“Is there any way to translate their language,” asked the admiral, leaning forward. “I’d like to know whether they’re saying hello or … something else.”
Norwood looked down at her Interlink Device then back up at the admiral. “That’s the other perplexing part, sir. They’re hailing us on an HV channel, and the language being used is a mutated form of English.”
“What?!” the admiral exclaimed.
“English?!” yelped Solomon.
“How is that possible?” Albans demanded.
The others were staring at Norwood, in shock.
“There’s only one way to find out,” said the admiral. “Norwood, activate the video feed. Let’s find out who’s hailing us and what they have to say.”
“Aye, sir,” she replied. “With the translation program in effect, you will notice a discrepancy between the alien’s lips—if it has lips—and what it says. I’m patching us through now.”
Not knowing what to expect, all eyes were glued to the HV screen. Humanity’s first contact with an alien species was seconds away, and everyone held their collective breath, awed by the magnitude of the moment. However, when the screen came to life, their awe turned to shock. It showed a startling image: a gorgeous, blonde-haired woman, who began to speak…
“Greetings to the brave colonists and crew of Solomon’s Arrow! My name is Lorna Threman, chancellor of New Terra, and we have been awaiting your arrival for many centuries.”
•
Richard stared at the view-screen, barely able to believe his eyes. The stunning blonde-haired woman, who had identified herself as Lorna Threman, so closely resembled his dead wife, Erin, she could easily have passed for her sister. His shock was so great that he barely heard the admiral’s next words.
“Thank you, Chancellor Threman,” she said, trying to stay poised. “I respectfully return your greetings. My name is Admiral Katherine Axelrod, captain of Solomon’s Arrow. As one might expect, your presence on New Terra comes as quite a shock. When was the colony established, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Lorna Threman sat unmoving, a blank expression on her face for nearly five seconds before she answered. There was such a long delay that Richard began to wonder if there was a time lag in the transmission process.
“You may turn off your vocal translation device, Admiral,” the chancellor said, her lips now in sync with her voice. “I have adjusted my dialect to more closely resemble the time period from whence you came.”
Richard heard a faint click. The admiral had signaled Lt. Norwood to turn off the translation filters, though Richard barely noticed. His eyes were fixed firmly on the chancellor, whose dark blue eyes had shifted to stare directly at him. A pleasantly surprised look was on her face. As a trace of pink rose in her cheeks, she answered the admiral’s question, sounding a bit flustered.
“We, um, we established New Terra a long time ago,” she said, quickly shifting her attention back to the admiral. “But, we can discuss all that once your ship has landed.”
The admiral shook her head. “The Arrow is too large to enter the planet’s atmosphere.”
A flash of disappointment crossed the chancellor’s face.
“However,” the admiral continued, “we’ll assemble a landing party, one which I’ll personally lead. We’ll be arriving in forty-six hours. Do you still use hours and minutes?”
The chancellor’s odd display of disappointment was quickly replaced by a smile. “Yes we do, admiral. I am transmitting our coordinates, now. This is a glorious day in New Terra’s history. I am so looking forward to meeting you in person … all of you.”
Richard could’ve sworn that her eyes cut back to him just as the screen went blank.
“Damn, that’s one gorgeous bird,” Floyd Sullivant exclaimed. “She’s so beautiful I almost feel like turning straight … almost.”
His quip broke the tension. While he and the others chuckled, the admiral cleared her throat, at the same time shooting Floyd a reproachful look.
“Sorry, sir.”
The admiral gazed down at the table and stroked her lower lip. “Something about her bothers me. How could she have switched dialects so effortlessly? Wouldn’t the English language have changed significantly over the past three thousand years?”
“Perhaps she’s an android, or a robot of some sort,” Solomon offered.
Floyd chuckled again. “That’s highly unlikely, Dr. Chavez.”
“Why’s that, Lieutenant?”
“Because, when she saw the commander, she blushed.” Floyd grinned broadly. “Richard, old boy, you’re one hell of a good-looking chap, but it was like she’d never seen a man before.”
The subject matter was making Richard uncomfortable. Therefore, he was relieved when the admiral shifted the topic back to her original question.
“Answer me this: could the human mind have evolved over the past three thousand years?”
Lt. Commander Albans responded, “It’s doubtful, sir. Of course, environmental factors might play a role in pushing evolution forward during such a short period of time, but humanity has pretty much reached the peak of its evolution, sad to say.”
“I don’t understand.”
Albans shifted in her seat. “Evolutionary biologists have theorized that after humans became civilized, evolution stopped. With better health care and the worthy desire of civilized people to keep the sick and disabled alive, the, um, Darwinian theory of survival of the fittest fell by the wayside. However, insofar as the New Terrans are concerned, we don’t know enough about them to form a definitive evaluation.”
“It’s sad and ironic to think that our compassion has us trapped in an evolutionary dead end,” remarked Julie Norwood.
“Perhaps we’ll change that equation, Lieutenant,” declared Solomon Chavez. “After all, this mission includes the smartest, healthiest, most determined people the world has ever produced. So don’t lose hope.”
Admiral Axelrod cleared her throat. “I’m loath to interrupt this spellbinding philosophical discussion, but we have a landing party to organize. It will obviously be different from the one we originally planned. As a result, we have plenty of work to do—dismissed.”
•
FORTY-THREE HOURS LATER
Bram missed taking a good old-fashioned shower. The Arrow’s water supply was limited to drinking and cooking, and little else. Logically, he understood that a decade-long uninterrupted space flight would require certain sacrifices, but that didn’t mean he had to like the alternative. The sonic shower (good as it was) never quite did the trick. It was always so much easier clearing one’s sinuses with water.
He slipped on his underwear, t-shirt, socks, and coverall before exiting the bathroom. His two bunkmates were at their posts, so he had the room to himself. It was cramped, but he understood the necessity. While slipping on his navy-issued, lace-up boots, the room’s intercom came to life.
“Bram Waters, this is Admiral Axelrod. Please see me in my ready room.”
The landing party wasn’t due to leave the ship for another three hours. “I wonder what that’s all about?” he thought aloud. Being a psychic, most people would assume he already knew the answer. In most ordinary situations, however, Bram let the future unfold without foreknowledge. It was only while under extreme duress that he attempted to peer into the future, and even then he never guaranteed success. That was fine by him; he preferred being surprised by the complexities of everyday life. Over the decades, a multitude of people had told him how much they’d love to know what was lurking around the corner, but he’d always responded by saying that life would lose its flavor and become awfully boring if one knew everything that was about to happen.
Following the page, he went straight to the admiral’s ready room. It was his first time on the command deck, and he would’ve enjoyed stopping to talk with Floyd Sullivant, Richard Allison, and that cute red-headed com-officer, but he knew better than to keep the admiral waiting. By the tone of her voice, he co
uld sense she’d invited him there for more than a social visit.
Bram entered the ready room, and the admiral motioned for him to sit. She was studying something on her desktop computer. This went on for a few more seconds before she pressed a button and focused on him.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Waters.”
“Gladly. But please, call me Bram.”
“As you wish,” she said, giving him a curt nod. “Computer, display a real-time image of the planet now known as New Terra on my ready room view-screen.”
Bram studied the image of the unusual planet. The ship’s orbit allowed him to observe some of the arid front half, much of the frozen back half, and a large section of the vegetation ring that encircled the middle. The planet did not look conducive for establishing a small colony, much less a viable civilization. He was beginning to wonder if the scientists involved in choosing it had made a mistake.
“I’d wager you’re thinking what I’m thinking, Bram, ‘What the hell get did we get ourselves into?’ Am I right?” the admiral asked, staring at the view-screen.
“Something like that,” he chuckled. “I didn’t know you could read minds, Admiral.”
She smiled at him. “Merely a smidgen of intuition, coupled with military training; one must read people, not necessarily minds, to rise to the rank of admiral. Mind reading is your forte, not mine. Which brings me to why I called you here, Bram: I’d like you to provide me with a psychic impression of our soon-to-be hosts.”
“In other words, you want me to start earning my pay,” he said, offering his most disarming grin. She merely cocked one eyebrow, saying nothing in return. “Okay … well then, I’ll get right on it.” Bram closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxing breath.
“Don’t you need to be looking at the planet to do that?” the admiral asked.
Bram kept his eyes closed. “I have the image in my mind, Admiral. If I continued to stare at the HV screen, all I’d do is receive an impression of electronic circuitry. I need to send my—how can I put this—mental probe, toward the actual objective. Now, if you don’t mind, I need silence for this to work effectively.”
All he heard after that was the admiral lean back in her chair.
Bram opened his mind. He wasn’t completely sure his powers would work from this distance, let alone through the atmosphere of an alien planet. He shouldn’t have been concerned, for he almost immediately started receiving psychic impressions. The only trouble was that most of the impressions weren’t human. Perhaps there were creatures living in the planet’s vegetative ring that were vaguely sentient. This puzzled him, so he probed deeper. He sensed a small area on the planet where a concentration of human emotion was located, though he failed to read any thought patterns—which was strange in itself, since most of the time when he reached out with his mind he was forced to erect a mental barrier to block the ever-present waves of human thought. This time, however, he was unable to sense any human thought patterns. Then, for a fleeting moment, he registered thought patterns far to the east in the planet’s dark, icy landscape. But nothing could live out there. Bram immediately dismissed it as nothing more than a psychic mirage.
He probed westward.
There were definitely humans on the planet. However … there was something else, something alien … a thing of vast intelligence. But what? Whatever it was felt cold, merciless, though not necessarily malevolent. He had to know more.
Bram probed deeper.
Suddenly, he received a forceful psychic pushback. A barrage of images flooded his mind, too many to fully grasp. He was losing himself. Terror gripped his soul. He had to break free. He had to save himself. A soft, fearful gasp escaped his throat.
Then darkness.
Had he passed out? His eyes fluttered open.
“Bram! Bram! What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
He recognized the admiral’s voice. She sounded afraid.
“Computer, get Dr. Singh up here at—”
“I’m … I’m fine, Admiral,” Bram grunted, shaking his head.
“What happened to you, Waters?” she asked, half out of her seat. The tense set of her square jaw told him that she was gravely concerned for his welfare. “Did you pass out?”
He nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m okay … now.” He wasn’t lying. Whatever it was that rejected his psychic probe had not tried to injure him, though his mind did feel sluggish, as though laced with psychic cobwebs.
“Obviously something happened,” she pressed. “What did you sense?”
“Admiral, there are humans living on the planet, but their minds are somehow being shielded. Perhaps it’s atmospheric or geological interference, or caused by the material they constructed their city with. I can’t be sure. But, that wasn’t what caused me to pass out. Located in the central vegetative ring is a powerful alien intelligence.”
“What?!” the concern on her face doubled.
“That’s right,” Bram said, the last of his mental cobwebs falling away. “I think that one of the landing party’s goals should be to investigate this mystery … that is, if the inhabitants of New Terra can’t answer it for us. And if they can’t, I’d like to be a member of the exploratory mission that searches for the alien intelligence.” Bram began to chew on his lower lip. “Also, I believe Dr. Chavez would be the perfect person to lead that mission.”
The admiral was staring at him intently, though she’d begun to thoughtfully nod. “Thank you, Bram. I’ll give your suggestion serious consideration.”
12
Mona lay on her cot in the brig, reading a classic horror novel from the previous century. The military-issued e-reader she’d been provided was serviceable, but she would’ve preferred using her own. Unfortunately, she’d stored the device in her cryo-chamber, which meant that security had confiscated it along with her PID.
She was thoroughly engrossed in the section of the novel where the main character is doused in pig’s blood, when her cell door unexpectedly slid open. Mona jumped in fright but quickly recovered, turning off the e-reader as Solomon entered the cell.
“Hello, Mona.”
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Hello, Solomon.”
“Good book?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “You know me, always been a sucker for a good scare.”
Solomon screwed up his face. “Yes, well, I just thought you should know that the landing party will be assembling in fifteen minutes. You won’t be a member, but the admiral wants you provided with progress reports. She’s as upset as I am over your stunt to board this ship, but that doesn’t mean she thinks your considerable talents should be squandered. We will make use of them, but you’re not off the hook: you’ll be held in the brig until the colonists are awakened. After that, you’ll be court-martialed and probably sentenced to hard labor—that is, if I have any say in the matter.”
Mona looked exasperated. “But that’s a complete waste of my intelligence, Solomon,” she snapped. “I should be a member of the landing party, not sitting in the brig. Come on! You can’t be so mad that you refuse to see the advantage my talents bring to bear. I mean, without me this ship wouldn’t even be here to send out a landing party.”
“The decision is not mine to make,” Solomon sighed. “The admiral’s in charge of the ship and the mission. You’re a stowaway, Mona, and you must face the consequences of your actions. I’m sorry.”
Mona snatched up her e-reader and lay back on her cot. “Fine, There’s a vampire novel or three I haven’t read yet. Call me when you need your ass hauled out of the fire, old friend. I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”
With a grunt of frustration, Solomon turned on his heel and stormed from the cell. As Mona watched the door slide shut, she snorted with derision. If Solomon knew that she was no more trapped in her cell than a lion in its den, he wouldn’t have looked down at her with such arrogant conceit. Reactivating the e-reader, she returned to the novel, feeling confident in the knowledge that the brig was no
t truly her prison.
•
After a smooth descent, the shuttle landed at the provided coordinates. The landing party, which consisted of Admiral Axelrod, Commander Allison, Lt. Commander Albans, Dr. Singh, Dr. Solomon Chavez, Bram Waters, Lt. Sullivant, Lt. Muldoon, Ensign Fletcher, and three security officers, donned their breathing masks. The masks were designed to slowly adjust their levels of oxygen and trace gasses until each person became acclimated to the planet’s atmosphere. They would also serve as filters until such time as the shuttle’s automated medical analyzer developed the necessary vaccines to counteract the pathogens in the water and atmosphere. It wouldn’t do to end up like the doomed aliens from H. G. Wells’ novel, The War of the Worlds.
The shuttle powered down two hundred yards from New Terra, in the middle of a grassy plain that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. Both the icy plateau and the distant forest encircling the planet were too far away to see. The color of the sky was pinkish-orange to the west, faded to sapphire-blue directly overhead before turning back the farther east it stretched. There was an almost magical quality about the light, making the softly-glowing colony appear to exist in a realm one shade brighter than perpetual twilight.
Before departing the Arrow, Richard had studied the planet from his view-screen, noting that the overall terrain appeared rugged to the point of formidable. Here on the ground, however, it looked idyllic. Perhaps living here wouldn’t be as bad as he initially suspected.
The colony was five miles in diameter, perfectly circular and surrounded by a smooth-as-glass, twenty-foot-tall wall, with what appeared to be a water-filled moat at its base. Richard could see buildings rising above the wall—some spires, others domed—while still others looked like normal office buildings … except for one thing: their fascia was constructed using tan bricks. The colony’s entrance, however, appeared to be fabricated from a dark, purple wood. There was a medieval quality about the colony that bothered him—though he knew it shouldn’t; the lack of geologic upheaval precluded them from mining for metallic ore and hard stone. He supposed they’d been forced to settle for using whatever material was available. He wouldn’t be surprised if most of their furnishings, and quite possibly their appliances and utensils as well, were fashioned out of wood from the distant forest.
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