The Immortal Game (Rook's Song)

by Chad Huskins

  There was enough time before the whole planet was engulfed by the field for most key personnel to evacuate. It was during this evacuation that Bishop claims he was captured, though he wouldn’t go into any more detail with Rook about that. It seemed to be a matter of deep shame for him.

  “Before we left, though, we managed to activate security protocols to buy us some time,” he told Rook. “I imagine many lockdowns will still be in place, and there may be my dead brethren below, so—”

  “So I could get caught in a crossfire of reanimated corpses?”

  “Affirmative, friend.”

  Presently, looking out at the fortress world, Rook shakes his head. Great, a host of security defenses and an army of the undead.

  There are other problems here, though. Reversing gravity also makes it so that blood will only flow correctly in a body with the planet’s surface “above” a person. If Rook messed up out here, he won’t have the sensation of being repelled, he’d have the sensation of falling. Into space. Into the greatest of bottomless holes.

  On the surface, it seems to us that this ought not be a major concern for Rook. Everybody that went through ASCA had been trained to work in both intensified g’s and zero-grav conditions. But no one ever taught us to work in reverse-grav. There was no such thing as it anywhere in the universe. Energy fields can repel, but they don’t reverse a law of physics, they don’t turn everything upside-down. At least, that’s what Rook thought. He imagines it will mess with his equilibrium and composure. On the way over, Bishop told him, “More than you know.”

  The world looks innocent enough from afar, but it is a death trap to anyone stupid enough to step into its bizarre realm. Yet it contains something that could help them not only get the derelict Sidewinder into orbit, but, if Bishop’s description of the device is correct, then there is something here that might just shift the tides for them in other ways. The massive reverse-gravity generator might be the size of the Hoover Dam, but it was made up of hundreds of smaller generators, some of them a quarter the size of the Sidewinder, and capable of generating a reverse-field dozens of miles long and just as many wide. Bishop claimed three of them were in working order, though, when he left.

  Presently, Rook clips his karabiner to the cable overhead, and then checks in with Bishop. “DZ clear?”

  “Affirmative, friend. Drop zone looks clean. We’ve got clear skies.”

  Rook smirks. “That a joke?” Of course they had clear skies. Without gravity working properly, no atmosphere could be contained. No atmosphere, no weather.

  “I meant it figuratively. But you might be glad to know that I did search the Sidewinder’s files on human concepts of humor when we first met, and I’ve dedicated a subroutine to understanding it, and I’ve been working on playful banter.”

  Rook laughs. “You’ve been working on a joke?”

  “Affirmative, friend.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “It is still in development.”

  “You certainly sound like an engineer when you say it like that. C’mon, let’s hear it.”

  A pause. “I will make a pact with you. If your Turk works, I will tell it to you.”

  “You got a deal, friend.” It will be minutes later before Rook realizes, quite randomly, that this was the first time he called the alien friend in all seriousness.

  “DZ in two minutes.”

  “Copy that. Sealing the cargo bay.” He taps a few keys, and the Sidewinder’s vents start sucking up the atmosphere contained in the bay. A dull hiss in his ears tells him his suit’s circulators have cut on. A minute later, the bay is completely clear of atmo. “Opening the cargo bay door. Lowering ramp.” As the door begins to open, Rook inspects his abseiling gear one last time. He steps onto the ramp. Then, he looks up, and sees the bizarre illusion.

  Artificial gravity still has his feet glued firmly to the Sidewinder’s floor, but Bishop has approached the planet’s surface (ceiling?) in a manner that will get him used to how the physics work here. The planet’s surface is above him, as well as the lower twenty feet of numerous buildings—starting at twenty feet above sea level, the reverse-field started and ripped those buildings away, ripped mountains away, flinging the debris out into space, where it picked up so much speed that by the time it was clear of the reverse-field it all just kept going. But some buildings, made out of a complex system of stronger-than-compristeel alloys, remained.

  The Sidewinder flies backwards, and staring out the back, Rook sees a series of large, cone-shaped Ianeth government buildings straight ahead of him, all of them hanging down from the earth like stalactites. According to Bishop, most of the buildings are underground, and the structures are one solid piece—they were made that way so that enough mass beneath the surface being pulled towards the planet’s core counters the reverse-field’s effects on the surface.

  He approaches the edge of the ramp, holding on to the railing. He looks down, and he swallows. For a moment, for just one second, he sways, then immediately gets control of himself.

  A little vertigo there, Rook? You ought to be used to seeing things in strange perspectives in space. He knows what it is, though. It’s the knowledge that that way isn’t just space. It’s down. And that isn’t right. Fight it.

  “Sixty seconds to drop zone!”

  “What’s our SET looking like?” Rook calls back.

  A moment. “Stress-energy tensor levels showing nominal. The graviton tide is about as steady as it’s going to get. We have a window.”

  The graviton tide. That’s how Bishop refers to the inconsistencies in the reverse-field. Gravity is pushing out from the planet in a strong but uneven tide that shifts easterly and westerly almost like the torrential winds at sea, but the push always trends out, out, out. Or rather, down, down, down, he thinks.

  Bishop claims the graviton tide can cause fluctuations between 0.5 g and 3.9 g’s, although he said that before they left the fortress world, some of his fellow engineers claimed they detected spikes as strong as 9.3. That’s a little disconcerting for Rook, since at 4.0 g’s the human body can no longer supply proper blood-flow to the brain, and at around 4.5 g’s the digestive system shuts down. The Stacksuit can provide strength to assist in harsh gravity, but it can do absolutely nothing to stop gravity-induced bodily breakdowns.

  “You’re absolutely sure this thing is in here?”

  “I was one of the last to leave. I can’t imagine anyone came back for a few small reversal generators. Besides, this reverse-field all around us is still active—so, there’s at least one down there.”

  “Copy that. Let’s do it, then.”

  “Roger, friend.”

  Rook looks all around the base of the building, at where old streets have decayed and cracked: like bipedal development and stairs, it seems all species came up with similar designs for roads. There are even what appear to be the old husks of personal transports. Other buildings terminate at exactly the graviton tide’s “split line”—that’s what Bishop calls the exact point between the “right” and “wrong” gravity. Most buildings have split in half at those lines. Like cracked stalactites falling from a cave.

  There comes another abrupt shift, and the whole ship jumps and moans a little too rough.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “We’re good. A sudden change in the tide, and the Sidewinder didn’t like it when I started lowering the arti-grav field. The computer is also having trouble with certain quantum fields. Time is being affected, after all. DZ still clear.”

  That was another thing Bishop had to explain on the way over. Since gravity is a manifestation of space-time curvature, it is going to play hell with the Sidewinder’s sensors for a number of reasons. In order to trick the gravitons around a whole planet one must fundamentally trick space-time, and that means that the graviton tide here influences everything from time to space to global positioning systems.

  The Sidewinder remains five stories above (below?) the ground. The earth-ceiling dire
ctly above him, Rook can’t help but be trapped in awe a moment before he looks ahead. Each ring of the massive conical building represents a floor, and each floor has decorative overhangs, almost like gargoyles. He’ll be connecting to one of those then rappelling down from the fifth floor, finally infiltrating the building at its tenth floor.

  “Ready for deployment!” he calls.

  “Copy. Lowering arti-grav.” The artificial gravity well that has been projected all throughout the ship decreases, so as to match the present local flow of the graviton tide outside as closely as possible. Gravity intensifies to about 2.2 g’s. The Stacksuit helps with back, shoulder, and leg support in holding Rook up, but it cannot remove the burden entirely.

  A few seconds later, a green light flashes in the top-right corner of his HUD. Bishop has given him the final go.

  Rook is facing one of the fifth-storey windows and looking at his reflection in the glimmering exterior. This was as high (low?) as Bishop can fly; artificial gravity or no artificial gravity, if they cross that split line at the twenty-foot marker, half of the Sidewinder will be ripped in one direction, towards the earth, and the other half in the other direction, into space.

  The ship shudders again, and without the ship’s arti-grav, Rook feels the slightly lateral shift in the graviton tide as he might experience a strong wind knocking him sideways. The Stacksuit compensates, helps him hang on to the rope, and he gets ready to push off. He turns and faces the cargo bay, gives a brief tug on his rope, plants his feet firmly against the lip of the ramp, bends his knees and sticks out his ass. He lets his gear bag hang from its strap by his side.

  “Rappelling now.”

  He bends his knees further, gives one look behind, finds himself giving a prayer to any gods that might be listening, be they human or Ianeth, and then pushes off and drops over the side, out into the bottomless speckled sky.

  Rook takes a deep, steadying breath. Lets it out slowly. Gives himself some line. The graviton tide takes him for a little ride before releasing him. It nudges him this way and that as he lowers into the infinite pit. Being blown in a sourceless wind, he has to make some corrections with his jet pack. The SAFER III (Simplified Aid for EVA Rescue) is the last version of the SAFER pack used by NASA and ASCA during spacewalks. What follows is a complex balancing act of self-belaying and aiming himself using side thrusters. The jet pack doesn’t have terrific delta-v capability, a tradeoff in the design for more fuel and maneuverability.

  This is going to be incredibly dangerous. But I have to do it. It’s sink or swim.

  Down he goes, sliding along his rope, feeling like a worm on a hook. What’re we fishin’ for, Dad? he thinks, making himself laugh.

  “What’s funny?” asks Bishop.

  “Nothing. Continuing descent.”

  “Copy.”

  He moves slowly, looking at his reflection in the glimmering wall and windows until he reaches the sixth floor. Dangling there, seeing himself a puny ant on a pathetically thin line, he wants nothing more than to be inside. “How’s our SET levels? Still clear?”

  “Still clear, friend.”

  “Good. Stand by. Preparing to swing over.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Engaging forward thrusters.” Some soft kicks in the air, and on every forward swing he gives himself an extra boost with the jet pack. When within range, Rook extends the bola-type lasso from his wrist, looping it around the decorative statues that extend from the wall before reeling himself in. He looks down (he can’t help it), and his head swims with stars for a moment before he regains composure. Finally, he makes it to the wall and clings there, using the magnetic grips in his gloves, built into the suit for repairs in vacuum.

  “Bishop, I have contact. Repeat, I have contact with the structure. Preparing to disengage cable. Stand by.” As he begins unhooking himself, Rook chances another look, gazing down at space waiting on him to make a mistake…

  It’s different when you’re here. I really didn’t think it would be, but it is. It’s…not right. The view isn’t. The view repels everything the mind understands is right. He feels gravity pushing him down but beneath him is nothing but sky. Spacewalks took some getting used to, but this—

  Another nudge of the graviton tide, gravity shifting ever so slightly another direction. It is as though he is underwater, and above the surface there is a terrible tropic storm waging war on the sea. While he takes another steadying breath, Rook glances at his HUD—there is a screen there showing the readings from Sidewinder’s atom interferometer, checking wave-particle duality and superposition of his environment. The repellant force nudges him to the right, then to the left, but always trending downwards (outwards?). It is herky-jerky at times, and it attempts to carry him off in different directions. And it would have, too, if not for the Stacksuit.

  After some clumsy work with his fingers, Rook finally attaches his abseiling gear to the wall with magnetic clamps and unhooks the cable connecting him to the ship. That last part was the worst—he imagines that if a newborn knew what was happening when the umbilical cord was severed, this would be the terror it felt. Leaving the last lifeline behind, going into the unknown. One of the reasons you went into ASCA. This is what you signed up for, Rook. Remember that.

  “Cable detached. Bishop, you’re clear to go. Repeat, I am all clear and you can make away.”

  “Copy that, Rook. Dropping to an altitude of five thousand feet.” There he will remain in case Rook falls. The Sidewinder would have to be that far away to start its “descent” into space, have time to match Rook’s velocity, and hope that he caught Rook without too many complications from the graviton tide.

  There must’ve been a spike in Rook’s heart rate when watching the ship depart, because the alien chimes in over the comm. “Just breathe. Remember, one little hop at a time. Just remember that, friend. Little hops if you have to.”

  Little hops. Right. He plants his feet, bends his knees, and pushes lightly, starting his rappel. Each drop makes him feel a little more out of control. They are tiny hops, but they feel like madness. I shouldn’t be doing this, his mind tells him. I shouldn’t be.

  Rook fights to maintain composure. Deep breaths. One little hop. Then another. He is forced to look down a lot, if only to check on his gear bag, which swings below him. Down and down, down and down. Just breathe. Passed the seventh floor. Rook uses his NUI on his HUD to activate the next song on his playlist. A nice, relaxing classic. A series of angelic female voices start it up, then comes Bobby Darin’s soothing voice. He turns the volume down enough so that he can hear any transmissions coming from Bishop without fail:

  “Every night, I hope and pray,

  A dream lover will come my way;

  A girl to hold in my arms,

  And know the magic of her charms;

  ’Cause I want (yeah-yeah, yeah)

  A girl (yeah-yeah, yeah),

  To call (yeah-yeah, yeah),

  My own;

  I want a dream lover, so I don’t have to dream alone”

  Now passing the eighth floor. Just breathe. Now the ninth. In each window, he sees the stars and the impossibly flipped landscape behind him. Just breathe. Now the tenth. Just breathe.

  “Tenth floor!” he announces. “Readying explo-gel.” Rook reaches into his tactical belt, and, for half a second, finds himself panicking over an imagined flub. What if he drops the canister? What if…?

  Shakes the doubt aside. Focuses. Extends the nozzle from the can and applies it. It is a water-gel explosive, composed of ammonium nitrate and methylammonium nitrate. When he’s finished applying it, Rook sets a charge in it, then climbs up to the eighth floor to get well clear.

  “Dream lover, until then,

  I’ll go to sleep and dream again;

  That’s the only thing to do,

  Till all my lover’s dreams come true;

  ’Cause I want (yeah-yeah, yeah)

  A girl (yeah-yeah, yeah),

  To call (yeah-yeah, yeah),
<
br />   My own;

  I want a dream lover, so I don’t have to dream alone”

  “Detonation in three, two, one…” He taps a button on his glove.

  The window explodes in silence beneath him, and he watches the debris fall into oblivion. Then Rook rappels down (or up, his mind still wrestles with the distinction) to the tenth floor.

  Rook sets a foot on what was once the top of the window, climbs through, and sighs with immense relief once inside. He pulls some slack inside with him as he walks uncertainly across an alien ceiling, one cluttered with bizarrely-shaped items he can only assume once served as furniture. He turns and looks out at space, then peeks out the window, looking up at the earth. Bobby Darin is just wrapping up his plea for a dream lover when Rook finally detaches from his abseiling gear and loops it around a pillar made of organisteel, then ties it off.

  “Rook to Bishop, you copy? I’m in structure. Repeat, in structure.” He reels in his gear bag and unzips it, pulling out his Exciter and wrapping it around his shoulder and neck by its strap. He clips the thermite and plasma charges to his tactical belt, then flips the lights on his helmet and Exciter, and pans around the room.

  “I copy. What’s it look like in there?”

  Rook tries to think of how best to describe it. Though there is no mistaking an alien culture once lived here, yet it is oddly similar to an office building back home, except for the large, oval-shaped room he was in. The light of the pale blue star comes through the windows and kisses the walls, casts some hazy lighting through the windows behind him, giving the entire room a desaturated sheen but revealing enough details to determine dimensions. It is like one of the spherical rooms inside the Turk stations, only here everything is incredibly dusty and it doesn’t look like maintenance machines have touched it in quite some time.