Shroud of Eden (Panhelion Chronicles Book 1)

by Marlin Desault

  The lieutenant’s face turned red. “Oh... in the excitement I forgot.”

  Scott smiled, pleased to see the contact procedure already open on the screen. A moment of angst flooded his thoughts. The procedure was mandatory for any signal that didn’t contain the Panhelion reciprocal identification code.

  “Klaas is right,” he said. “No reply until we’ve positively identified the source. Unless, that is, you’re of a mood to toss away your career and maybe your life as well.”

  The protocol had been firmly planted in Scott’s mind though repetitious drill, as with every officer in the Panhelion space forces.

  In the infancy of the Panhelion, New SETI reported a message from outside the solar system. An investigation found the message was from an Earth based signal reflected off a meteor plasma trail. In the fiasco that followed, the Panhelion Senate formed a committee of the brightest civilian and military minds to produce a protocol capable of determining if a contact was human or alien.

  Every spaceship in the Panhelion carried the protocol. The Manual of Arms required the use of the protocol for signals received from unknown sources, and further prescribed punishments up to and including death for failure to use the test.

  Pegasus’ captain stepped in front of Klaas and motioned Marie to join him. “Bring up the protocol on both your screens. You and Marie will go through each item. Marie, verify every line as Klaas completes it. When you’re finished, both of you sign it and make sure it’s placed in the ship’s log. Follow the procedure exactly.”

  The deck became a hive of activity as Klaas and Marie pored over the monitor, initialing each section of the document. Klaas read out the steps, and Marie repeated them along with the result of each decision as it branched to the next sequence.

  Anton leaped to his feet, his eyes wide. “I found it, Skipper! The signal matches a code used centuries ago on Earth. It took the computers a few femtoseconds to search the records and disassemble the text. I put the message on your screen.”

  Please identify yourself on 640 nanometers.

  Scott abruptly sat up. “I’ll be damned. Unless this is an alien trap, the Themis did make it and someone survived.”

  “I’m searching for a suitable response format,” Anton called out. “It must be somewhere in the archived codes and procedures.”

  Scott looked over Anton’s shoulder as the young officer scrambled to find the correct response format in the digital dust of archived codes and communications procedures from centuries past.

  “I’ve found the code. How shall we reply?” Flustered from his previous gaff, Anton glanced down at his console.

  “No reply,” Scott answered gruffly. “Not until we’ve finished running the protocol. Search the computer memory for every scrap of information you can find about Themis. Compile a report and put it in my personal memory space. I’ll review it later.”

  Klaas and Marie hunched over the glowing screen, challenging and countering as they progressed.

  Scott watched and waited. “Carry the protocol out exactly. If nothing else, it’ll be a good exercise. I don’t want Command saying we didn’t do everything by the book.”

  Klaas put down his laser pen. “Skipper, we’ve reached the section of the protocol that requires the Enhanced Turing Interrogator.”

  Every officer in the Panhelion space fleet was intimately familiar with the Enhanced Turing Interrogator. The best logicians in the Panhelion had devoted years designing the test. They used the interrogator to determine whether a signal originated from human intelligence.

  The idea wasn’t new. The first Turing Test, six centuries earlier, intended to determine whether a human was speaking to a machine or another human. Over centuries, the interrogator, born out of fear of aliens imitating a human signal, evolved into a sophisticated screening device for use by every ship in Panhelion service.

  Anton lifted his hand. “Skipper, I have another coherent light signal from the planet surface. This one has video as well.”

  Scott stared at the junior officer and worked his lower lip between his teeth. He pressed the icon to route the comm screen image over to the main screen, and the round face of a thick, slightly balding man appeared.

  “I am Cadfye Linghtaz, Chancellor of the council of Niobe. I greet you.” After a pause, the message repeated.

  Scott’s shoulders dropped. “It’s a recording.” The image turned blank for several seconds. “Did we loose signal?”

  The lines of ones and zeros on Anton’s monitor reappeared. “Yes, Captain, for a moment, but it’s back now.”

  A slightly different image of the chancellor replaced the blank screen. “Captain, I apologize. I required a moment to change from recorded to live feed—” The sound faded and static filled the screen.

  Anton glanced up. “The signal is passing out of our range. Our current orbital path takes us away from the source.”

  “Klaas, interrupt your checks for a moment.” Scott shifted his view from the main screen to the nav display. “Put us into the nearest geostationary orbit over the transmitter of that signal. Then resume the contact procedure.”

  Klaas pulsed the engines and re-vectored Pegasus farther from the planet, until the corvette held position over the source of the signal. The image returned stong and clear.

  Scott raked his hand through his hair. “Anton, can you give me a more precise location for the source of the signal?”

  “There are three land masses. The signal emanates from the equatorial zone, near the shore of the land mass that stretches from the—”

  “Skipper,” Klaas interrupted. “The Turing Interrogator requires a series of questions be sent to the suspected intelligence. Request permission to contact the sender.”

  “Go ahead with the Interrogator.” Scott followed along as Klaas sent question after question to the surface of the planet.

  “Are you descended from humans who traveled on the star ship Themis?”

  The answer appeared. “Yes, we are the sixth generation. Our ancestors left Earth on the Themis.”

  “May we ask you a few questions to verify your answer?”

  “Of course.”

  The questions continued for another forty minutes.

  Klaas turned from the screen and approached Scott. “Captain, we’ve completed the Interrogator. The results confirm the source is one Cadfye Linghtaz, and he is a human. The computer also confirms that he is not operating under duress. The protocol contains one last part. The final section of the contact protocol requires an explorer drone be launched.”

  “Is it mandatory for human contact?” Scott was aware that outside the solar system, the protocol had different sections for contacts presumed to be humans and contacts presumed to be aliens.

  “Local commander’s option if the Turing Interrogator declares the contact is human.”

  He considered the question. “Enter a note in the log: ETI confirms we are in human contact, and include my decision to dispense with the drone.”

  Klaas returned to his station. “Skipper, Marie and I have signed the completed procedure. The result of the protocol places no restrictions on contact with the inhabitants on the planet. Log entries are complete as well.”

  He had complied with procedure, but the decision to hold back the drone nagged at him. It was optional, but Admiral Camus might use any hint of noncompliance against him. With his own signature now on the document, he stored it in a secure file in the ship’s log.

  “Anton, reply to Chancellor Linghtaz with the following message.” He tapped on his data entry panel. “Begin with this statement:

  “Chancellor Linghtaz, we are the reconnaissance ship Pegasus, Captain Scott Drumond commanding, dispatched to discover and report on the fate of the starship Themis. We wish to dispatch our shuttle to the surface of your planet. Can you suggest a suitable landing space?”

  The response arrived seconds later with live video and audio of the Chancellor. “Of course you may land. Inform your navigation offic
er, we will activate an approach beacon on 670 nanometers to guide you. You will find both the people and the environment of Niobe hospitable.”

  “Klaas, prepare the shuttle for descent to the surface.” Scott outlined his plan. “You and I and Anton will make the descent. Marie will remain on the ship.”

  Marie frowned and fumed. “Captain, I must question your decision. My position as Science Officer entitles me to participate in the first landing, and don’t give me any sexist arguments about the danger.”

  “You’ll have your chance. For now, you will remain aboard Pegasus and stand by to receive our messages from the surface.”

  He gathered Klaas and Anton close. “We have to comply with one final step on the checklist. Meet me at the armory to receive your sidearms.”

  For all the progress in technology, chemically-powered, kinetic sidearms still packed the most destructive force in the smallest space. Small enough to fit in unobtrusive holsters, they fired guided munitions and used pattern recognition for deadly accuracy. They could program the munitions to either kill or cause disabling injuries.

  In his cabin, he opened his private locker and took his sidearm and the key code to the armory. After a quick check, he holstered the palm-sized weapon.

  The shuttle could carry four people. Anton and Klaas loaded measuring and communications equipment on board, along with supplies sufficient to sustain the three travelers for several weeks.

  The three harnessed in and the shuttle disengaged from the ship. The craft skipped several times through the upper reaches of the Niobian atmosphere on a programmed trajectory.

  “That last skip,” Klaas said, “reduced our velocity to atmospheric entry speed. We’ve dumped enough kinetic energy to proceed aerodynamically, and the nav controller has solid lock on the Niobian beacon.” With a light touch, he maneuvered the vector control, and the craft swung through a series of S-shaped turns as it dropped to ever-lower altitudes.

  Like a tree branch in a strong gust, atmospheric friction buffeted the little vehicle. Outside, the surface changed to a dull red as potential energy converted to kinetic and kinetic converted to heat. A few seconds later, the quivering ceased, and the descent smoothed.

  With the gentle rush of air flowing around the fuselage, Klaas extended the delta wing and canard. They entered the planet’s troposphere on their way to the surface. He disengaged the reaction drive and applied the thrust lever engaging the craft’s ingestion engines.

  “Iono-magnetic propulsion speed,” he announced.

  A hum filled the shuttle’s cabin as the motors sucked in air molecules, stripped them apart, and force ions out the vectored nozzles at hypersonic velocity.

  Scott followed their progress on the navigation screen.

  With deft moves of his hand, Klaas steered the shuttle on course, keeping an illuminated crosshair centered over a brightening red triangle, which blinked faster as the shuttle entered a lazy spiral on its is way to the beacon.

  Shuttle to Niobe

  ~~~

  The heat shield slid back, flooding the shuttle cabin with light from the rising Niobian sun. Scott blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and pulled his harness tighter as deceleration pressed the straps against his chest.

  Despite the amicable discussions with Linghtaz, caution dictated he consider worst case scenarios. The ancestors of the Niobians had, after all, departed Earth during the nuclear wars. These expatriates might well harbor deep-seated distrust for the brethren they left behind. After centuries of isolation, they might be xenophobes, hostile to their distant cousins from Earth. He and his crew might have to battle their way back to the ship. His weapon provided a small measure of comfort.

  From orbit, he had viewed a C-shaped continent partially obscured by a large swath of billowing clouds. Now at a lower altitude, he marveled at the dark green landscape surrounded by an indigo ocean. At two kilometers altitude, the auto-navigation system canted the shuttle hard to port, and a distant Niobian landscape drifted into view with spectacular snow-topped mountains on the far horizon.

  The shuttle dropped lower, and a different view angled across the port. White cliffs outlined a jagged escarpment over which countless small waterfalls cascaded to a verdant, subtropical forest.

  An instinctive appreciation swept over Scott.

  The final approach brought them over a lapis ocean whose waters sparkled with diamond-like reflections. The hue of the water changed to turquoise near the shore, and then to white as the waves surged onto the beaches.

  Locked onto the beacon, the navigation system steered the shuttle through cloud banks and into clear skies.

  Klaas tapped the view port with his finger. “We land a hundred meters from shore on that green flat of land this side of the trees.”

  He re-vectored the thrust, and the shuttle descended feather soft on its landing pads.

  Scott stepped out the open airlock. The Chancellor had reported that the progeny of the émigrés from Earth had lived on Niobe for two centuries without serious illness, which allayed Scott’s fears of disease.

  Klaas and Anton followed him into the moist, temperate air as he took his first step onto Niobe firma with growing curiosity. A ridiculous scene in his mind of music and speeches morphed into a mental image of flying bullets. In reality, only the whisper of wind and the sound of gentle, breaking waves echoing across the meadow greeted them.

  Marie’s observations reported tropical weather on the surface, and they had opted for tan jumpsuits of light synthetic. The shuttle rested in a field of low ferns interspersed with plants whose leaves looked like starfish on the end of long stalks.

  After a quick scan of their surroundings, he ordered a perimeter defense. “Klaas, you take a position near the bow. Anton, keep watch from the stern.” He scanned the tree line with the farviewer.

  “God, I had forgotten the joy of a breath of fresh air in open spaces,” Klaas shouted. “After all those months aboard ship, this is pure pleasure. I can understand Marie’s irritation at being left behind.” He took a few steps toward the forest, then back to the shoreline. “What, no deputation? Where’s our reception committee?”

  Scott scanned a complete circle. A mild breeze drifted in across the sea with the briny odor of salt air and seaweed. “You expected a military band and music?” He chuckled.

  “Captain.” Klaas’s demeanor changed abruptly as he whirled to face Scott. “I don’t like the look of this place. It’s closed on all sides—water on one side, and a heavy verdure circling the rest. We can’t see beyond the tree line. We’ve landed in a damn poor defensive position.”

  “I’ve no intention of leaving the shuttle here for long. If the Niobians prove hospitable, Anton and I will stay, and you’ll fly back to the ship. We’ll keep the portable interceiver and let you know when to pick us up.”

  Scott renewed his scan of the terrain around the landing field and studied the stout woody tree trunks crowned by upward reaching branches laced with green, feathery leaves. “These trees look like a form of palm with a peculiar cone in the top. I’ve seen them in renditions of trees and shrubs from ancient Earth.”

  Klaas stroked his forehead. “Marie could tell us.”

  “Not likely. She’s an astrophysicist,” Anton answered with a grin. “These trees resemble cycads.”

  “What are you?” Klaas said with a sneer. “Some kind of botanist?”

  The junior officer brought his head around with a sheepish grin. “I took some courses in Earth science.”

  Scott nodded with interest. “This isn’t Earth, but your knowledge may come in handy.”

  “I doubt that, but we’ll soon know.” Klaas reached for the holster tucked under the flap of his tunic. “That’s either a welcome delegation or a headhunting party over there. Let’s see if Anton’s knowledge of Earth science can keep us out of a firefight.”

  Scott and Anton wheeled about.

  Two figures in open-collared silver tunics and light gray trousers stood at th
e edge of the tree line. A third stepped out of a gleaming, oval-shaped machine that rested a few centimeters off the ground. Flat on the bottom, it had an overall ellipsoidal form with side openings.

  “Leave your sidearms holstered,” Scott ordered. “We don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. They don’t appear to be armed.”

  With his pulse pounding, he assumed his best military posture and approached the three now standing slightly apart in a clear area at the edge of the meadow. He recognized Chancellor Linghtaz, who stood taller than he had in the ship’s display. Flaccid skin hung around his face and neck in beefy layers. Less than imposing in-person, he wasn’t what Scott pictured as a person of authority.

  “Your weapons aren’t necessary,” Linghtaz insisted in a gravely bass voice. “You’re quite safe here.”

  Scott set his shoulders back and, with the most sincere smile he could muster, walked the few meters to the Niobians. “We understand your intentions are peaceful, but our regulations require us to carry defensive weapons.”

  In his best show of friendly demeanor, he extended his open palm toward the Niobians. “We graciously accept your hospitality and expressions of good will.” He motioned toward his crew. “I present Commander Van der Meer and Lieutenant Vogelein.”

  The chancellor gave a shallow bow. “Welcome to Niobe. I present to you Thane Orujov and Thane Gotow. Please understand we do not indulge in extended formality and mean no disrespect, but what you see here is the extent of our prepared welcome. You’ve traveled a great distance to visit us, and we offer you what measure of hospitality we can. Not to be presumptuous, but we have arranged accommodations for you at the Refectory.”

  Scott arched his brows at the chancellor’s comment. “Commander Van der Meer will not stay with us. He must return to our ship.”

  “A pity. Perhaps another time,” Linghtaz said with a half-hearted shrug.

  Klaas entered the shuttle. Within a few seconds, the blast of the engine pressed the grasses flat as the craft lifted into the air and disappeared behind the trees.