Beyond Asimios: Book One

by Martin Fossum

  Graf stepped forward onto the ledge and held his chin high. The sun was warm and welcoming and it cheered him up slightly. He took one more look around him, at the expansive rift and the sun that was bathing this barren planet with its tremendous radiance, and at that moment Graf was happy. He smiled with satisfaction and resolve, and he took a step forward and… He noticed something shimmering in the sunlight far below in the rift. It was metallic. Large.

  —Holy shit, he said to himself. What in the world is that?

  The shale started to crumble beneath him and give way. He twisted around as he began to fall, and he reached out and caught the corner of a piece of stone. He hung there for a moment, suspended high above certain death, desiring, once again, to live.

  3

  Stelos Proxima emerged in the eastern sky, bright and indifferent and spilling rivers of amber into the deep scars of Orpheus’s Rift, while Dr. Avery Graf held precariously to a ledge many hundred meters above the canyon floor.

  —Help! he whimpered over his comlink to his companions on the other side of the cut. Oh, for God’s sake, somebody help me!

  Almost immediately the ESCOM sentry bot bridged the open gorge and was hovering before the doctor, sensor eye inches away and peering into human pupil, while the doctor’s grip began to fail.

  —How can I assist you? intoned the bot calmly, a chunk of loose shale sliding between them before tumbling into oblivion. Graf was wild with fear and he stabbed out greedily at the bot with his splinted arm.

  —Can you get under my feet? Graf asked as the strength in his fingers started to give way. Maybe I can stand on you. You could lift me. Quickly!

  —I will try, Doctor, intoned the bot.

  The bot sunk from Graf’s view and soon, to the doctor’s relief, his foot found purchase on the bot’s curved metallic surface and to his astonishment he was buoyed upward. When his grip failed, Miranda was there. She reached out and grabbed his arm and pulled his heavy frame over the ledge and to safety. Graf scampered away from the edge of the cliff, and once he determined that he was free from danger, he rolled onto his back and gazed wide-eyed up at the clear morning sky.

  —Are you okay, Doctor Graf? Miranda asked.

  Graf didn’t answer. The ESCOM bot approached and lowered its sensor eye on the prostrate doctor.

  —Are you in need of medical assistance? Miranda asked.

  And Graf started to laugh. He laughed and laughed and laughed until tears were streaming down his eyes and then he began to cough and choke. He propped himself up on his good arm and coughed some more and then he was silent.

  —Whew! he eventually said as he wiped the tears from his face. He stood up and then swatted at his pressure skin to relieve it of the dust that had painted him a dull gray.

  —That was close, he said. Then he laughed some more.

  —You almost succeeded in jumping, Miranda said.

  —I guess you’re right, Graf said. I almost did.

  —Why did you change your mind?

  —I changed my mind, Graf said as he looked toward the cliff, because I saw something far down in the rift, something that looked like it shouldn’t be there. Something unnatural. Come on, he said as huffed to catch his breath, let us take a look.

  Graf led the droid and bot back to the edge of the rift (keeping a comfortable distance from the drop-off), and at a sufficient angle he was able to survey the area where he had seen the reflection. He pointed to it and was pleased that he hadn’t been mistaken. Miranda confirmed the appearance of some manufactured material and the ESCOM bot moved out over the open gorge for some distance where it could aim its eye on the anomaly. Then it transmitted the magnified image over the comlink.

  —Is it a ship? Graf wondered.

  He found the possibility hard to believe. He searched his memory for some explanation, but came up short.

  —It would appear to be a ship, doctor, Miranda said.

  —Well, It’s quite a ways down there, Graf said. What do you suggest we do? Should we go take a look, maybe find a place less steep for us to walk down? Maybe we could get the crawler and take a little trip into the rift?

  —I can investigate, the sentry bot intoned over the link. I can stream visual.

  Graf looked at Miranda and shrugged.

  —Sounds fine to me, Graf said, but be careful. Let’s make sure our link doesn’t go down. If it does, turn around and get your tail back up here. Got it?

  —Yes, doctor, the bot said as it sunk down into the gorge and toward the object.

  Graf and Miranda stood still while they followed the stream on their VIs. As Graf watched, he grew agitated. The Tacitus wouldn’t just abandon a ship, would it? he thought to himself. If it is a ship, though, and ESCOM’s doing something covert, then where’s the crew?

  —This makes me nervous, he said looking over to Miranda. I wonder if this has anything to do with that IR blip you picked up back at the crossroads?

  —It is possible, she said.

  The bot soon approached what was clearly some sort of constructed craft, and Graf was frozen with astonishment. The ship was about the size of a skimmer, but it was of foreign design. It hadn’t been there long, it was clear. It wasn’t covered in dust like everything else on Asimios, and the landing area had been scrubbed clean by thruster blast.

  —Be careful, beach ball, Graf whispered. And don’t go killing anything before you clear it with me.

  —There are thermal variances, the bot said over the link. But there is no indication of recent engine output, nor have I detected anything in the motion scans. There is a slight sound emanating from inside, but it is very faint and it may not be life. Would you like me to proceed?

  Graf looked over at Miranda and Miranda tilted her head.

  —Proceed, Graf said. But be careful. There’s been some dropout, but I think our link is still stable.

  —Yes, sir, the bot said. This is interesting. There does seem…

  There was an extremely loud sound of metal striking metal, and then the stream went black.

  —Beach ball? Graf said. Are you there? Can you hear me?

  —The link is down, Miranda said. The sentinel is not responding.

  —Holy shit, Graf said. What now?

  Graf’s face had turned red and he pulled away his breather and bit at his lip. They both went and peeked over the edge of the rift but it was too far away to see anything. They saw the faint reflection of the ship, but that was it.

  —That was a well armed sentry bot, Miranda said. Only something with high-order weaponry could have neutralized it.

  —Well, I’ll be damned.

  —What do you suggest we do?

  —Well, I’m a little upset that whoever it is down there didn’t go through the trouble of extending a little Asimios hospitality. I think we go pay these guys a visit, out of respect for poor beach ball.

  —We are not sure that the sentinel was attacked, Miranda said.

  —That’s true, Graf said. I guess we’ll find out one way or other.

  Graf fastened his breather over his mouth and started marching toward camp Heyerdahl.

  —If I’m correct, there’s a canyon about five clicks east of here that a crawler can fit through, Graf said over the link. It’ll get us to the bottom of the rift. From there we improvise.

  —Yes, sir, Miranda said as she hurried along in her strange, and nearly human gait. Allow me to drive, sir, she said. It would be a pleasure. Excuse me for asking, but do you not find it fascinating that you are still alive?

  The sun was above them as Miranda piloted the crawler along the edge of the rift (Graf, munching away at his lunch—an S-ration that had been left in the crawler medikit) until they reached a wide mouth to a long ravine that meandered downward into the enormous gorge. There was no road, but Graf had travelled the route once before, and he had some memory of the direction they should take. After a couple hours they leveled off on the bottom of the rift, an immense and long canyon carved into the planet surfac
e. At that point they turned west and started up the valley. Graf had rummaged through the supply closets at the camp and he found the closest thing he could to a weapon: a sharp steel surveyor’s pike. Otherwise, without the ESCOM bot, they were dependant on Miranda’s strength to get them out of a pinch.

  —Well, Miranda, Graf said as they bounced around the cabin as the crawler lurched over the terrain. This wasn’t what I had planned in terms of my last hurrah, but this is a bit more exciting than jumping off a cliff and splattering your brains against a rock.

  —I earnestly hope you succeed next time, Miranda said.

  —This ship must have been part of a detail deployed by the Tacitus, Graf said. It’s got to be some ESCOM outfit left behind to do a some dirty work. Maybe this is top-secret stuff, high-level shenanigans ESCOM didn’t want us to know about. If it is, well, that’s just one more lie we’ve been fed. Maybe those bastards didn’t take out the wormhole after all. Oh, this is getting richer by the second, Graf said with an exaggerated grin. Just wait till I get my hands on Halpern. I’ll ring that asshole’s neck. Can you believe it? Here I was, ready to call it quits, thinking I was the only goddamn soul left on Asimios, and then they pull this on me. Always a sucker, always a sucker.

  It was middle of the afternoon when Miranda brought the crawler to a stop. A steep embankment prevented them from driving any further, so they got out and started to walk. The sun fell in high contrast over the parched landscape and the temperature was much cooler down here, so with pike in hand and Miranda at his side, Graf plodded his large carriage up the steep berm, puffs of fine dust stirred with each step as he readied himself to deliver a painful rebuke to the ESCOM shitheads who thought they stood above the sanction of the Asimios Station director.

  It took them a half-hour before they caught sight of the craft. There was still no response from the ESCOM bot, so Graf decided that he and Miranda should split up and come at the ship from different angles. Miranda would come from behind, on the opposite side of the canyon, while Graf would wend his way along the northern wall and approach from the front. They coordinated their movements over the comlink.

  Miranda had a longer stretch to traverse so Graf proceeded slowly. Once he was close he found a large rock and took up position. From there he could get a good look at the ship. He was surprised at what he saw.

  The skimmer, from what he could make of it, looked like nothing he had ever seen. If this was ESCOM it was certainly some kind of prototype lander, a new class of ship out for field-testing. Most of ESCOM’s equipment was good-old-boy military, high on durability and low on aesthetics and functionality and always plastered with the ESCOM falcon logo in red white and black. But this ship was all business—metallic green from stem to stern with a forward deck that looked like the mouth of an angry lizard.

  Wing-tip to wing-tip the craft was about thirty meters, and about the same length ran from nose to tail. The four plasma thrusters (if that is what they were)—two on the wings and two on the thick rear fins—were stubby and had wide-lipped intakes. The fuselage was coated with heavy scales or some sort of hide-like material, while its tail and wings were cut at odd angles (serrated almost, and strangely un-aerodynamic) and etched in decorative fractals. The windows on the flight deck were opaque—possibly polarized plasteel—but with the texture of fine wool. Lastly, the whole craft was perched on three ungainly legs with claw-foot bases that straddled a long cargo ramp that ascended into the ship’s heavy belly.

  —My, oh, my? Graf said to Miranda as he settled back behind the rock. What do you make of it?

  —It is interesting, Miranda said. The design does not cross reference with any exiting profiles. It also has no visible registration ID.

  —Yeah, Graf said, it’s strange. No signs of activity, though. Maybe we should get a closer look.

  Graf got to his feet, but kept in a crouch as he skirted the large boulder. With pike outstretched he crept ahead, scanning the terrain for signs of movement.

  —I’ve got two IR readings, Miranda said. One is yours. The other is…

  —Sh….

  And that’s when Graf felt something strike his ribcage. He gasped and buckled and went into a roll. Two strides and a figure was towering above him, waving some kind of pistol in his face while he barked out some unintelligible command that Graf inferred to be either a threat or an order to remain still. Graf’s first instinct was to dissociate—imagine he was anywhere but here—so he groaned and closed his eyes and curled up to shield any injury.

  —I have him, sir, Miranda said suddenly over the link. Then Graf heard a howl and as he turned to look he saw, suspended above him in Miranda’s arms, a creature twice the size of the android, its long legs flailing about and its weapon shaken from its hand. It was bipedal and several feet tall and covered in strange coat. Its wide, furry mammalian face was masked. Its two long hands, dexterous and human-like, clenched and clawed helplessly at Miranda as it struggled to free itself.

  Graf scrambled to stand and take in the surprising sight. Then the creature stopped its flailing. It twisted abruptly and grew rigid, and what followed was a volley of needles that shot out from its mane and they bounced off of Miranda’s plasteel body. One of the needles, however, ricocheted off the droid and found its way through Graf’s pressure skin and into the soft flesh of his calf. The doctor clutched at his leg and fell backwards, and seeing that he had fallen, Miranda cartwheeled the creature over her head and planted it face down into the dust where she inserted her heel at the base of its neck.

  —Are you injured, sir? Miranda said over to Graf.

  Graf ripped the breather from his face and his eyes darted between the spine in his leg and the being pinned under Miranda’s foot.

  —What should I do? he yelled.

  He tried to stand while simultaneously reeling from the pain in his ribs and the searing puncture in his calf. He was ready to deliver a reciprocal kick to the creature’s side when he realized that he had lost feeling in his leg…like he had stepped into a large pool of mud. He leaned over and scowled at the insubordinate limb and then he lost his balance and toppled to the ground where he wound up gazing straight into the feral eyes of his attacker.

  —Doctor Graf! Miranda shouted over to him. Try to remain alert. You have been poisoned.

  —Murphons apsto leefer dif, Graf said dismissively.

  —I’ll attempt to communicate with the alien, Miranda said. Perhaps it can explain what has happened. Miranda turned over the alien and she began to speak: I am Miranda, employee of Paul Ness, ESCOM science engineer and co-worker of Station Director, Dr. Avery Graf. Tell us who you are and why you are here.

  As Miranda continued to ask the creature questions, gradually it began to respond through a combination of squeaks, huffs and snarls. Graf watched all this from his debilitation. As far as he could tell, there was not a single muscle in his body that was following direction. He couldn’t even move an eyelid. The only thing he could do was lie where he had fallen, absent, yet present, while he listened to Miranda as she interrogated the alien.

  Slowly, Graf began to recede… He felt like he was back in the hot spring under the bio-dome, gazing up through the water at the sky. This fugue was followed by another, the dream of a pleasant dream that found himself finally leaving Asimios, floating upward and away and toward someplace where there was a ballroom filled with music and old friends and acquaintances and professional associates.

  To his delight, it was the Midnight Ball he had happened upon, and he could hear Miranda’s voice over the shuffling of feet, the rustling of dresses and the kissing of champagne glasses as she laughed and joked with a small conference of admirers. Miranda was attracting considerable attention, mostly from men dressed in fine tuxedos, and Graf was pleased to see her enjoying herself and making such an impression. And on he flew, over the heads and hands that saluted him as he orbited the grand chandelier. Good evening, Trevor Chen, Graf called out from above. What a splendid night for a ball, wouldn’
t you say? Aalia Abramson…my, what a handsome fellow you have brought out tonight! Anthony Gaetz…what a surprise! I haven’t seen you since prom! Taking the red-eye back to Mars tomorrow, I assume? Irene MacPhail, congratulations on the ESCOM ambassadorship. If anyone can lead a delegation, it is surely you!

  And then there she was, Julie, dressed in evening gown and radiant as the day they first met. She presented her hand and gave Graf a warm smile. Come to me, dearest, she implored, her face glowing with love. The orchestra struck a cord and everyone made way as Graf led his wife to the floor and took her in his arms, and so began the waltz…

  In the meantime, Miranda was involved with more immanent concerns. She had deduced, through the application of translation algorithms, that the being she was restraining was none other than Oreg Quillkeeth-Huusk of Goerath, brother of Clasp and Dmoger and son of Collmh and Whorlth. Miranda made the quick and reliable inference that Oreg was, in fact, an alien, and the first she had ever encountered (and, likely, the first alien that anybody or anything relating to Earth had ever knowingly encountered.) Realizing this, Miranda’s curiosity got the better of her and she began to subject Oreg to further questioning.

  But Oreg Quillkeeth-Huusk interrupted her efforts with a series of barks and chirrups. Miranda’s translator produced this: Don’t you care for your friend over there? He will die if you don’t give him treatment. There is medicine is on the ship. And would you move your foot. It is not comfortable.

  Miranda removed her foot from the alien’s chest and she went a couple of feet away and picked up his weapon.

  Oreg slowly stood up and he straightened his atmosphere mask and clothes and brushed the dust from his body. He stretched his thick neck while he gently stroked his fingers over his chest where Miranda had embedded her foot.

  —Thank you, he said as he blinked a set of heavy eyelids over his large eyes. Then he took his fingers in one hand and cracked his knuckles as a human might.