Orb

by Gary Tarulli

  “Have you ever stopped and considered,” Thompson said, “that often the direction of a person’s life can also be traced to one defining moment, one event, one action … perhaps one solitary word? How often do we have the luxury—or burden—of knowing when that moment is at hand? And if we are granted that awareness, and we make a choice, and somebody is made to suffer the consequence—”

  “When you were faced with such a moment,” I said, “at least you had the courage and conviction to act. Recently, I had neither.”

  “I guess you mean Kelly?” Thompson said.

  I had not believed my words, my emotions, to be so transparent. My response, a quick turn of the head, was sufficient for Thompson to look at me and say, “Your mistake, if you so choose, can yet be rectified. At best, I can only atone for mine.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself,” I said. “You know something else about history, and this includes personal history? It is very often rewritten. You made no mistake, then, with the San; you’ll make no mistake, now, with Larry.”

  We watched as Angie, tugging Kelly, approached to greet us; trailing behind them were Paul and Diana. His attention drawn, Thompson’s demeanor changed to one of concern. When they were still out of earshot, with determination and resignation, he said, “Today, our colleague, Larry, will also make a personal choice. If it’s the wrong choice, he’ll be damned by it.”

  Thompson’s words had deliberately conveyed what he felt I needed to hear: He still had a tight grip on his moral compass. If the needle pointed to lethal force, he was going to follow where it led.

  “Anyone for breakfast?” Diana said in greeting, “May I recommend two eggs, lasered side up or, perhaps, an order of eggs Benedict Arnold?”

  “I’m glad to see you in fine fettle this morning, Diana,” Thompson replied. “Question is, will you be retaining your sense of humor by the end of the day?”

  “The end of the day? Ha!” Diana replied. “At the end of the day, I’m sure of only one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The sun will set.” She said it with a modicum of confidence, but still turned to Thompson for more assurance. “It will, won’t it? You seem to know about these things.”

  The distraction of their conversation afforded Kelly the opportunity to hug me and, while doing so, whisper “told them” in my ear. I was glad that was out of the way, that Diana and Paul, especially Paul, could put the choices that presently confronted Thompson in context with the past; that if Thompson decided to use lethal force, he would never make the decision lightly; that the last thing he needed at this moment was us judging him harshly. He was doing that quite adequately by himself.

  Upon returning to the enclave, Thompson said, “If there are any new ideas, I’ll hear them now.”

  “Are we again going to take the initiative?” I asked. “Approach Melhaus before being summoned?”

  “Yes,” Thompson responded. “Only this time Diana, Kelly, and Angie will remain behind. Paul, as requested, you get first crack at altering Larry’s thinking concerning the Orb. Take all the time you need. Kyle, barring … and you’ll appreciate this … a sea change in Melhaus’s behavior, you’ll present your proposal. I will inform Melhaus of the condition on which the proposal rests.”

  “What about us?” Diana asked. “Doing nothing isn’t what Kelly and I had in mind.”

  “I’m quite sure of that,” Thompson remarked, “but for now let’s keep Larry’s attention focused on the ideas presented to him. That said, why should he expect to have all of us at his beck and call?”

  Thompson, Paul, and I immediately headed out across Red Square. “Be safe, gentlemen,” Kelly called after us. We looked back to acknowledge the sentiment, and there she was, brave smile plastered on her face, holding up one of Angie’s paws, together waving a goodbye.

  “One in a million might have been conservative,” Thompson remarked.

  “No argument from me,” I replied.

  “Something I’m missing?” Paul asked.

  “The notes of a violin concerto,” I said. “Pure and simple.”

  “I see.”

  “Something I’m missing?” asked Thompson, but I caught him and Paul exchanging grins.

  “Seems you two have been talking,” I said.

  “What do you think, Paul?” Thompson asked, “Is that accurate?”

  “Hard to say. Could be that overactive imagination of his.”

  I considered how little was said, how almost nothing had been expressed overtly, yet how much amity was shared by us in those few short sentences. If only we were a fraction as proficient in establishing a connection with Melhaus. If only. Of the three of us, Paul had revived the most hope in reestablishing a dialogue; Thompson, the least—or, more accurately, none.

  Reaching the last position of safety from the laser, Thompson shouted out so as to alert Melhaus of our presence. Then a second, much louder shout. Finally the physicist, appearing tired and disheveled, alighted from Desio.

  “By the looks of you,” Thompson chided, “I should have been worried you’d forget the laser override. If you had accidentally blasted yourself, we’d all be royally screwed, wouldn’t we?”

  “Your concern for my welfare is quite touching,” Melhaus responded. “You’re early. What do you want? Where are the others?”

  “I’d like you to hear what Paul has to say about the Orb,” Thompson responded. “You’ll find it quite informative.”

  There was a tremendous amount of pressure on Paul to dissuade Melhaus from traveling down the path he was on. He had to convince the physicist to accept a radically different depiction of the Orb, and what logically followed: The danger in conducting a hostile act against an entity that literally spanned the entirety of the planet. Five members of the crew had embraced these ideas; Melhaus’s mind, however, was a fortress yet to be breached.

  Concentrating only on what he was about to say, and how, Paul absently began walking forward into the range of the laser. He was stopped by the strong grip of Thompson’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Sorry,” Paul muttered, retreating a step. “Careless of me.”

  “Be forewarned,” Melhaus said, ignoring the risk, “I find myself increasingly intolerant of the mundane. Bore me, I’ll use your climatology equipment as a test target. You see, overnight, I managed to double the laser’s output.”

  “Given the present circumstances,” Paul answered, “the destruction of my work is the least of my concerns. What I’m about to say won’t bore you. Whether you choose to believe what I say is quite another matter.”

  “Get on with it,” Melhaus said.

  “I shall begin by making an assertion, then work backward through the supporting evidence. The assertion, which stretches the imagination to the breaking point, is this: The entirety of this planet’s ocean, together with the millions of Orbs populating the surface, is one single, semi-homogeneous entity.” Paul paused to let the message sink in. “Shall I proceed?”

  Melhaus hesitated, then, in a voice laden with sarcasm, said, “By all means, I am intrigued. Yes, by all means, continue.”

  Ten minutes later I thought that Paul, as persuasive as I’ve ever heard him, or anybody for that matter, had gained entrance inside the fortress walls. My optimism was short-lived.

  “You both do yourselves credit, I dare say! You and Kyle,” Melhaus said through the condescending chuckle he was working to perfection. “Together you have collaborated to fabricate a most wonderful and inventive yarn! No, no, no, not boring at all! Especially diverting was the part where you so cleverly interwove aspects of my own findings into your storyline. Kyle, there is yet a glimmer of hope for your waning career.”

  “I’ll ask the bastard to write the foreword for my next novel,” I remarked to Thompson. The distance separating us from Melhaus, coupled with a lowered voice, prevented me from being overheard. I was getting far along in not caring, especially as I watched Paul, dejected, rejoin Thompson and me.

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nbsp; “He appeared attentive,” Paul lamented. “He’s fixated on seeing only the parts, not the whole.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Paul,” Thompson said.

  ”Yeah,” I added, “Diana … well, you know the rest.”

  “Still think your idea has a chance?” Thompson asked. Although highly skeptical, he was showing no inclination to impede me. Part of me wanted to abandon my idea outright and walk away, but there was something propelling me forward. We were traveling down every road not ending in the use of violence.

  “Is there anything left to lose?” Was all I had to say, realizing, full well, there was plenty.

  Thompson advanced toward Desio. “Larry,” he said, “since we are doing such a stellar job of entertaining you, perhaps you’ll indulge Kyle. He has a proposal for you to consider. I wouldn’t waste your time, or mine, if I didn’t believe the idea had merit.”

  “Here’s what—” I began.

  “Careful,” Melhaus interrupted. “Wander into your fantasyland and I will cut you off at the knees.”

  Sensing my struggle—I was desperately trying to convince myself that Melhaus’s statement was not meant literally—Thompson leaned in to me and remarked: “Care to stay behind me?”

  “Would it do any good?” I said. “The beam will carve us both clean through anyway.”

  “In that case, better not mess around. Brevity is key. Don’t want to bore the good doctor, or he may bore you.”

  I gave Thompson a “that was helpful look” and took a half step forward.

  “Here’s the deal, Larry,” I said. “I’ll wear whatever monitors you want. I’ll hold onto Angie. Assuming the Orb wish to repeat an encounter, you will not only have the instrument readings but also my firsthand account of the experience.”

  I retraced the half step and addressed Thompson. “Succinct enough?” I said.

  By offering to be fully monitored, I had caught Thompson unaware, but his pragmatism and the growing gravity of our situation (Melhaus looked like shit) prevented him from raising an objection. I had, of course, my own misgivings, but Paul’s failure to alter Melhaus’s view of the Orb (more accurately, Melhaus’s failure) prompted the overture. Besides, other than the problematical use of force, we were rapidly running out of viable options.

  As for Melhaus, he looked past me to give Thompson a menacing scowl.

  “And?” he demanded.

  Thompson confirmed Melhaus’s suspicion. “My conditions are reasonable. And they are nonnegotiable. Disarm the laser and relinquish control of the ship. Do so, and you have my word we shall implement Kyle’s proposition.” Then, almost as an afterthought, and enjoying the reaction it registered in me: “One more thing. I will expunge the record of any mention of wrong-doing for the demise of Ixodes. That only leaves reference to the incident in Kyle’s narrative.”

  Up to me. I’d have to expunge a lot more than what happened to Ixodes to make Melhaus look good, I thought to myself.

  “Gone,” I said. “Like the words were never written, a mere figment of my overactive imagination. I’ll substitute something flowery about the mysteries of the ocean deep or the relationship between a man and his dog.”

  Altering the mission record did not sit well with either Thompson or me but we were attempting to give Melhaus a way out of his mess. Hand him a possible solution on a silver platter. Or, perhaps, the platter is perceived as a bit more gray? Or maybe a tad bluish? Or, in the eyes and mind of Doctor Larry Melhaus, vivid red with fucking green stripes.

  “And here is what shall be,” Melhaus countered. “I shall not relinquish control of Desio. And since Kyle has volunteered to go beyond the scope of what I intended—using Angie to lure and capture an Orb—so shall it be. When you interrupted me with your nonsense I was altering monitors to fit a seven-kilogram dog. Return to me in one hour. I need time to prepare the devices Kyle shall also be wearing.”

  “I wouldn’t waste your time,” Thompson said, suppressing anger.

  “One hour,” Melhaus repeated.

  “Doctor, I find it revealing that instead of putting forward a reasonable counterproposal, you demand the impossible: My acquiescence to a course of action that clearly jeopardizes not only the lives of two members of my crew but all of us. Face it, you have no end game. As I suspected, it disappeared when you abandoned reason and resorted to threats of violence. Why would we accede to any demand of yours? We refuse.”

  Thompson addressed Paul and me. “We’re finished here, let’s go.”

  All we could do was walk away, and as we did, as the distance between Melhaus and us increased, so did the intensity of his vitriol.

  “Thompson! Are you aware of what you are doing? Are you prepared to suffer the consequences? I shall remind you of what they are! Without food from me, you’ll all starve! Do you hear me, starve! And you’ll be responsible, Thompson! Do you hear?! You, alone, will be responsible! And you, Kyle! Are you willing to watch Kelly and Angie wither away in front of you? You’ll beg me for food! And I won’t give it! You’ll see! You’ll get nothing from me! Not even an L-capsule to put an end to your pitiful little lives, do you hear me?!”

  “The downfall of a brilliant mind,” a subdued Kelly remarked as we regrouped. Melhaus’s outburst—after which he had disappeared into Desio—had carried loud and clear across Red Square.

  “What in hell would he have us do!?” Diana exclaimed, becoming increasingly exasperated after Paul informed her of everything that transpired.

  “That’s the point,” Thompson emphasized. “It’s useless to appease him. He will make demands until he understands what makes the Orb tick—even if that understanding takes three days, three weeks, or three months.”

  “Great! Just great!” Diana said. “Three days: Opportunity to return to Earth, lost; three weeks: We’ll watch each other starve; three months: Earth prepares for us a hero’s welcome. Only we won’t be there to enjoy it, will we?!”

  “How long can he last by himself?” Kelly asked.

  “He’d live off our rations.” Thompson said. “Assuming no malfunction of life support and power—perhaps a year or more.”

  “That’s well short of any chance of a return expedition,” Kelly said. “He knows that.”

  “We’ve been over this before,” Diana said. “Without a doubt, he’s insane.”

  “Not from his perspective, the egocentric universe he’s created for himself.”

  “I ain’t buying it,” Diana said. “Even from his perspective, he’s dead in a year. No, he’s certifiable.”

  “Anyone care to speculate on what he’ll do next?” Kelly asked.

  “Although he has control of Desio, his options are limited,” Thompson responded. He can’t go anywhere. He is protected by the laser, but that protection is confined to a discreet area around the ship and the adjacent shoreline. If he strays too far, he runs the risk of us ambushing him. In my judgment, he’ll continue to use the laser offensively, and in a manner to induce our cooperation, especially in the next two days, after which time the only thing he will have to bargain with are six little blue capsules. Exactly how he’ll use the laser is a good deal less certain.”

  “I’m afraid we’re about to find out!” Kelly shouted, pointing toward Desio, specifically toward Melhaus, who, with malevolent purpose, had come bounding out.

  A purple streak of light instantly appeared overhead, rapidly followed by another, and another. Simultaneously there were three ear-splitting peals: Caarraack! Caarraack! Caarraack! like the sound made by air cleaving apart and clapping together from a lighting strike. Behind us, high up on the spires, explosions: The laser superheating and instantly releasing the moisture trapped within solid rock; the rock fracturing and spalling, violently flinging outward and downward a cascade of deadly splintered shards.

  “Move!” Thompson was shouting. “Move!” He was first to grasp the danger, intervening behind us, spreading his arms wide, corralling us and forcing us further away. “Damn it, move!” he repeated, s
hoving us ahead of himself until we began running, those of us stumbling being dragged along by others in our retreat; where we had just been, a torrent of jagged rocks, several large enough to split open a skull, thundering down, crashing and clattering and radiating heat.

  Reaching safety, I stopped to discover Angie, shaking in fear, being held tight in my arms. I couldn’t exactly recall how she got there. Last I remembered, Kelly was holding her.

  “I had to release her as I fell,” Kelly said, “or she surely would have been crushed beneath me.”

  “Everyone OK?” Thompson asked, looking to each of us.

  “You’re not,” Kelly said. “You’re bleeding.”

  Thompson’s hand went to his temple. “A glancing blow,” he said, examining the trace of red on his fingers.

  While Kelly verified that the wound, and her own scraped palms, required only superficial cleansing (water would do) an injurious high octave voice came marauding across the fractured plateau of Red Square to once again insult and to provoke us.

  “Thompson! Do you hear me, Thompson?! Is that what you meant by the law of unforeseen consequences?!”

  “Glad to see you’re acquiring a sense of humor, Doctor,” Diana yelled back.

  “Best leave off with that for now,” Thompson advised. “As for my counter? He’ll have it in due time.”

  While dismissive of his wound and patiently appreciative of our gratitude for incurring it on our behalf (he had stayed a stride behind while ushering us out of harm’s way) Thompson was not nearly as obliging concerning the wounds perpetrated on his spires. Three of the magnificent formations, including the two tallest, had been inflicted with permanent, disfiguring scars. The peak of one spire was completely missing, and gaping holes were torn in the others. The damage was sobering and saddening, a striking symbol of humanity’s predilection to destroy.

  After returning to the relative safety of our enclave, the opportunity arose for Kelly and I to spend a few minutes alone. Taking advantage, I suddenly grabbed her arm, drew her close and urgently kissed her.

  “What’s this for?” she asked.