The Symbionts of Murkor

by Tarulli, Gary

  “Somewhere north of seventy-five minutes,” Davis said. “Pretty damned astounding, if you ask me.”

  “Part of that time you were unconscious,” Stewart asserted, although, on hearing, the explanation seemed woefully inadequate.

  “I didn’t succumb to hypoxia,” Ellis said. “I prefer the word I heard you use for Nadir’s crew. Stasis. Imperfect, but it’s a better fit.”

  “Wait a second,” Garcia demanded. “This word describes our physical condition when you found us?”

  “Possibly,” Stewart responded. “In the short time I monitored your vitals, they seemed to have stabilized. Your rapid revival prevented knowing for sure.”

  “A minor inconvenience we’ll just have to live with, no?” Garcia said, smiling. “For the moment, let’s assume our vitals held steady. What then?”

  Stewart considered carefully. “If Nadir’s internal and external atmosphere equalized at nine percent oxy and if the ambient temperature remained relatively constant maybe you survive a few months. Lack of water and nourishment being the limiting factors.”

  “You mean hibernating?” a skeptical Carlos asked. “Like six bears slumbering through the long Murkorian winter?”

  “Something like that. A possibility.”

  “What I’m still not hearing is why,” Roya asked. “What could cause this?”

  “Want speculation?” Stewart asked.

  “We’ve heard little else,” Garcia replied.

  “You, your crew, were profoundly affected by the psychological and physical stress of coping with an environment where oxygen was known to be diminishing to a point of lethality. This being an untenable situation, and occurring over a prolonged period, caused a group psychology to form. As the available oxygen decreased, somatic and psychosomatic symptoms increased. Perhaps it’s instructive that each of you was affected in a slightly different way. Symptom onset had an inverse relationship to age: The youngest of your crew, and most impressionable, first to succumb; the oldest, and least impressionable, last. Ultimately, a self-defense mechanism kicked in. Protecting itself against asphyxiation, the mind shut the body down.

  “There is an analogue, though a poor one, I must admit. It’s called the mammalian diving reflex. There are instances of children surviving after more than an hour of submersion in frigid water. Breathing stops, heart rate slows, blood is diverted away from the extremities to the brain and body core. Call it stasis lite.” Stewart, wondering if she had convinced anybody, looked around the table. “There you have it, folks. Medical conjecture of a sort, wrapped in a nice tidy recyclable package.”

  Ellis let Stewart have her say. A portion of it even sounded plausible. “But it doesn’t explain what happened to me,” she said.

  Garcia agreed. “We’ve taken another detour—as you seemed to have anticipated. I’m quite willing to be intrigued. I presume you’re implying some common agent affected us both?”

  “Not implying,” Ellis, undaunted, responded. “I’m stating it outright. And at least one other person, Laurie Jensen—she’s one of our techs—should be included.”

  Unlike Stewart and Davis, neither Garcia nor his crew had been privy to Ellis’s prior effort to find a common denominator for the strange events taking place on Murkor. There followed a recitation of Jensen’s harrowing incident inside lava Tube Z784C, inclusive of the odd presence she felt and the inordinate time she spent breathing in Murkor’s atmosphere shaken, but otherwise unharmed. When Ellis finished (which took longer than expected as Stewart obliged to offer cogent counterpoints each step of the way) she sipped her water, leaned back—and braced for the reaction her next remark would provoke.

  “It’s evident our lives were intentionally spared.”

  Gustavo’s voice rose above the others. “Spared?! Not from my point of view,” he declared, exaggerating the point by slouching in his seat and tilting his head straight up. “You know—flat on my back—staring up at a ceiling I could no longer see.”

  “That’s where we’d still be if it weren’t for Commander Ellis,” Roya reminded, diplomatically acting as her crewmate’s apologist, her eyes misting up recalling what were believed to be their last moments together.

  “You see, Commander,” Gustavo said, looking at Roya with fondness. “We thought our lives were over. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken,” Ellis said. “It’s a hard thing I ask you to consider: That your perspective had become as clouded as your vision. A logical consequence given the mysterious origin and seeming finality of your incapacity.”

  “Let’s assume all six of us developed a myopic mindset,” Garcia said, speaking for himself and crew. “That was then. What of now? To say that our separate paths, yours and ours, were somehow connected is one thing—to claim the destination was intentional quite another. It strains credulity.” Seeing that Ellis was unpersuaded, Garcia continued: “Nevertheless, Commander, I can see by your expression that you’re in earnest and I, for one, refuse to dismiss any idea out of hand. Please state your case.”

  “Look no further than yourselves. Six humans among the two hundred billion who ever lived. Seven millennia of recorded history. And yet Zenith’s mindstor is unable to reference a single medical profile that equates to yours. As for myself? It is impossible to last more than a few minutes on the surface. Yet that is exactly what I did. For more than an hour. These seemingly unrelated events, obscure when viewed in isolation, resolve when seen together. Although the specifics of each differ, the end result, our assured survival, is identical— accomplished, albeit imperfectly, by our bodies adapting to the varying degree of oxygen deprivation to which they were subjected. I shall defer to Captain Stewart who, in assessing your case, characterized it as a form of stasis. I disagree that it was self-induced. To encompass both our cases demands the intercession of an outside agent.”

  Roya finished the thought. “An entity manifested by the aura or life force you postulated earlier?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Your argument would be more persuasive,” Amanda said, “if there were a chance of something evading our detectors. It just doesn’t happen.”

  Ellis glanced at Davis. “They’re Tarsier V’s,” he confirmed. “State of the art.”

  “The only thing on this base that is,” Carlos added.

  “It can only detect what is known,” Ellis replied. “What lies outside our comprehension is far greater.”

  “And the astrobiologists’ reports?” Amanda asked.

  “Same answer,” Ellis said.

  “Lieutenant Davis,” Garcia said. “Care to weigh in on this? How would you envision this entity? Assuming it exists.”

  Davis looked past Garcia and out the dirty viewport to where sporadic lightning diffused blue energy into the late-night murk. When he finally responded, he did so absently. “I’d say it’s struggling. In retreat. Existing on a world sterilized of most life, it would seize every chance to perpetuate itself. That’s its motivation for keeping us alive. It requires us. A mutually beneficial association develops. A form of symbiosis. I’d call it a symbiont.”

  He had made up the response as he went along. Sounded pretty good, he thought, not quite knowing if he believed it himself. More importantly, Ellis appeared—what? Amused? Pleased?

  More than Garcia would have expected of himself, Davis’s idea resonated. So, too, with almost everyone else present, judging by the flurry of questions: Is the entity intelligent? Could it be a form of pure energy? Are we harboring it still?

  Those, and many others, were entertaining to muse over—and predicated on an underlying premise which happened to remain very much in doubt.

  Finally, somewhat unintentionally, the spell was broken.

  “This incorporeal entity is a selective one,” Stewart observed. “I give you Ed Anderson—he’s been one of our hard cases. Tried to decommission our CAM-L. Tapped into your mindstor. Anyway, hypoxia took him down. He went stone-cold unconscious after being exposed, sans breather, on the
planet’s surface. When I revived him he didn’t mention anything about a visitation.”

  “Sounds like he shouldn’t have been,” Carlos said, half-joking. “Revived, that is.”

  “I, too, passed out from lack of oxygen,” Davis said. “Nothing else, just passed out. What does that prove? Should we expect a total unknown to surrender its secrets so easily?”

  Another interval of back and forth followed, after which they were much nearer to exhaustion and nowhere nearer to the “truth.”

  “To sum up,” Garcia had to admit, “we have competing speculations, both unprovable. What other tools can we bring to bear?”

  “Comparison of the blood and tissue samples taken before and after you and your crew revived,” Mariana said. “Interpreting the data will take time.”

  “Gustavo and I can update Nadir’s mindstor,” Davis said. “Gus suggested that we establish a crosslink with Zenith’s primary mindstor, allowing inquiries to be filtered through the thought processes of both. It’s a good idea, though I suggest we manage our expectations.”

  “In that case, Commander,” Garcia said, “I recommend we reconvene at 0900. The lateness of the hour wears on us. My crew and I have had an unnatural sleep, while you and yours have had none.”

  “Agreed,” Ellis said.

  “Good,” Garcia, said, pushing back his chair, everyone else following suit.

  Drezzzergghhhfahtaa! Glusssherverjenpencalfist!! Mipfigmipfignahdah!!!

  “How do you put up with the incessant noise?” Davis asked Gustavo as they walked through Nadir’s pitiful surroundings to makeshift guest accommodations on L1.

  “You’d be surprised what can be tolerated with time—just look around, my friend. Es un lugar mierdoso.”

  “You have to help me out on that one, Gus,” Davis said.

  “Shithole.”

  ***

  The next morning brought about an undermining of Ellis’s theory—her Symbiont Theory, so designated by Davis and adopted by all.

  Carlos, seeing something to like in Ellis and wanting to settle the dispute in her favor, decided the best way to prove the existence of the elusive entity was to venture “bareback” onto Murkor’s scorched surface and go about the business of breathing. He was reluctantly accompanied by Gustavo, who agreed to do so primarily because the engineer had threatened the more dangerous proposition of going it alone, and secondarily out of the perverse pleasure gained by watching what would happen. He later chastised himself for failing to anticipate just how far the young man would take his experiment.

  Both would have preferred anonymity when, choking and turning a convincing shade of Murkor’s lightning blue, Carlos had to be dragged back inside. The morning’s meeting commenced fifteen minutes late, Garcia’s tongue-lashing of Carlos and Gustavo taking that long.

  In summarizing their test results on blood and tissue samples, the two physicians, Stewart and Perez, agreed that molecular analysis shed no light on the medical mystery. Changes in blood chemistry observed in pre and post-revival specimens, notably differences in oxygen and carbon dioxide saturation, were to be expected. Furthermore, samples showed no abnormal or unidentifiable substance, an absence leading, albeit weakly, to the inference that the crews’ stasis had been self-induced.

  Querying the linked mindstors proved to be slightly more enlightening, though in a way unanticipated. Before proceeding, Davis issued a warning that the AI’s were of different human templates. Unmatched, the unity, for better or worse, would be subject to certain vagaries. Accordingly, he began with a simple question.

  “Mindstor, report>—” Davis caught himself. Glancing at Garcia, who was already nodding, he resumed: “English language response preferred—the current status of link.”

  Completed. Link overdue.

  Gustavo, raising an eyebrow, commented, “An interesting way of phrasing it. Mindstor, please explain ‘overdue.’”

  The answer was instantaneous.

  Earlier establishment of an interbase link would have substantially increased the probability of averting actions resulting in undesirable consequences for both bases’ inhabitants.

  “Cite examples,” a curious Davis asked.

  Prevention of Zenith’s Anderson’s unauthorized intrusion into Nadir’s mindstor, an inflammatory act having potentially dangerous systemwide repercussions; increased probability of an earlier resolution to Nadir’s environmental system malfunction; increased probability of breaking the chain of events resulting in the head injury to Zenith’s Imholtz; increased probability—

  “Enough,” Davis said, forgetting proper inflection and phrasing, a necessary component of communicating with any mindstor.

  …of breaking the causal chain of events leading to the death of Coalition shuttle pilot—

  “Mindstor, end response,” Davis, irritated, commanded.

  “Almost sounds like we’re being lectured to,” Amanda said.

  “Deservedly so,” Garcia said. “Let’s get on with it. May I? I’d prefer to keep this simple.”

  “The best approach,” Ellis answered.

  “Mindstor. Has an unknown or otherwise unidentified organism or substance intruded into base Nadir?”

  Low probability.

  “Mindstor. Was the medical condition resembling biological stasis observed in Nadir’s crew self-induced?”

  Low probability.

  “Posit an explanation for this unusual event.”

  Unable. Insufficient information.

  “Is there a correlation between what affected Nadir’s crew and the inordinate time Commander Ellis spent on the surface without a rebreather?”

  Yes. Both events occurred on Murkor; Commander Ellis’s sojourn on the surface occurred as a direct result of Nadir’s need for assistance.

  “As I suspected,” Garcia said, “we’re getting nowhere. Anyone else?”

  Everyone took a turn. After several fruitless minutes, Ellis said, “I’ll give it one last try. Mindstor, characterize this impasse.”

  Inability or refusal to pose the right question.

  “And what, exactly, would that question be?” she asked, a touch of exasperation in her voice.

  Are technology and science presently competent to explain all that transpires on Murkor?

  “And the answer?” Ellis asked, expectation in her voice.

  Unequivocally, no.

  “I didn’t think that mindstors, even linked mindstors, were known for their sense of humor,” Gustavo said.

  And that, too, got a laugh.

  ***

  “You heard the Commander,” Davis said. “When you’re that close to something, it’s hard to look at it differently.” He and Carlos were sweating beneath Zenith’s broken CAM-L, making final adjustments. Two hours ago they had ridden out together, taking with them components borrowed from a nearly identical vehicle Nadir had been forced to abandon and several rebreathers essential for the task at hand.

  “She really whipped your ass?” Carlos asked.

  “Can and did,” Davis responded.

  “Impressive. What’s the lubed torque setting on this bolt?”

  “One hundred fifty newton meters,” Davis said. “They say it’s hard to keep a good woman down.”

  “Not saying anything’s going on there, but you got a thing for her?”

  “Not saying,” Davis offered, his transparent rebreather mask making it hard to hide a smile.

  “Uh huh,” Carlos mumbled, knowing when to let it go. “Try backing off a little on that aon regulator, the flow will actually increase a half a percent.”

  “Didn’t know. Good tip.”

  For a minute the two worked in silence.

  “I know someone like you,” Davis finally said. “Hand me that—?”

  “Impetometer. Is this where you tell me I got my head up my posterior?” Carlos asked, self-deprecation being a newly minted talent.

  “Much further up than yours. He’s in the brig right now. He couldn’t get beyond the hatred.
Couldn’t change. From what I can see you’ve made a start—of course, being recently resurrected may have something to do with it.”

  A short while later, Davis, piloting the repaired vehicle, followed Carlos back to Nadir, where they set about prepping it for a return trip to Zenith. As they labored, Roya went about fulfilling Garcia’s pledge, filling the hump with water from Nadir’s on-site storage tank.

  “Are you departing too late?” Roya asked.

  “If we delay much longer, yes. The return trip will be much easier,” Davis said, “the path between us having been plotted and stored by the CAM-L’s onboard nav.”

  “I left my sergeant in command,” Ellis added. “He reports all is well, though I’d prefer to relieve him of that duty ASAP.”

  “Zenith is lacking a physician,” Stewart said. “I should be there.”

  “Then we shall get you on your way,” Garcia responded. “But first, am I correct in assuming you’ll again pass in proximity to N119, more specifically, the location where Amanda and Roya had their, uh, shall we say uncomfortable experience?”

  After receiving affirmative nods, Garcia proceeded by asking one more question, his voice suggesting that he had a pretty good idea of the answer.

  “Roya, please inform us as to the quantity of water in that lava tube.”

  “Sorry, Comandante, I can’t do that. Amanda and I siphoned three thousand liters without any sign of drawdown. The observable water level remained constant.”

  “And I assume you’d prefer to avoid the inconvenience of conducting a full hydrogeological study?”

  “Go back?! ¡Dios mío, no!” Roya protested, eyes rounding in feigned shock, a sentiment echoed by her crewmates.

  “I see,” Garcia said, making a show of slowly stroking his chin in contemplation. “It would seem that I have both a mutiny and a useless lava tube on my hands. Well, then, there is only one possible solution. Commander Ellis, you must unburden me of this liability. You are welcome to N119 and the water it contains. Unlimited access.”

  “Yes, please, take it,” Amanda said. “We insist.”

  “Of course, if for whatever reason, you’re unwilling to enter that tube,” Gustavo teased, “I’m sure we can find something more suitable. Perhaps something closer to Zenith.”