slid closed. Few spacers are prone to claustrophobia but I was feeling a touch of it just then. Nothing to do now but get on with it. A quick tap on the purple disk and the inner door slid open. There was a brief rush of atmosphere and lights of a slightly violet tint instantly appeared. Light came directly from the walls. There was no discernible source. The inner lock hatch stood fully open.
"Elad do you copy?" No answer. No surprise.
Through the open lock I could see that the interior was packed with equipment. From the doorway I got video of all I could. The room was circular matching the exterior shape of the structure. In the center was a doughnut shaped console with something that looked like the inverted bell of an enormous trombone rising to join the dome at its apex. Here and there a pilot light still glowed but for the most part there was no sign of activity. The "trombone" I guessed to be some sort of antenna. Like most of the rest of the interior it was metal. . .shiny, somewhat like stainless steel. It showed not the slightest sign of age. By all appearances the interior could have been finished last week.
From the doorway I continued to film as much as I could, trying to pan slowly and to pause a bit on each of the more interesting features. Few controls were evident but those I did see looked well suited to use by a space-suited hand. My zeal for getting inside had faded a bit as I had seen just how many things in the interior I might disturb. Any scientist would know you didn't just go crashing into a find like this. Handling anything could mean moving or destroying a piece of evidence crucial to understanding its function.
One more careful look and I'd rejoin Elad with the evidence that we had made the most incredible find of all time. The place wasn't that big so I'd pretty well photographed everything on the first sweep except for the area behind the console. By leaning to one side I could see part of what might be a desk or bed of some sort.
The mostly “automated” nature of the place was obvious from the lack of any sort of furniture or facilities for crew. But what I now saw was different. It was the first thing that looked like it might be for the use of actual operators rather than part of the automation. Finding something about who made this was as appealing as discovering what it was they'd made.
From my position in the inner door I could only see a corner of something. The console blocked too much of the view to get a decent shot. It was time to rejoin Elad but I wanted to document the whole interior before leaving. I stepped forward out of the lock, careful not to touch anything. As I was moving around to the right the inner lock door re-sealed. No surprise, just good engineering safety practice.
What I had thought to be a desk or bed looked more from this better perspective like an odd bathtub or perhaps an acceleration couch. Roughly rectangular outside, its insides were contoured to fit its intended occupant. A very big man in a pressure suit could have fit there, but the proportions would have been all wrong...way too much room left under the arms. What a find!
Cabling the size of a small garden hose came out of the floor and connected thought the sides of the couch/tub. Above the "couch" hung a massive metal disk perhaps 10 cm thick and two meters in diameter. Additional cabling from the wall of the dome linked with the disc. That reminded me that I had never gotten video of the top of the dome. One good shot of that and I beat feet out of here. I tipped back my head, brought the viewfinder up to my visor and in that same moment lost my balance and began the slow motion fall the moon’s 1/6 gravity produces.
CHAPTER 2
Falling in light gravity has an strange slow motion quality. Encumbered by about 20 kilos of suit and equipment I couldn't regain my feet. I grasped for anything in reach that might check my fall. My left hand raked a bank of controls set in the wall above the couch. I remember lying there, relieved that no real damage had been done, trying to decide the best way to get up but it was too late. Some of the mechanism had been activated by my flailing. Powerful vibrations were already coming from the couch right through the suit fabric. Overhead the thick disk was beginning to glow, pulsing softly.
I rolled to one side to throw a leg over the edge and was hit with a gut wrenching jolt, an unpleasant, but not exactly painful sensation. My consciousness seemed to unravel like thread being pulled from knitted scarf.
After in indeterminate interval I began to claw my way back to full cons
ciousness, dragging myself an inch at a time up and out of a deep well. It was like a sleep paralisys from which I slowly emmerged. Every bone, every joint, every muscle was tired. Gradually the realization of who I was came to me, old memories first. My folk's house, Miss Anthony my third grade teacher, Leonard Hopkins the Junior High bully, my first steady girl, our first...well, stuff like that. Finally, lying there with my eyes closed I recalled what had happened inside the dome. Elad would be waiting. I had to get up and get back outside. It would hurt to open my eyes but I had to crack them open for a peek at my suit gages, to see how long I had been out.
After a couple of deep breaths I opened up a skinny slit and looked. The violet light was gone. The disk overhead was no longer glowing. In fact it was rather dark. Somewhere to the right dusty orange light was filtering in. I tried to sit up and only half made it.
My pressure suit and the jumpsuit I'd been wearing were gone. Propped up on one elbow I ingested tiny sips of my surroundings through barely open lids. I was lying on a plain metal slab not the contoured “tub” I’d fallen on. The slab was one of scores beneath a dome that could have covered a good sized sports arena. To one side indirect rays of the orangy light were filtering in through a large crack.
I felt of my chest and extremities. I was naked. Every stitch of my clothing was gone. My extremities seemed to be intact but I had lost every strand of hair My full bushy moustache. . . gone, the sandy brown hair which had covered half my head. . .gone. All gone, leaving my entire body smoother than the proverbial “baby's butt”.
The air was musty, somewhat dank, but apparently breathable, a very good thing since I no longer had my suit. The place was ancient. Unlike the spotless dome on the moon’s backside, this place was falling to ruin.
After a minute or so I was sufficiently collected to sit up and work my legs into position hanging over the side of the cool slab. My toes hung only an inch or two above a floor thickly carpeted with dust. To the left and right around the walls of the dome were arched tunnel entrances leading upward and likely to the outside. Between each pair of tunnels was a niche that might once have held an operator, or a larger statue or some kind of equipment? Now they were vacant. Here and there were signs of soot and burn marks on the walls.
The Ways Between Worlds: Peter Cooper Page 1