Noumenon

by Marina J. Lostetter

  “Be the stories sound or not—and I agree, whatever those people saw most likely was something native, not extraterrestrial—there is a clear, repeated pattern. No matter what they observed, their actions are well documented. They did not fire upon what they identified as foreign vessels, and they had the full capacity to do so. What are we if not UFOs?”

  Captain Rodriguez made a timetable, as Nika had suggested. He gave Earth thirty days to respond.

  Today was day twenty-seven.

  The pungent stench of burnt coffee and cinnamon floated through the situation room, reinforced every time someone opened their mouth. A party of eight, including Rodriguez and Nika, curled around one end of the marble long table.

  Aerial shots of Earth, uploaded to ‘flex-sheets, were scattered across the stone surface.

  “We should be clear weather-wise to land a shuttle anyplace in the Southern Hemisphere come the deadline,” said Dr. Mohamed, a planetologist. “So Antarctica is a go.”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t land on the moon?” asked Matheson. “Wouldn’t that be less threatening?”

  “No,” said Nika. “We don’t know what the political situation is. History tells us that colonies always fight for independence, and their relationship with the parent entity is always strenuous after. Especially if the colony cannot economically match the parent.”

  “Then how is Antarctica any better?”

  “Because it’s historically neutral ground, and I.C.C.’s surface scans indicate the population there is small—inconsequential, by most standards.”

  “After two thousand years there’s still nothing but scientists scraping out a living down there?” Matheson scratched his chin, emphasizing his skeptical scowl.

  Nika shrugged. “The scans show what the scans show.”

  “I still don’t like it,” said Matheson, crossing his arms and wandering away. “Its low population might actually work against us. Negligible populations make for negligible losses. I can’t protect the away team if they send nuclear missiles or future-tech our way.”

  “You can’t protect the crew if they bring projectile weapons,” she said bluntly. “We are at their mercy. I’m telling you, there’s almost no way they can misconstrue our landing a shuttle in Antarctica. No matter the political situation.”

  “You sure do like you qualifiers,” he shot back. “Almost, probably, most likely. Your reassurances will mean little when we’re forming triage units and trying to save crew members from radiation burns.”

  “If they want to shoot nukes at us, there won’t be anyone or anything left. But that’s why we’re only going down with a small party. A dozen individuals can hardly constitute an invasion force. I can’t see them taking large-scale action.”

  “You can’t see it? Oh, that’s reassuring.”

  Having someone see her flaws, question her abilities, actually made her feel better. It was okay to be fallible. When Matheson took issue with her recommendations, her imposter syndrome ebbed ever so slightly. The head of Security didn’t know it, but he was the only thing keeping her from trying to escape to that dark media room on Shambhala.

  She rewarded him with a roll of her eyes.

  “Here—this area of the southernmost continent,” she said, pointing to a ‘flex-sheet. “It’s flat enough for a safe landing, and surveys show it shouldn’t be an ice shelf. And we’ll be close to what looks like a scientific outpost. We can make direct contact if our communications systems continue to fail.”

  “Okay.” Rodriguez let out a large sigh, personally coming to terms with the decision. “Relay these coordinates to navigation and I.C.C.” He handed a sheet to his second. “Looks like we’re trying the door. Let’s hope the residents are friendly.”

  The landing had been remarkably subtle. If Nika hadn’t known they’d touched down, she would have attributed the small rumble and jolt to a direction change. Nika, Matheson, and an away team of three scientists and six security officers sat at the ready, staring down the closed shuttle doors as though their collective gazes could bore a hole right through.

  Over their noses and mouths each team member wore a thin membrane of slimy jelly, meant to protect them from harmful particles and microscopic life. They’d considered going out in full space suits, hoping the contained respiratory units would protect them from illnesses or atmospheric changes, but Nika had put the nix on that. The point was to communicate face-to-face. That couldn’t be done if they were encapsulated.

  “I just hope they don’t take this the wrong way,” Nika had said back on Hippocrates, holding up a thin, jiggling disk of the medical material. “The good doctor here looks like he’s having the worst runny nose ever.” She slapped the membrane on the counter in the med-lab. It stuck fast, wobbling through the aftershocks.

  “Or like he’s encountered a jellied alien who now controls him through his soft parts,” mumbled Matheson.

  The doctor Nika had indicated was modeling the invention for the away party. “You wanna kill the crew with a forty-second-century plague?” His voice came through clearly, though it had a faraway quality, like he was speaking from down the hall and around the corner.

  “We’ll wear it,” she assured him.

  Now here they were, keeping their promise. Hopefully the earthlings didn’t take one look at their snot-like masks and march them all into quarantine.

  The thing smelled like rubber. Luckily, though, it didn’t restrict her breathing any more than a stuffy nose.

  Besides the membranes, they each had on multiple layers of the warmest emergency clothing available. Nika had never experienced an environmental malfunction, and so had never had cause to wear anything heavier than her work jumpsuit. The idea that they were about to step out into a below-freezing setting was incomprehensible. How could people live without climate control? She’d laughed silently at the notion while getting dressed, realizing she thought it barbaric.

  Need to clear my head of such presumptive thoughts.

  The extrawarm layers included hoods, cowls, and scarves—they kept their delicate facial features protected, while also hiding the membranes. The scratchy fabric of the gloves pricked at her palms, giving her a constant itch.

  Nika’s circulatory system was in overdrive, and—as though to compensate for her heart’s overeagerness—her lungs were underperforming. She hoped she wouldn’t pass out before they’d even left the shuttle.

  The landing had occurred two hours ago. If there was no surface response after another three, they would venture out into the cold anyway. In the meantime, they had to endure a dangerous mix of anticipation and abject boredom.

  Silence reigned supreme over all incoming channels.

  “We have a visual!” came the excited voice of the pilot from the cockpit. “Figures! We have six humanoid figures on an intercept trajectory. On foot—they’re on foot. They’ve just come into our spotlights.”

  Nika and the others gathered around the portholes, but the figures weren’t within their line of sight. Outside, night lay heavy over the frosted land. A near-perpetual night, due to the southern hemisphere’s winter.

  The team didn’t cheer or shuffle excitedly at the news—if anything, they all stiffened. They were used to nonresponsiveness at this point. This shift in the paradigm made their task that much more real.

  Contact was imminent.

  Nika repeated her short introductory monologue over and over in her head. Each word had been carefully chosen—some for their factuality, some for their neutrality, and some for their implications of vulnerability. The convoy had to be perceived as a fount of cosmological data—nothing more, nothing less.

  A swift glance told her Matheson was aching for his weapon. It usually hung at his side, but had been left behind on purpose. Weapons always incited violence, she’d insisted. She was sure her recommendation had incited some sort of mental violence, if Matheson’s expression—rather murderous at the time—was anything to go by.

  Tough, she thought. He and h
is division would just have to rely on their hand-to-hand skills.

  Or trust that I know what I’m talking about.

  If only I could trust myself.

  “All right. I’m opening the doors. Good luck,” said the pilot with a hint of reverence. She would stay with the shuttle while the rest of the team awayed.

  Matheson’s hand momentarily went to his headset. He would be in constant contact with the bridge during the mission. “Captain Rodriguez wishes us good luck as well.”

  He’d wanted to accompany them, but everyone knew what had happened the last time a captain had escorted an away team—generations ago, at the Web.

  That brought Reggie momentarily to Nika’s mind. Him in his white jumpsuit, swabbing the deck and whistling a happy tune. His smile was the last thing she thought of before the shuttle doors swung themselves open and the humans of yesterday found themselves staring out at the humans of tomorrow.

  Six identical, armored figures formed a firm, militant line just within the light radiating from the shuttle. Their height, build, and posture all matched. If they’d been separated, Nika couldn’t have distinguished one from the other.

  Black glossy material—metal or plastic, she couldn’t tell—covered them from head to toe. Their helmets’ face plates were completely dark, hiding every aspect of the forms within.

  Their chests were flat, but their builds were slight, giving them an air of androgyny.

  Clearing her throat, Nika stepped to the edge of the entryway, with her arms held out, palms flat and vertical.

  This was it: her shining moment. If ever there was an instant where a single mistake could change history, it was now.

  She felt lightheaded.

  “Ni hao, namaste, marhaba, bonjour, and hello,” she began. “We are Convoy Seven from the Planet United Missions, launched September 26, 2125 CE. Our mission, Noumenon, was to visit and study variable star LQ Pyxidis. We have returned with our findings and wish to share them with Earth’s cosmologists. We wait patiently for instruction.”

  The others in the away team stayed behind her and stood stone-still. They were to follow her lead, and make no sudden movements or sounds. If someone needed to sneeze, they’d better hold it.

  A dark sheen at the rightmost end of the earthlings’ line indicated subtle movement—he, she, or they had cocked their head to one side. In response, Nika repeated her message, directing herself at the individual.

  The figure stepped forward, mimicking her stance.

  A long moment passed in silence.

  Maybe they can’t hear through their armor, Nika thought. Slowly, cautiously so that her gestures could not be misinterpreted, she removed a glove, waved, saluted, then signed H-E-L-L-O.

  All of the earthlings did the same. Finally, a response.

  A grin—which felt stiff under the mask and scarf—broke out across her lips. Her cheeks felt warm and rosy, rather than wind-burnt, all of a sudden. Her hands shook as she indicated that though she could sign, she was a hearing person. Perhaps that would incite them to remove their helmets.

  They repeated the signs back to her, and made no indications of their own.

  She turned slightly, giving Matheson a brief nod. Little shifts in his scarf were the only sign that he was speaking into his headset.

  Nika wished she had a headset. Rodriguez’s voice in her head would be reassuring. But she didn’t want any distractions from her task. Besides, responding to the Captain’s voice could cause problems.

  She repeated her signs to the Earth group. They mimicked her once more.

  What in the Convoy is going on? Why won’t they just speak to us?

  After another minute of stillness, in which Nika wracked her brain for a new approach, the armored figure on the end turned and jogged off into the night.

  Nika nearly lunged after, but reined herself in. Another heartbeat and the rest of the earthlings left as well.

  “What do we do?” asked Matheson quietly.

  “Follow them,” she said with conviction, leaping down the shuttle ladder.

  Nika had taken no more than ten steps out from under the awning of the doors when her head began to whirl. Vertigo overtook her midstride. Everything was so vast, so open. She felt as though she’d slide off the edge of the icy plane and into the stars.

  The bright Milky Way stretched like a jewel-studded garter over the smooth landscape. Mountains, far off, kilometers away, formed a low horizon. Nika had never experienced so much sheer space before. Out here, with no ceilings and no walls, she could tumble into eternity.

  The stars above spun, and she lost her balance. She and a member of the security detail hit the frozen ground simultaneously, followed by a third thud. The others rushed to their aid.

  “Take deep breaths.” One of the scientists—Dr. Johar—leaned over her. “Close your eyes until the dizziness subsides.”

  Retching sounds came from feet away. Someone else was puking.

  “You’ll all be all right in a few minutes,” insisted Dr. Johar. “Three out of eleven,” he said to Nika. “Not bad.”

  “Don’t lose them,” Nika croaked.

  “We have to get Dr. Ojukwu back inside,” yelled Matheson. “She pulled off her mask when she— We need to quarantine her.”

  Dr. Johar waved the suggestion aside. “The chances of infectious transmission in this environment, this far away from—”

  “Orders are orders—you breathe the air without a mask, you go to Hippocrates and get the full monty, all right?” Matheson walked by with a person cradled in his arms. A faint whiff of vomit assaulted Nika’s nose.

  She grabbed the front of Johar’s coat as the crunch, crunch, crunch of Matheson’s boots on ice turned into the clank, clank, clank of the ladder and the stomp, stomp of them hitting the shuttle floor. Her wooziness was wearing off. “Don’t lose them.”

  “They’ve stopped, just up ahead,” he told her. “I think they sense our distress.” He helped her to her feet. “Slowly, slow. Steady. Too much open space for you?”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “Me, too,” he confessed. “The key is steady breaths. And keep your eyes on a stable point in the distance. If it gets to be too much for you again, shut your eyes and reach for me. A physical anchor should keep you from spinning out of control.”

  “Thank you.” She leaned against him slightly. “Dr. Ojukwu—?”

  “The shuttle pilot will have to take her to Hippocrates.”

  Nika’s eyes found the earthlings. They’d formed a line again, facing the distraught group of convoy members.

  “They’re not going anywhere,” Dr. Johar said. “Would you?”

  He was right—as the minutes passed, the line did not falter. In the interim, while Matheson looked after Ojukwu and instructed the pilot, Nika studied the earthlings, wondering if their suits were airtight, and if so, where did they keep their rebreathers? The armor sat close to their bodies, so close it might have looked like a second skin if not for its hard, shell-like qualities. And the helmets must have been uncomfortable—pressing ears back and hair down. They each must have had petite noses to go along with their slight frames . . .

  “Wait,” she whispered, taking a few perfunctory steps forward. The armor would have to cut into their joints as they moved. And it would take decades of conditioning to get someone to stand that still for that long.

  Nika whirled on Dr. Johar. “I don’t think they’re human.”

  When Matheson returned and the shuttle took off, the six figures began their trek again, unperturbed that their followers were now ten instead of eleven. Nika shared her suspicions with the security chief immediately.

  “What then? Androids?” His hand flicked momentarily to his side. His fingers brushed soft fabric instead of a hard-shafted weapon.

  “I don’t know, maybe.” Her guard was up as well.

  “That still doesn’t explain why they won’t talk to us. Even if they don’t understand us . . . wouldn’t you say something?�
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  “Maybe the robots can’t talk.”

  “Then why send them?”

  “As scouts?” They trotted along at a quick clip, trying to stay close (but not too close) to their leaders. “Tell the Captain, all right? Ask him if he had I.C.C. scan them, by any chance. It may be able to confirm or deny.”

  He did. “They are,” he said blankly. “Not human, at least. They have organic components, but they’re mostly artificial.”

  “Unbelievable,” she breathed. They kept after the figures, maintaining a respectable distance while trying not to fall behind.

  The faint silhouette of a building resolved in their line of sight. Small—not much bigger than a shuttle—it sat in the foreground, while a few twinkling lights indicated more buildings beyond. This cluster of structures they’d previously identified as a scientific outpost. Now they’d see if that label proved accurate.

  The androids made a beeline for the silhouette.

  “What’s in there, you think?” asked Matheson.

  “The people who control them? Or their charging units?” she ventured.

  “You don’t think they run on mini nuclear reactors or something?”

  Nika shrugged.

  Up close the building appeared to be little more than a shed. Five of the androids entered, while one stood by outside. A bright light came from within.

  Matheson signaled for his men to do a quick case of the area. He personally checked the inside of the building.

  “It’s an elevator,” he told the group, reemerging. “Nowhere to go but down.”

  The rest of the security officers came back with little intel. “Nobody around, all quiet,” one reported.

  “Do we take the lift?” asked Johar.

  Nika strode forward, brushing past Matheson. “Absolutely. Come on.”

  “Wait, just wait,” said Matheson, cutting the air with a harsh hand gesture. “We don’t know how far that goes or what kind of a system we’re plunging into. We might lose contact with the convoy.”

  “What if they want us to lose contact—what if it’ll set them at ease? Our best defense is not a good offense; it’s our opponent’s own sense of security.” Which was why she’d backed Matheson’s no-retrieval policy when he’d proposed it. If something horrible happened to the away team, Captain Rodriguez wouldn’t attempt a rescue. They were on their own.