“And what is the ‘unpleasant alternative’ you speak of?” Stewart persevered, starting to grasp the urgency of the situation.
“When the fuel cell fails, we lose power, we stop—”
Stewart glared a warning. “You’re joking again?”
“There’s more,” Davis continued. “Cabin oxygen will be cut off.”
“So why are we heading away from base?!” Stewart demanded.
“Zenith is too far, even if the other CAM-L was sent out to meet us. No, we have to reach Nadir.”
“Where there’s no viable atmosphere!” Stewart exclaimed, becoming very much alarmed.
“I can fix that,” Davis said, trying to reassure.
For several seconds only the grating sound of the CAM-L’s rotating tracks were heard. Time enough for Stewart to resign herself to the fact that there was no other reasonable alternative. She asked, “Okay, okay, what’s the chances of us reaching Nadir?”
Davis was struggling with the odds when an illuminating clue, a pulsating red warning light, flashed on the command panel in front of him. An adjacent digital bargraph meter hovered at 78 percent. Last checked, it had read four points higher. He switched off the alarm that would auto-activate when the fuel cell fell below half power. No need to add to the stress that he was about to induce. “On a straight line vector we’re twenty kilometers away. Perhaps that we can do.”
Stewart caught the qualifiers. She had no intention of letting them pass. “Perhaps?! Great, that’s just great! And when we’re unable to maintain a precise course, which is certain, what then?”
Davis hesitated, realizing how absurd the answer would sound, sensible only to someone with a serious death wish. He was about to reply when Ellis preempted him.
“We get out and walk.”
“I don’t see the humor,” Stewart began to protest, pausing at the sight of the somber faces that confronted her.
“It’s wise to discuss this now,” Ellis said. “To get our minds around the idea.”
“Is there no other way?” Stewart asked, her voice low and sad.
“If it comes to it, no. We’d be compelled to don our rebreathers, taking with us whatever essential items we can carry.”
“If we abandon the vehicle,” Stewart observed, “we lose navigational aids.”
“Good point,” Davis said. “Closer to Nadir, the holo images will markedly improve. I can preview and memorize the intervening topo details.”
“Dehydration will come quickly. We’ll need water.”
“Six, one-liter bottles were stored onboard,” Ellis said.
“My medical kit will be heavy.”
“Within reason, I’ll carry whatever you need,” Davis volunteered.
Stewart turned her attention back to the holo-mapping pedestal. A short time later Ellis felt the heavy weight of her stare. Left undiscussed, for there was nothing to be gained, were the consequences of failure. Not one for motivational speeches, Ellis attempted what was, for her, the equivalent.
“We will prevail in this, Michele. By restoring Nadir’s atmosphere—saving six people’s lives—we shall, in good turn, save our own. Call it irony, except it’s too feeble a word.”
“Shall I play devil’s advocate?” Stewart said. Pursuing the conversation was better than internalizing the harsh reality about to overwhelm them.
“You can give it a try,” Ellis replied.
“We are merely attempting to save ourselves from a danger we created, by choice, for ourselves.”
“Choice?” Ellis objected, facial muscles set in determination. “Coming to Nadir’s aid was an imperative, never a choice.”
Stewart and Davis exchanged glances. Neither challenged Ellis’s declaration, even though it was precisely two-thirds false.
It took too long to travel the next ten kilometers, first negotiating the shallow, orange-tinged depression at the base of one of the stitched seams cross-secting the planet’s fractured crust, then skirting the rim of a huge impact crater. The terrain transitioned to a jumbled mess of ropy and bulbous pahoehoe lava. As the number of tube openings began to increase, so did the holo nav improve in detail and assignations, thanks to Garcia having transferred the camera images from Nadir’s last water recovery mission. It was, therefore, no coincidence when the CAM-L passed in front of Tube N119, the location where Amanda, for lack of a better word, became unhinged.
Perhaps no special notice would have been taken except that next to where N119 was located and marked on the holo (and jogging Ellis’s and Stewart’s memory of the incident) the mysterious tag words invisible things are the only realities were also seen floating. Assuming the phrase was of literary origin, Ellis queried the mindstor, which responded as follows:
Five valid references. Most germane, short story titled “Loss of Breath”; Edgar Allan Poe, nineteenth century author.
“That takes a certain twisted kind of humor,” Davis agreed. “Can’t be sure that was Garcia’s idea. Given half a chance I’m gonna get along fine with whomever it was.”
Contributing to the strangeness, at the tube’s ominous dark entrance there appeared a curling eddy of black dust brought into being by a puff of hot wind emanating from inside. Increasingly apprehensive, Stewart watched it rise, and just as quickly, die. “Jesus,” she said with a shudder.
“Care to peek inside?” Ellis taunted. “Take a sip from the bottomless well claimed to be in there?” Stewart had maintained the only creature of subtlety that could be harbored within Murkor’s tubes, or anywhere else on the planet, was a human with an overactive imagination.
“Not funny,” she responded, the color draining from her face.
“You’re right,” Ellis admitted, angry with herself. Needlessly contributing to her crewmate’s unease was callous. A stupid mistake that she wouldn’t make it again.
Losing fluid, the vehicle cut a path through the mound where two rollers had collided, its wide rotating tracks flinging glittering speckles of lava glass high into the air behind. There were no guesses as to why the desolate area had been labeled “Armageddon” on the holo file being referenced.
When the fuel cell registered nineteen percent, Davis stopped checking. He didn’t need the distraction. He had approximated the rate of power drain and the remaining distance to Nadir. Hoping he was in error, he performed the calculation twice more. Unless the leaking fuel cell miraculously sealed itself they would fall well short of their destination. Exactly how short was conjecture, but if any nav mistakes were made the resulting delay might prove fatal. Complicating matters, on more than one occasion Stewart and Ellis disagreed on an exact heading.
Ellis, having judged the gravity of the situation from his gloomy expression, let the decision fall to Davis. Realizing that the fuel cell’s fluid loss was a function of time rather than speed, he invariably settled the matter by risking the shortest path at the greatest velocity. It made for a rough and tense ride, the vehicle’s occupants prevented from harm by their restraint harnesses, though Ellis sustained a bruise on the side of her chin from secured equipment that had come loose. No complaints were raised. Every added centimeter of forward motion closed the distance to Nadir, lessening the hardship of trekking across the planet’s surface. This last vestige of security came to a sudden end when a high-decibel alarm blared out its POWER FAILURE IMMINENT warning.
Already on edge, Stewart let out a gasp. Even Davis was startled, unaware the alarm existed. “I’m afraid we haven’t much time,” he said.
Almost as if she hadn’t heard, Ellis merely nodded in confirmation.
Finally, like a heart surrendering its last weak beats, the engine’s distinctive thrumming steadily slowed, becoming ever fainter until the CAM-L came to a stuttering halt. A small backup battery auto-engaged, sufficient to temporarily energize the com link, mindstor, holo pedestal and, more permanently, an emergency locator beacon.
“Cabin oxygen will last us for about an hour, or until the pressure doors are opened on exit,” Davis sai
d.
Without hesitating, Ellis posed a question. “Mindstor. Calculate the distance to Nadir. Strike that. Determine the distance to Nadir that can be traversed, on foot, by a healthy adult human.”
Six point three kilometers. Margin of error ten percent.
“That sounds about right,” Davis said, striking a note of confidence for Stewart’s benefit. “A person maintaining a steady pace can comfortably walk five kilometers in an hour. A rebreather holds a two-hour oxygen supply. We should have time to spare—”
“Who’s the doctor here?” Stewart said, cutting Davis off. “Don’t you think I have a good idea of what’s really in store for us?”
The numbers he had spouted, Davis well knew, were pure bullshit. Being out and about on Murkor radically altered the equation. “I imagine you do,” he was forced to admit. “As far as any of us has.”
Ellis, as well, had no illusions as to their prospects. How do you assign a number to the time wasted scrabbling over jagged lava outcroppings in the oppressive heat while encumbered by a rebreather? Moreover, there were the “what if’s.” Spraining an ankle on the uneven, sharp terrain was a real possibility. Davis had an excellent memory, but with darkness fast approaching there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t become disoriented. The mere threat of being on the surface at night would prey on their psyche.
She was responsible for taking them this far, Ellis thought, watching Stewart search through medical equipment and supplies. At any cost to her own safety, she would see them the rest of the way.
“I’ve seen that determined look before, Commander,” Davis said, taking Stewart’s place at the holo pedestal where he began to scan and memorize successive renditions of the outlying terrain.
Without comment, Ellis collected the three rebreathers, inconspicuously making certain that she kept that which Davis had used inspecting the vehicle’s damage while giving hers, slightly less used, to him. The third rebreather, fully charged, went to Stewart.
During the journey, progress updates were periodically transmitted to both bases; Nadir, of course, had been silent, Zenith reacting with heightened concern. With the disturbing inference that it might be a useful nav tool for a future recovery team, Ellis asked Davis to transmit the entirety of the CAM-L’s external camera feed. In the unlikely event that base-to-base contact was restored, he also provided Zenith with a concise description of how Garcia might repair Nadir’s ESS.
With these tasks hurriedly completed, a final, obligatory, communique to Zenith was expected—the duty naturally falling to Ellis.
“How goes it, Sergeant?” she said in greeting. Prior to departing, explicit orders on how to proceed in her absence had been entered into the record. Still, she felt uneasy about the heavy burden assigned to him.
“Commander,” Cooper said in welcome, having cause to offer a smile. “Perhaps you should see for yourself.” As he spoke, the camera angle widened until Ellis could see deep into the corners of the room. Every available space was filled with base personnel. She could make out most of the faces—in addition to the service personnel under her command there stood Bert Imholtz, Lori Jensen, and several other IMC techs.
Of course, front and center, was Daniel Schulman. “More folk wanted to crowd in,” he said. “I reminded them you didn’t have much patience for idle chat, especially when you had somewhere to be.”
“You have me pegged, Mr. Schulman. I almost regret not inviting you along.”
“Ah, ha! Next time, Commander.”
“We wish you three intrepid souls and Nadir well,” Cooper added, the sentiment echoed from behind by comingled voices spontaneously raised in agreement and several hands raised high and signaling “thumbs up.”
Ellis was temporarily at a loss for words, “You couldn’t have conveyed ‘how fares it’ any better, Sergeant—all of you. I trust our next contact will be from Nadir. Be well. Out.”
Terminating the link, Ellis stripped down to the sport’s bra beneath her shirt, slid into her rebreather harness, attached two water bottles to her pants belt, and then impatiently waited for her colleagues to finish their own preparations.
Davis, rebreather already secured on his back, helped the less-experienced Stewart into hers. The doctor had filled a large haversack containing the medical items she considered indispensable, among them a portable blood analyzer, stim pads, and six syringes, her entire supply, of a short-duration injectable oxygen compound. “Wish I had better,” she said.
Contributing his own diagnostic tools and a searchlight, Davis hefted the heavy sack over his left shoulder saying, “Here’s some advice coming from someone who’s been out and about far more than either of you. Keep to a steady pace. Easy, even strides. Move too fast and the heat will bring you to your knees.”
“Take the lead, then, Lieutenant,” Ellis replied, a penetrating stare lending double meaning to her next words. “You best know the way.”
With an understanding nod and emblematic grin, Davis affixed his breather mask. Stewart and Ellis did the same, each adjusting the clear, pliable plastic to form a seal tight over nose and mouth. The CAM-L’s pressurized door slid open, releasing, together with the vehicle’s occupants, the last precious remnants of their cabin oxygen.
The outside air was brutally hot and perfectly still. Low in the sky, a mud-brown sun awkwardly rushed to its inconclusive set. Stewart, unaccustomed to the abusive temperature, and inarguably the least physically fit of the three, was given a few moments to acclimate while Ellis and Davis used the time to assure themselves that the rebreathers were functioning at peak efficiency, checking and rechecking gauge readouts of gas mixture, regulator pressure and the like.
One critical value, tank oxygen, was displayed as a declining percentage, Stewart’s gauge reading ninety-nine percent, Ellis’s ninety-four, Davis’s ninety-seven. It was on this occasion that the Lieutenant noticed Ellis had donned the rebreather he wore previously. Although the differences were negligible, Davis became vaguely suspicious. Unwilling to call undue attention to the matter, two words were exchanged on the matter: An unspecified “cute,” uttered by the Lieutenant, followed by an innocuous “what?” from Ellis.
Once underway, Davis applied himself to maintaining an even pace, stopping periodically for water breaks (all three were sweating profusely) and to confirm his bearings. When the nature of the terrain made it difficult to keep abreast of one another Ellis intentionally lagged behind, attentive to Stewart’s labored progress.
An early indication that Stewart might be coping badly came when excessive thirst prompted her to drink while walking—nearly impossible when making the attempt on uneven terrain while repositioning a rebreather mask. She soon found herself choking on water, then gulping in rarified air, the unpleasant combination causing her to briefly panic. By the time Ellis was at her side she had fully recovered and, after acknowledging the CO’s concern, continued on as if nothing happened.
For obvious reasons there could be little talking, each retaining his or her own private thoughts. None were of comfort. Forward progress came at a high price. Lava, hot to the touch, began to burn their hands. Shoulders, straining under the constant pressure of rebreather harnesses, began to ache. Conveyed by perspiration, fine pumice entered and irritated the eyes. Good news was merely the absent of bad: Rollers, those few spotted, were content to confine themselves to the fringes as passive onlookers.
They came to an abutment requiring each other’s help to scale. Ellis used the opportunity to once again compare oxygen values. Her own number, eighty-one percent, came as no surprise; Davis, expending extra energy carrying the heavy haversack, had dropped to seventy-four. Neither value was cause for alarm. Stewart’s number, however, had plummeted to fifty-six. Anxiety and lack of physical conditioning were greatly increasing her respiration rate. If she did not reduce her oxygen consumption she would run out before reaching Nadir. Ellis believed that broaching the subject without unsettling the doctor even further would be difficult.
“You once said you prefer hearing the truth,” she began. “No matter how unpleasant.”
“I’ve been dwelling on something you said,” Stewart responded, “On how to calm the mind.”
“And?” Ellis asked, comprehending that Stewart had anticipated her concern.
“I still can’t do it.”
“Keep practicing.” Ellis turned to Davis. “How far?”
“Approximately halfway.”
“See that?” Stewart said, staying positive. “No worries. I shall do better.”
“I believe you will.”
Proceeding on, Ellis reflected on how she hadn’t told Stewart the whole truth. Nor could she. They had, in fact, lied to each other and they both knew it.
Shortly after, Davis and Ellis had a brief opportunity to speak privately.
“Don’t be mad,” Davis said. “We’re not halfway. Seeing her number—I thought it best.”
Ellis reacted immediately. As if she knew. “Soon I’ll be ordering—asking—something of you. Don’t argue the point—please.”
“One foot in front of the other,” Davis responded vaguely, saying no more as Stewart struggled to come up alongside them.
Every step of the way the terrain and heat fought them. By outward appearances Murkor had won, their clothes soiled and torn, hair soaked and stringy, black powder clinging like a million ticks to the surface of their skin. All three had superficial bruises and abrasions. Davis favored a swollen knee. Losing his balance climbing a jag of sharp lava, he had elected to protect the haversack he carried rather than himself. Despite rationing, most of their water had been consumed. The first symptoms of dehydration, thirst, cramping, and dizziness, were taking their toll.
Mentally, they were faring no better. Dusk had allied itself with exhaustion, deceiving the mind into reinterpreting the bleak lava landscape into a host of shapes formidable and intimidating. Inanimate objects rose up to become stone-cloaked specters, haunting them as they moved amid a graveyard of ruined sepulchers.
Hanging back in the half-light, Ellis wondered what, if anything, she could have done differently. “We shall fail!” she unwittingly cried out. Peering ahead, she perceived two shadowy figures hovering in the gloom. Apparently, neither had heard. Good. No witnesses to her pang of doubt. Or was it guilt that stabbed at her, this compulsion to be absolved for a past mistake, no matter what the present consequences. She should be severely judged if two more lives were to be shed in vain.
The Symbionts of Murkor Page 24