Before & Beyond

by Patrick Welch

  She opened the well-worn diary carefully. So many times she had read it, first to her fellow guardians, then to the new-born, she had it memorized by now. Still she enjoyed the feel of the stiff, yellowed paper, the now-faded and barely legible handwriting. Several tried to climb onto her lap but she brushed them away. Despite the Sustainer, she was losing circulation in her limbs.

  Adam and Susan ignored the clamor, their focus remained on their respective monitors. Johnny still labored at keeping the equipment running smoothly. Mary and Tony remained in their chairs and at their stations as well, but they had died years ago.

  Outside, a force-nine hurricane, the fifth of the new year, was rampaging across the island and the nearly destroyed surface complex. The inner area remained, however; the elevator to the surface still worked. Thanks to the continuing efforts of Johnny.

  The hive of the wardens was long removed. As the global climate had gradually changed, the aliens had retreated increasingly to the remaining desert areas of the planet. Their scientists had finally discovered the reason for the weather changes, but they had determined that the costs necessary to stabilize and restore the original climate could never be recouped.

  The venture had never proven that profitable anyway. The fumigation had gone as planned, the deserts were alien and inviting and the remaining native life entertaining. But tourists had lost interest in the planet as newer, more exciting worlds were established. The investment group had finally decided this particular world no longer offered a sufficient return and the planet had been abandoned.

  Those living in the underground complex were unaware of this, their exterior monitoring system being destroyed long ago. “Can we hear the story now?” one of the children, Cindy thought it might be Susan but wasn’t sure, asked impatiently.

  She nodded. “The attack had been rapid and devastating. I was only three when they appeared, but my parents told me everything,” she began.

  IN THE BELTWAY

  Finally! Gath Pason sighed as the mining colony began to recede in the viewscreen. For the past three months their small trading ship had been hopping from one asteroid to another, delivering supplies to the widely scattered enclaves scratching out an existence in the Beltway. Now their holds were empty except for some equipment that was being shipped back for major repair or disposal. By all rights he and his crew should be able to relax.

  Not this time. Their route had taken much longer than expected. Inoperable loading machinery at one colony, a recalcitrant, argumentative administrator at another; nearly a week had been unnecessarily added to their itinerary. And their employer fined heavily for supply ships that were late. “What do you think, Al?”

  Al Feinstein, the navigator, peered up over his charts. He knew full well their situation... and the fact he would be fined as well. “If we had more fuel we could just blast away and make it up.”

  “But we don’t.” The unnecessary delays had forced them to use more than allotted, not enough to endanger them, but enough to eliminate that alternative.

  Feinstein sat back from the computer screen and stretched. “Then we have no choice; we have to go through the Belt. I’ve entered most of the data. If we follow the buoys and are careful, we should do fine.”

  “How current is your data?”

  He pointed to the computer screen. The display was similar to a sailing navigational chart, except the markings denoted asteroids and beacons, not shoals and sea lanes. “Upgraded when we left. But you know how quickly things change out here.”

  “Go as fast as practical without endangering maneuverability.”

  Feinstein nodded and returned to his work while Pason went to his quarters in the back. It was not going to be an enjoyable ride back for him or his small crew, he knew. Normally they gave the Belt a wide berth until it became necessary to enter and service their employer’s settlements. A twenty-five percent penalty, applicable to all three members, made the risk necessary.

  Pason spent another hour finishing paperwork, then went to the engine room that was home to their mechanic, Jac deVeaux. Over the speakers a Bach Concerto filled the room. deVeaux was in the middle of it, miming the conductor. He blushed when he saw his captain. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “You know what I think about music.” Which was little, since he was tone deaf. A fact deVeaux knew as well. “Anything I need to know?”

  “Everything’s fine. Why?”

  “We’re taking the Beltway back. We have to make up time.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t realize we were that far behind.”

  “Blame that idiot on A-127. He alone cost us three days.”

  “We should have no problems from this end. Just try not to run us aground.”

  Pason smiled as he walked out. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  Pason stared at his unappetizing lunch. After more than three months the prefab food was getting old. deVeaux had joined him in their small common room which served as their eating area, recreation center and meeting room. Feinstein was still at the controls; even though the computers could steer the ship safely by using the buoys for guidance, he preferred a more hands-on approach. As they got deeper into the Belt it would only become more demanding.

  “Have you talked to Central at all?” deVeaux asked while forcing down a mouthful of brown something.

  “Won’t do any good. They made it very clear when we left our last delivery that no excuses would be tolerated. You know how they are, always looking for a way to screw us.”

  “Maybe they’ll feel different if we leave our mark on some rock out here.”

  “We’ll piss them off more if we get back in time.”

  “That we will,” deVeaux laughed. “How we doing?”

  “Made up about two days so far.” Just then they felt a lurch and heard the unmistakable roar of the guidance rockets. “Course correction,” he commented after a few seconds. “Might as well get used to it.”

  deVeaux looked sadly at the front of his shirt, now splattered with brown and green. “Al’s going to pay for this.”

  Pason returned his attention to his meal. “Care for a game of chess later?”

  Two days later Pason was on the bridge, checking internal ship readings, when Al called to him. “What do you make of this?” He hit the speaker button and the room was filled with the unmistakable beep of a buoy, the underlying constant crackle of space... and something else. A faint whirring sound, oddly melodic, changing in pitch with surprising regularity.

  “Never heard anything like it. Just space noise?”

  Al shook his head. “Not likely. Not changing like that. Listen, it’s repeating itself.”

  Pason concentrated but wasn’t sure. To him it sounded little different than the hum of an engine or buzz of an insect. But he was willing to take his navigator’s word for it. “Malfunctioning buoy?”

  “Doubt it.”

  He glanced at his own instruments. From what they displayed, he could only assume there were alone. “Not another ship. Can you pinpoint it?”

  “Too general. Too faint.”

  “Well, they don’t pay us to be explorers. I’ll note it in our logs.”

  Two hours later Pason was in the common room when Feinstein called. “Gath, that noise. It’s getting louder.”

  “Be right there.” When Pason arrived he found deVeaux there as well. The command area vibrated from that steady, varying hum. “What do you think, Jac?”

  “It’s not from the engines, any sympathetic resonance or anything like that. New to me.”

  Through the speakers the now-distinct hum nearly drowned out the space noise and the beeping buoys. Pason glanced at Feinstein. “Is this going to cause a problem?”

  “Shouldn’t. The buoys all have assigned frequencies. This doesn’t seem to be strong enough to interfere on those wavelengths once we narrow the band.”

  “Turn it down, it’s annoying.”

  “Be glad you don’t have to listen to it through these
,” Feinstein pointed at his headset.

  “I am, believe me.” Pason turned to deVeaux. “Check your equipment anyway, just to make sure.”

  deVeaux frowned but rose reluctantly. “Anything you say, boss.”

  “Will this slow us down?” Pason asked after deVeaux had left.

  “I doubt it. We’re nearly half-way through. We’ll be entering the uncatalogued area soon, but once past that we should make up any time we lose.”

  “Uncatalogued? Didn’t know there was such an animal.”

  “The Belt’s been bagged and tagged for the last 60 years or so. But it’s still pretty damn big. There are still areas surveyors or miners haven’t reached.”

  “Think that could come from some type of settlement? Someone who lost their way? Or some Belt anomaly we haven’t seen before?”

  Feinstein turned a knob and the soft sound of the modulating hum again flooded their chamber. “That isn’t from any equipment I’ve ever heard about.”

  Pason looked at the sensor array. Nothing suggested they were in the company of anything except rocks. “Avoid it,” he said after a ruminative silence.

  “Plan to.”

  “I’m going to talk with deVeaux again. Maybe there’s something out-of-phase with the engines that’s causing this.”

  “Fine. I’ve got it at this end.”

  Pason hurried back to the engine room. The unexplained signal bothered him; they didn’t need any distractions while tiptoeing through the minefield that was the Belt. He found deVeaux checking instrument readings. “Find anything?” he asked upon entering.

  deVeaux favored him with a frown. “Not according to these,” he pointed at the readouts. “But this makes no sense. Put your hand here.”

  Pason obeyed, and was surprised to feel a slight yet steady vibration through the hull. “Engines out of phase?”

  deVeaux shook his head emphatically. “No. We’re going at such slow speed they shouldn’t cause it anyway. It’s like it’s coming from outside.”

  “Impossible. There’s nothing out here except us and the Belt. I don’t like ...”

  His response was interrupted by a sudden abrupt shudder felt all through the ship. Then the alarms began screaming. “We’ve been hit,” Pason realized. The two ran to the front of the ship, where they found Feinstein making frantic course corrections. “What happened?”

  “Came up too fast, too small to avoid,” he muttered. “I think it knocked out our right guidance system.”

  Pason activated the external monitors. Feinstein was correct, the right guidance rocket bore the unmistakable imprint of an asteroid collision. A cloud of crystallized fuel hovered near the gaping hole; broken wiring sent out sparks into the blackness. Nearby, a small asteroid was leisurely progressing away from the ship. Pason turned to deVeaux. “Think you can fix it?”

  “Have to if we’re going to get home. We don’t want to steer through the Belt without it.” He swore in French. “I’ll have to go outside.”

  “Do it. Al, shut off all power and fuel to that wing.” Pason looked back at deVeaux, who was already donning the suit. “Need an extra set of hands?”

  “Let me check it out first. I’ll let you know.”

  Pason helped him gather the equipment; within five minutes the Frenchman was ready. “Be careful out there.”

  deVeaux grinned. “This is what you pay me the big bucks for. Overtime!”

  Pason helped move the equipment into the external access chamber, then secured the airlock behind him. “Keep in radio contact.”

  deVeaux nodded and activated the external door. Pason turned to Feinstein. “What happened? That’s a pretty large rock to miss.”

  Feinstein shook his head. “I don’t know. I was distracted, I guess. It’s that damn noise.” Even now they could hear the endless, modulating hum echoing faintly through the control room.

  “Turn off the speakers. We don’t need to hear that shit right now.”

  “They’re not on.”

  Pason frowned. “What? That’s impossible! Sound can’t carry through space. Did the collision somehow cause this?”

  “How? That engine is shut down.”

  “Jac, can you hear me? Something odd is going on,” Pason spoke into the microphone.

  There was a burst of static, then the interminable humming. “... stop... yes, I hear... so beau....” The signal broke up again.

  “Jac, can you hear me?” Pason turned to Feinstein. “What is wrong? Why is our signal being jammed?”

  “I don’t know! I’ve never... hell, what’s he doing?”

  Pason looked up at the screen. The monitors showed deVeaux bent over his umbilical cable. After a minute the cable separated and deVeaux began to float free in the blackness. “Jac, what are you doing?” Pason screamed into the microphone. There was no reply. Instead the two men inside could only watch as the suited figure began to shrink on the screen.

  “Christ, he’s firing his rockets. Al, we’ve got to catch him!”

  Feinstein stared numbly at the screen. “We can’t maneuver. Not in all this shit.”

  “Keep trying to signal him. Try to contact anyone. We need help.”

  Feinstein worked at the control console, then sat back. “We can’t. Every signal on every bandwidth is being blocked. It’s that damn noise!” He was white when he turned to Pason. “It’s got to be something on the ship. We’ve got to go out there and find out what.”

  “Check the monitors again.” Feinstein complied, but the cameras, heat sensors, every tool they had revealed only their damaged ships and the asteroids hovering perilously around them. “This is impossible!” Pason snarled and slammed his fist on the console.

  “Listen, do you hear that?” There was no fear in Feinstein’s voice this time.

  “Hear what?” Pason strained, but all he noticed was the unworldly humming emanating all through the ship. Emanating impossibly all through the ship.

  “It’s beautiful,” Feinstein whispered.

  “What’s beautiful? What the hell are you talking about? Turn off those speakers!”

  Feinstein ignored him. “Yes, I can see you now. Yes, I can hear you,” he said to no one.

  “Al, what are you talking about? Al?” Pason reached forward, grabbed his friend by the shoulders and turned him around. Feinstein stared at him blankly, a beatific smile pasted on his face. “Al, what is wrong?”

  Feinstein looked right through him, his gaze and attention focused almost entirely upon something else. “She’s calling us. She wants us to come to her,” he whispered.

  Pason felt ice rush through him. “Al, who are you talking about? Who is she? Where is she?”

  “She’s out there, waiting for us,” his answer floated above the growing hum inside the ship. “She’s calling us home.”

  “Al, snap out of it. You’re not making sense. Don’t touch that!”

  Feinstein was groping for the controls to activate the engines. “Al, what the hell!” Pason grabbed his arm. “Damn it, you’ll kill us!”

  Feinstein said nothing as he tried to shake himself free from Pason’s embrace. He swung his elbow, striking Pason across the temple and knocking him back. Pason staggered to his feet and seized his navigator in a bear hug, pulling him roughly from the console. The humming grew louder as they struggled, Feinstein trying to break free, Pason trying to drag him from the command room. Feinstein cried out in more than pain, then bit Pason on the arm. Pason yelped and hurled Feinstein away. The navigator fell against the airlock door and to the ground. Then he staggered to his feet. And reached for the activation button on the airlock.

  “No!” Pason’s head was throbbing from pain and the unearthly keening. He staggered forward and struck Feinstein on the back of the head. The navigator merely pushed him aside and tried once more to open the airlock. He’s insane, Pason realized. And he had to stop this battle soon, before their unguided ship crashed in the thickening Belt. The panel to the tool locker was still open. Feinstein had already man
aged to open the inner door of the airlock and was going inside. Pason seized a wrench, then leapt forward and struck Feinstein on the arm with it. Feinstein turned and stared at him. There was no pain, no reproach in his eyes. Or understanding. Just desperation. When Pason struck him across the face, he did not make a sound. Instead he collapsed and fell across the airlock.

  Pason had no time to attend to him; he ran back to the controls and frantically took command of their ship. Already an asteroid was approaching directly ahead. He hit the reverse thrusters to slow them, then the left and top rockets to guide them around the peril. He gritted his teeth as the humming continued to grow in intensity, distracting him, causing his head and heart to pound. He turned on their ship’s radio as loud as he could, hoping recorded music would help drown out the terrible keening, allow him to guide his ship through the maze that was the Beltway.

  He had no idea how many hours he had spent at the controls when he realized that the humming had stopped. He turned off the screaming radio to make sure. In the sudden quiet all he could hear was the mild undertow of the engines and the shallow breathing of Feinstein. He checked their progress. They had passed through the uncharted section and reached a relatively less dense area of the Belt. He sighed in relief and placed the ship on automatic. The buoys would guide them now, even without one guidance rocket.

  His back was aching and his hands were cramped when he stepped back from the controls, then went to check on Feinstein. The navigator remained where he fell. His breath was shallow, his face was pale and covered with sweat. Pason knew then he had given his shipmate a concussion. He carried his friend to their living quarters in the back and wrapped him securely in one of their beds. Then he returned to the bridge and radioed for help.

  “You lost your mechanic and nearly killed your navigator and this is all you can tell us?” The owner of the supply company slammed the report down on his desk. Next to him, a representative of the United Stellar Fleet sat impassive.

  “I still have no idea what caused the actions of my crew. Or anything about the anomaly,” Pason said. After their rescue, he had been given only an hour to prepare his report. Feinstein was still under treatment and had yet to waken from his injuries.