2120 Titus

by Razor Blade

  ‘Interesting,’ Dr. Mueller thought to himself. He wondered what the President of the United States wanted with him. He clicked on the link and a video popped up. The first thing to appear on the screen was the seal of the United States of America that slowly faded to black. Then the image of the President of the United States, James Mead. Because of the time delay of twelve minutes, a direct conversation was impossible.

  The image of the President wasn’t what Dr. Mueller expected to see. Mead looked tired, worn and unshaven. He was sitting behind a desk, but it didn’t look like the Oval Office, it looked like something thrown together for the broadcast. The lighting was stark, the background was a plain white wall and off to one side was a light stand, obviously used to illuminate the scene.

  Then the President spoke. “Dr. Mueller. We are well aware of what is going on your ship. As you know we have access to all the cameras on board and witnessed you murder Tom Yapchanyk, and Kate Humphry. We suspect you also murdered Jim Diller but have no direct evidence. We have the ability to take control of Plios 3 at any time, but we also realize that your mission must go on. It wouldn’t do us any good to turn the ship around and bring you back with the asteroid heading towards Earth. The last calculation puts 2120 Titus within mid-range Earth orbit in twenty three days. There is thirty percent possibility the asteroid will hit the Earth, a ten percent chance it will skip off into space and sixty percent chance it will lock into orbit above the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Eastern Australia. Why there we don’t know. We need you to complete your mission and find out if the signal from the asteroid is from an intelligent source.

  Since we can’t communicate directly, I ask you to send us a message with your agenda. Why did you murder two of your crew? And what happened to Diller? I have received messages from both Hart and Lange but they provide no answers just that you are unstable and they fear for their lives.

  It is very important that you contact me, or NASA immediately. We want to be prepared no matter what the consequences are of your actions. As we sit now, our best guess is we’re all going to die in a matter of weeks. I will anticipate your reply.”

  Then the screen went blank.

  “Fuck you,” Dr. Mueller said aloud and tossed the tablet on the couch beside him. “Nobody tells me what to do.”

  Then Dr. Mueller remembered the valve that was placed in his chest. If NASA could control the ship from Earth, then what would stop them from triggering the servo motor in the valve and cutting off the blood supply to his lungs? At first Dr. Mueller thought that only Humphry had the transmitter that could send the signal to the receiver buried in his chest. But who in their right mind would create only one way to trigger the valve? If NASA found him too much of a threat, he could be dead before he could act.

  Maybe he would make a video after all, but a video of him cutting the receiver out of his chest and holding it up for everyone back at NASA to see. Yes, that would be let them know who was in charge he thought to himself. But how?

  Then Dr. Mueller remembered the medical lab, or should he call it the medical closet located in the science pod. The room was small but packed with every medial supply NASA could think of sending on the trip. Everything from suture kits, to bandages, and oxygen supplies to catheters where jammed into the four by six by two foot area. No one on board was a medical doctor, and no one had any medical background, but they felt the need to include a Religious officer so no medical personnel were attached to the project.

  As the doctor entered the science pod, he startled Hart and Lange who were both working on projects on the computer. Dr. Mueller seemed determined to find a way to cut the receiver out of his chest which by his best estimate, was less than an inch below his rib cage. After locating the medical supplies, he rifled through the bags and boxes full of supplies looking for whatever he could use to perform self-surgery.

  He knew he needed to numb the area so he looked for anything that said analgesic. He found what he was looking for in a Lidocaine prefilled syringe, 5ml dose. He pulled out the package containing the syringe and looked for anything he could use to cut into his chest. He located a ten pack of No. 10 Scalpel’s and tossed them next to the Lidocaine. Then he found a bag full of four by four gauze, several boxes of sterile gloves, some alcohol swabs and rolls of surgical tape to add to his collection. As he was rummaging through the drawers of supplies, he found something that looked like tweezers, on the bag is said, ‘Pickup Forceps’. He added that to his stash along with a bottle of sterile water.

  “What are you doing?” Hart asked.

  “I need your help,” Dr. Mueller replied. He motioned for the women to come close.

  “What are you doing with those knives?” Lange asked.

  “I need to perform surgery---on myself. I need for you to help.”

  “You can’t do that, it’s dangerous,” Lange replied.

  “I’m just going to cut out the receiver, should be pretty simple. All I need is for one of you two hand me what I need when I need it.”

  “And the other?”

  “Record it,” Dr. Mueller replied.

  “Record it with what?” Lange asked.

  “Use your tablet, it has a camera function.”

  “So you want me to hold the camera?” Lange asked.

  “Yes, you can hold the camera,” Dr. Mueller replied. He took a seat and sorted out his supplies in the order he thought he’d need them. “Do you think I’ll need stitches? Or will the tape hold?”

  “Depends on how big of a hole you plan to make,” Hart replied. “How big is the receiver?”

  Dr. Mueller looked down at his chest and felt around for anything out of the ordinary. He couldn’t feel anything but his ribs. “I’ll cut the same size as the scar,” Dr. Mueller replied. He reached into his pile of supplies and pulled out some alcohol swabs and tore open the package. Looking down at his chest, he took a swab and pressed it against the scar. The old incision instantly burned as the alcohol seeped inside the wound. “Fuck!” the doctor barked and pulled the swab away.

  “You think that hurts?” Hart asked. “Wait till you cut that open.”

  Now more determined than ever, Dr. Mueller picked tore open the package of scalpels and pulled a single knife out.

  “You might want to put on gloves first,” Hart said. She was being sardonic.

  “Are you recording this?” Dr. Mueller snapped at Lange.

  Lange ran across the room and picked up her tablet. She returned and framed Dr. Mueller on the viewing screen. With a press of the red icon, the tablet began to record. “Go ahead,” Lange said looking intently at the monitor.

  Frustrated, Dr. Mueller pulled the package of sterile gloves apart and proceeded to don them like he was putting on gardening gloves. Nobody wanted to be screamed at so neither woman told him he was putting them on wrong. Although neither woman worked in healthcare, they both knew there was a procedure for donning sterile gloves. They had both seen enough plastic surgery documentaries to be familiar with the procedure.

  With the gloves on, the doctor again picked up the scalpel and looked up at the recording device. Seeing that Lange was intently watching the monitor, he placed the tip of the scalpel on his chest on the left side of the old surgical incision. He took a deep breath and slid the scalpel across his skin, cutting the old stitches as he pulled. “Holy fuck!” Dr. Mueller yelled.

  “Are you alright?” Hart asked. “You’re bleeding something awful.”

  “Hand me the tweezers,” Dr. Mueller snapped.

  Hart found the pickup forceps and handed them to Dr. Mueller. The doctor fumbled with the forceps and dug into the wound searching for something to grab onto. He felt nothing. His first reaction was to use the scalpel and dig deeper, then he yelled to Hart. “You try!”

  “I’m not touching that!” Hart barked back.

  Blood now drained down the doctor’s chest, over his lap and onto the floor where it pooled.

  “Put a dressing on that before you bleed to death!”
Hart yelled.

  Lange kept her cool and kept the doctor in frame.

  Pissed, Dr. Mueller jabbed the scalpel back into the wound and dug deep. It was then he felt something hard stop the blade. It could have been bone but at this point he didn’t care. He shoved the forceps in the same hole and tried to snag whatever it was the scalpel hit. He managed to get something firm between the tips and pulled. Whatever it was he had grasped with the tool slipped out when he pulled back.

  Taking a deep breath, he plunged the forceps back into the wound and pinched the object again. This time he used both hands to force the ends together and pulled slower. And this time something gave from the inside and slowly emerged from inside his chest cavity like a snake holding on for dear life. What he discovered was a small metallic object, about the size and shape of a dime with a red and a black wire running back into his chest.

  “Pick up the knife,” Dr. Mueller said. His hands were both occupied grasping onto the metal object with the forceps.

  Hart leaned over and picked up the scalpel. This was her best opportunity to end her problems and cut Dr. Mueller’s throat when he wasn’t expecting it. He wasn’t thinking straight, and didn’t think for a second that the woman with the blade would do him any harm. And she didn’t as she cut the wires allowing the doctor to pull the receiver out of his chest. He held it up and looked at it and set the receiver down on the counter. From the table he snagged some gauze and pressed it against his wound. The material stemmed the flow of blood as it turned from white to red.

  “Grab the stitches,” Dr. Mueller said. He was still in a manic state.

  Hart dug around the pile of medical supplies looking for a package that said, ‘stitches,’ on the outside. “I don’t see them,” Hart replied.

  “It’s the one with the hooked shaped needles and thread, right there,” Dr. Mueller snapped back, gesturing toward the pile of supplies.

  Hart pushed around the plastic bags and plastic containers until she found a package labeled, ‘Suture kit.’ “I found it,” Hart replied and handed the package to the doctor.

  “My hands are full you stupid cunt, you do it!” Dr. Mueller barked.

  Hart stood still for a moment and tossed the package back on the table. Nobody was going to disrespect her. It was then she suddenly realized that the doctor couldn’t harm her or Lange with his hands holding gauze to a surgical wound he created. Hart leaned to the right, and then to the left looking to see where Dr. Mueller was carrying his pistol.

  “It’s locked in my room,” Dr. Mueller said with a smile. Even through the pain, he was able to find joy in the moment. “You think I’d leave myself compromised?”

  Hart looked back at the medical supplies eyeing the bag of scalpels. She looked back at Dr. Mueller when she noticed him move his arm and raise his hand with a scalpel pointing at her.

  “I’m done with you, you can go now,” Dr. Mueller said. “I guess I can handle this myself.”

  Chapter 11

  2120 Titus

  It was the last day of the journey for Plios 3 to the renegade asteroid named 2120 Titus. The ship had been slowing since the mid-point of the voyage and was entering a low orbit to survey the mysterious object. The density and make-up of the asteroid was not well known so its gravity had to be an estimated. That allowed the spacecraft to find the right speed and distance from 2120 Titus and maintain a stable orbit. All the calculations were made on board the ship as it would have been too far away for NASA to crunch the numbers in real time.

  The origin of the signals NASA and Plios 3 had been tracking were now pin pointed to the asteroid and there was no longer any doubt where they were coming from. Nothing about the signals changed, it was the same number sequence repeated over and over every 3.14 seconds. There was a consensus of the scientists at NASA that the signal would change once Plios 3 was nearing the asteroid, but no, they were wrong.

  2120 Titus didn’t look very big on the view screen so Dr. Mueller increased the magnification but still wasn’t satisfied by what a seventeen mile wide asteroid looked like up close. But then he was still over fifty miles above the surface and anything from fifty miles away looks small. And then he saw it, the dark spot on the asteroid that looked like a hole. He remembered the dark round spot from the photographs he was shown back on Earth. He was asked if he thought maybe they were impact crater sites and he told them no. He felt this dark area was more than a crater, an actual hole in the asteroid. “Look at that,” Dr. Mueller said aloud pointing to the spot on the screen. You see that?”

  Hart and Lange both leaned in close and took a look at the spot on the asteroid. “I see a dark spot, like a fungus on a potato,” Hart replied.

  “I don’t see anything special either,” Lange replied.

  “Fuck, it’s right there, can’t you see it?” Dr. Mueller asked. He was shocked that nobody but him could see the hole.

  “Looks like a crater to me,” Hart said.

  “Me too,” Lange agreed.

  “What are you? Fucking blind?” Dr. Mueller asked rhetorically.

  Then the power went off.

  “What just happened?” Hart asked.

  “I have no idea,” Lange replied.

  “They shut us off, those fucking pricks,” Dr. Mueller snapped.

  “Who shut us off?” Hart asked.

  “NASA, who else, Martians?” Dr. Mueller replied sardonically.

  Then the emergency power came on with half the lights leaving the inside of Plios 3 a lot darker than before.

  “What’s going on?” Hart asked. “This is freaking me out.”

  A green light blinked on the display panel with the word, ‘Incoming message,’ flashing in white lettering.

  “I’m not sure, but I think we’re about to find out,” Dr. Mueller said. He pressed on the word ‘Incoming message,’ and waited. On the screen popped a video. The face that greeted them was the face of Julia Thompson, NASA mission control.

  “Good evening Dr. Mueller, Jessica, Cara. I’m Julia Thompson from NASA mission control. I think I’ve met all of you at some time along this journey---I hope you are doing well,” Thompson said. She seemed as fake as a three dollar bill. “I have some news for you concerning the mission and I’m sorry to say it’s not the kind of news you were hoping to hear.

  We have determined there is a seventy percent chance that 2120 Titus will enter the Earth’s orbit off the coast of Australia. If it doesn’t, it will harmlessly bounce off our atmosphere into deep space and leave the solar system. The problem we foresee is an intelligent force orbiting Earth could possibly be just as much a threat to the Earth as the asteroid hitting the Earth. We don’t know what is behind the signal, but the trajectory of the asteroid is---in our opinion, too textbook to be a random event. We think the asteroid is being guided by an extraterrestrial intelligence and we are not prepared to deal with that now. If they turn out aggressive, it may be the end of us all.”

  “I can see that,” Dr. Mueller interjected.

  “It is because of the threat of an unknown alien contact that we have decided instead to use Plios 3 to push 2120 Titus out of its current orbit and away from Earth. If we act now, we could possibly move the asteroid two thousand kilometers away from the Earth at the point it reaches us. The problem for you---is that Plios 3 may not survive long term contact with the 2120 Titus. The bow of your ship wasn’t designed to take the strain and pressure and most likely there will be a catastrophic hull break venting all your atmosphere into space.

  It is because of the threat to the crew of Plios 3 that we have taken over control of your ship. We are in the process of turning off all of your life supports so that you won’t---won’t suffer when the times comes.”

  “They think they’re doing us a favor?” Hart asked. She was numb and past being in shock. “What is the difference between freezing us and suffocating us now instead of then?”

  “We are truly sorry for what we have to do. The fate of the entire planet Earth could ride on whethe
r or not we can successfully move 2120 Titus out of the way in time. If we succeed, all of you will go down in history as the heroes of Plios 3. Your images will be engraved in stone and you will be taught in history books.

  Once again, thank you for your service, and we offer our deepest thoughts and prayers. Your families have been contacted, and arrangements have been made. Thank you.”

  The screen went blank.

  Chapter 12

  2120 Titus

  “So that’s it, we’re just going to die?” Hart asked.

  “It was sort of a one way mission if you think about it. What were our chances of actually saving the Earth?” Lange asked.

  “I never thought for a second we’d be able to save anyone,” Dr. Mueller replied. “This was always a recognizance mission to me. And probably the most important discovery of the century.”

  “What good will it do if nobody remembers us?” Hart asked.

  “I take it you don’t have much confidence in NASA’s ‘push the asteroid’ plan?” Dr. Mueller asked.

  “I’m the Science officer, I know all about space ships and asteroids and they’re nuts if they think we can move that bitch without ripping this ship apart. They are using us as a last ditch effort.”

  “I think they admitted as much,” Dr. Mueller replied.

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the idea of being a science experiment.”

  “What else can we do?” Lange asked.

  Dr. Mueller leaned over to check if the computer terminal was still working. He saw a green square at the top right of the screen which led him to feel confident the whole ship wasn’t disabled. He punched a few keys and a prompt came up on the screen. It read, ‘Safe Mode.”