by Sarah Zettel
The radio beeped. “This is Venera Base calling Scarab Five and Scarab Fourteen,” said a woman’s voice. Adrian blinked at the speaker grill. That wasn’t Tori at flight control. That was Grandma Helen.
Kevin touched the Reply key. “This is Scarab Five. Receiving you, Venera Base.”
“This is a recall notice. Five and Fourteen, you are to return to base immediately.”
“What? Why?” The questions were out before Adrian remembered whom he was talking to.
“You’ll hear all about it when you get back up here.” Dr. Failia sounded grim. “Get your people back and get in the air.” A soft popping underscored her voice.
Adrian looked at his boss. Kevin sat there, a coffee cup held in both hands. His fingers tightened convulsively, denting and redenting the plastic, making the popping noise. Kevin stared at the radio, but Adrian felt positive he didn’t see it.
“We’re on our way up, Dr. Failia,” said Adrian, not taking his attention off Kevin.
“Good. Venera Base out.”
Kevin still just stood there, crushing the cup and letting it go again. Adrian’s confusion quickly bled away into cold concern.
“What’s going on?” asked Adrian softly.
Kevin shook himself and tossed the cup into the garbage. “We’ll find out when we get back up, won’t we?” He looked at the floor, the chair, the window, but not at Adrian. “You’d better tell the passengers.” Kevin settled himself back in the pilot’s chair.
That was no answer, but what could Adrian do? “Right, okay.”
As he sidled and shuffled his way down the scarab’s narrow central corridor, he realized that the sounds of a team getting out of their suits had silenced. He was not surprised to see them, all in their various stages of unsuiting, standing still and staring at him.
Adrian sighed. “I take it you all heard that? We need you in your couches, please, so we can get in the air.”
“Can we get any kind of information here?” asked Peachman.
“There’s nothing I can tell you.” Adrian spread his hands. “I’m sure there’ll be a full briefing when we’re back on base. If you’ll just fasten yourselves in, please.”
“Surely, there must be something—” began Peachman, half to Adrian, half to his teammates, looking for their support.
“I’m sorry,” said Adrian. He was. He didn’t know what was going on either, and he wanted to. Probably more than any of them did. Recalls did not happen unless something bad did.
Hatch’s expression caught his eye. She was looking at him, speculatively, as if she were trying to guess what was going on inside his head. Kenyon, on the other hand, was watching Hatch as if he were worried about what she’d do next.
But she didn’t do anything except bend over and start snapping the catches on her boots. Wray bent over next to her and murmured something Adrian couldn’t hear. He heard the reply, though.
“I’m sure you’ll get to interview everybody soon enough. Now, shouldn’t we do what we’re told?” Dr. Hatch gave one of her brainless smiles and started stripping out of the stiff, white, undersuit that covered her everyday clothes.
Tourists. Adrian left them to it and headed back to the pilot’s compartment. For a moment, he didn’t see Kevin, because Kevin was almost doubled over in his chair, with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and his fingers twined through his thick hair.
“Kevin?”
Kevin straightened up instantly at the sound of his name, but he couldn’t wipe the pallor from his face.
“What is it?” Adrian sank into his own chair. “What’s happened?”
Kevin shook his head. “I don’t know any more than you do.” He swiveled his chair around to face the primary controls. “Let’s get the preflights done, okay?”
Adrian didn’t move. “Look, if we’re headed back into trouble, I want to know.”
Kevin poked at a few keys, getting readiness displays up on the screens. “You’re not headed into anything.”
“But you are?”
“Did I say I was?” Kevin scowled at the control panel. “Quit pushing, Adrian. Just do your job.”
“You helped, didn’t you?”
They both jumped. Hatch stood in the entranceway, her face serious, her eyes probing.
“Dr. Hatch, please, get into your couch,” said Kevin. “We’re under a recall and we’ve got to leave now.”
“But you did help?” she said.
Kevin reared out of his chair. “What the hell do you care? You and your tourist friends were right, and you showed us all up. Fine. Take the headline and be happy. But if you want to gloat, do it on Mother Earth with your art buddies. This is my ship. For the next five hours I’m still in charge and I’m telling you to get in that cabin and out of my way!”
She didn’t move. She stayed right where she was, as if she meant to stare Kevin down.
“I am sorry,” she said finally. Then, she turned away and climbed through the door into the starboard couch bay.
Kevin sat back down, shaking.
“What was she talking about?” demanded Adrian.
“Don’t start,” said Kevin.
“Come on, Kevin—”
“Wo!” he roared. Adrian reeled back He’d heard Kevin yell before, at incompetence, at carelessness, but not like this, not this empty, lost rage.
“I’m sorry,” Kevin whispered. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Let’s get out of here, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” agreed Adrian.
They ran through the preflights mechanically, with no comments or bantering. Adrian kept his eyes on his instruments. He didn’t want to look at his boss. He didn’t want to see what was eating the other man. Something sure was. Something huge.
Finally, Kevin turned the radio on Venera Base. “Venera Base, this is Scarab Five.”
“We have you, Scarab Five,” came back Tori’s voice. “Conditions are go for your launch.”
“Good to hear, Venera.” Kevin’s response was flat, automatic. “That lightning cleared up?”
“Clear as crystal,” answered Tori. “For Venus anyway.”
“Thank you, Venera.” He switched the radio over to the next channel. “Scarab Fourteen, this is Scarab Five. Are you go for launch?”
“Ready whenever you are, Scarab Five,” Charlotte Murray, Scarab Fourteen’s pilot, told them. “You got any idea what this is about?”
For a moment, Adrian thought Kevin was going to be sick. “None, Charlotte. Listen, we’re good to go here too. How about you follow us up?”
“Okay by me,” said Charlotte. “Let’s do the drill. Scarab Five, are you go?”
“We are go, Scarab Fourteen.” Kevin gave Adrian the nod.
“Engaging wing.” Adrian thumbed the button on the wheel stem that raised the wing. The roof camera showed the rack lift and spread, stretching the skin wide. The indicator light shone green and Adrian slid the inflation control up to Full. The wing inflated slowly. Scarab Five shifted uneasily until it finally lost contact with the ground and began its gentle rise toward the clouds.
Kevin pulled the wheel forward with one hand and pressed in the two keys that engaged the flight engines with the other. The flight engines were tiny things, mostly for guidance and stabilization. The wing provided the lift in the dense atmosphere, and once they reached them, the 360-kilometer-an-hour winds in the cloud layers provided the speed.
Kevin eased the wheel forward to angle the wing for a little extra lift. He probably wanted to get as far away from the volcano wall as possible, as soon as possible. Beta Regio never failed to make Adrian nervous. Too many outcroppings, too many weird corners.
Today, though, it didn’t bother him half as much as the dead, gray look on Kevin’s face. He was not here. His hands were flying the scarab without his head. This was not good.
“Flying a little sluggish, do you drink?” asked Adrian to try to draw him out.
Kevin nodded. “A little. Might be some grit in the works. H
ow do the diagnostics look?”
Adrian’s gaze swept the instrument panels and screens. “Everything’s green and go.”
“All right let me get a little more clearance from the wall. We’ve got that big shelf coming up.” He pushed the wheel down and away, dropping them, swinging them wide, without waiting, without looking.
Without seeing Scarab Fourteen on the monitor.
“Pull back!” shouted Adrian.
The radio crackled to life “Scarab Five, get—”
WHANG!
The whole scarab shuddered and swung wildly to the right. Stunned, Kevin gripped the wheel and pulled back, trying for height.
“What happened?” cried Adrian. A sick creaking sounded through the roof. “We got a critical failure in the wing joints!” Adrian glanced down at the roof camera. The cage around the right wingtip was crumpled in. The scarab lurched and leaned right.
“It was an accident!” Kevin hauled the wheel left. That worked, sort of. The scarab stabilized for a moment but then slowly slewed right and down.
“Okay,” said Adrian under his breath. “We’re going back down.” He bit the radio key. “Scarab Fourteen, Scarab Fourteen, are you there? Come in, Charlotte…”
Nothing. No answer. Adrian punched the keys for the sweep cameras in the scarab’s belly to scan the ground. All he saw was the broken landscape, crisscrossed by the tracks of old lava flows and the glowing rivulets of fresh ones.
“They’re not answering,” he said sharply. Kevin didn’t seem to notice. Kevin pulled the wheel back and left. The scarab started a shallow dive, dipping a little to the left as it curved gently around.
He heard screams, shouted questions, more creaks and strains. Too much noise, too many possibilities. Oh, Holy God, too many ways to die.
“Deploy chutes,” ordered Kevin.
Adrian slapped the key and saw the red message glowing next to it. “We don’t have the chute! The hatch is nonresponsive.”
Too many ways to die. If one of those creaks was the hull. If they landed too hard on their belly and a rock bit through, if the joints and seals that were moaning all around them gave way….
Something overhead groaned. Then, something snapped.
The right half of the scarab dropped, dragging everything with it. The world rattled and clattered and clanked. Voices swore. Somebody screamed again. The straps bit into Adrian’s shoulders.
Oh, Holy God and Mother Creation, I don’t want to die!
With a hiss, the outside airbags deployed. The scarab banged against the side of the mountain, bounced back, rattling them all like dice in a tin can, and headed down.
“No response!” shouted Kevin, wrestling with the wheel.
Adrian grabbed the copilot wheel and threw all his weight behind it. It didn’t budge. “Nothing!” No steering, no way to get away from the rocks, the sharp rocks that could cut right through them, let in the poison and the pressure….
A bang, and Adrian’s body bounced hard against the straps. He bit his own lip to keep from screaming. The scarab’s rear quarter bit the volcano wall with a sickening crunch and settled slowly on a drunken angle, head down, right rear corner sticking up.
Adrian didn’t try to move. He just sat still, listened to his heart hammer, and watched the thousand red lights shine on the panels.
But it was quiet again, and he was alive.
“Everyone okay?” called Adrian, half to the intercom, half to the air.
Answers tumbled over themselves, but it sounded like the team in the couches had weathered it all right. Better than Scarab Five itself had, that was for sure.
Better than Kevin, who sat blinking at his controls.
“Kevin? Boss?”
“It was an accident. It was an accident,” he whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t. Oh, God.” He stared out the window.
Adrian followed his gaze. In the distance, maybe a couple of hundred meters, it was hard to tell, Scarab Fourteen snuggled against the side of a rough foothill, as if it were attempting to crawl inside the rock. Its treads were crushed. Its hull wasn’t the right shape anymore.
“It was an accident,” murmured Kevin.
“Shut up!” shouted Adrian. “Just…shut up! I don’t care what it was!” He didn’t. He was scared; he wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.
Okay. Okay. You know what to do. Do it.
The radio still showed up green. He hit the key for Scarab Fourteen again. “Scarab Fourteen! Scarab Fourteen! Come in, Charlotte. Talk to me!”
Still nothing but silence.
“Send the mayday to Venera,” Adrian ordered his boss. “Tell them Scarab Fourteen isn’t answering. I’ll put together a comprehensive on the damage.” If we’ve still got hull integrity, we’ll be all right. Hull integrity, all the pumps, most of the air tanks….He cast a quick glance out the window, trying not to see the battered hulk of Scarab Fourteen. The black and gray land outside was a mass of sharp ridges and steep descents, as if someone had slashed through the ground with a razor. Scarab Five had come to rest against one of the sharp-backed ridges. Orange glow oozed in the distance, filling the crevices below them. Lava.
But that’s over there. Not here. Adrian dropped his gaze to his hands. Keep it together. You know what to do. This is why you’re here.
Kevin had pulled himself far enough back into the present to work the radio. “Venera Base, this is Scarab Five. Mayday, mayday. I repeat, Venera Base, this is Scarab Five. Mayday. Mayday. We are down. Scarab Fourteen is down and not responding.”
Adrian tuned him out and concentrated on the instruments. Most of the electronics seemed to be functioning. The computer gave him no errors as he requested a comprehensive list of the damages.
Adrian scanned the report. Bad, bad, bad. The rear axle had collapsed. Two panels on the exterior wall had buckled in to the point they were pressing on the interior insulation and had cut through a whole set of coolant pipes on the way. Ice tank one had been completely crushed. So had air processor three.
Okay. First thing, get back and see what’s to do about those buckled panels. They break through and we’re very, very screwed.
“We have you, Scarab Five.” Tori’s familiar, infinitely welcome voice sounded from the radio. “Your position is fixed. Rescue team being readied for drop now. What is your status?”
Kevin turned to Adrian. The helplessness on his face made Adrian want to hit him.
“Not good, but not dead,” said Adrian toward the speaker. “Crew unhurt. Lost mobility, lost one ice tank, lost one air processor, and have sustained partial loss of one cooling pump. All remaining pumps, scrubbers, and tanks look green. Possible danger of hull compromise. I’m going to check it out now.”
Adrian unsnapped his catches and got to his feet. As he did, a new trembling grind vibrated through the scarab’s floor. The world shifted backward. Adrian pinwheeled his arms for balance. He stared involuntarily out the window. As he toppled backwards, his eyes told his brain that the scarab hadn’t moved, the ground outside had.
The floor hit his back, knocking all the wind out of him. Something hard caught his head, and stars burst in front of his eyes in sync with the pain.
“Holy God!” gasped Kevin. “Oh Christ!”
Adrian tried to lift his head, but the world spun. The floor vibrated again. The scarab slid backward. The front end came down with a crash that rattled his teeth and sent fresh flashes of pain through his head.
“Scarab Five, what’s going on? Talk to me, Adrian!”
“There’s something alive,” rasped Kevin. “Venera Base, cancel drop. I repeat, cancel drop. There’s something alive out there, and it’s coming toward us.”
What? Adrian pulled himself to his knees. I did not hear that.
“We’ve found the goddamned aliens,” grated Kevin.
Adrian planted one hand on the counter and pushed. He reached his feet and looked out the front window. At first he saw nothing but black rock hunched up between the streams of lava. T
hen, two of the islands moved. They slid out of the lava stream and over the steady ground. From behind them rose a translucent jellyfish half the size of the scarab, its tentacles tipped with pincers.
The world spun and Adrian toppled back to the floor. Consciousness started to slip away. To his shame, he let it go.
Br’sei flew into the main chamber with the speed born of agitation. T’sha shifted on her own perch, turning away from the recorder and its reports that she was still reviewing to get herself up to speed on New Home and its New People.
D’han and P’tesk lurched sideways as Br’sei blew past. He managed to snag a perch in time to keep from crashing into the wall.
“What’s happened?” asked T’sha.
“I…there’s…” Br’sei’s muzzle bobbed as he looked around the chamber. “Where is Ambassador D’seun?”
“He’s surveying the wind currents.” T’sha raised her forehand and beckoned to Br’sei. “What’s happened? Talk to me.”
“I…” Br’sei’s teeth clacked. Was he nervous? T’sha’s bones bunched in annoyance at his hesitation. D’seun had them all too well trained. Even Br’sei, for all the doubts he expressed to her. She was an interloper. Only approved information was to be shared with her.
I am also an ambassador to the High Law Meet. “Tell me what’s happened, Engineer,” she ordered.
Br’sei shrank a little in resignation, but maybe also in relief. “There’s been an accident.”
T’sha’s arms stiffened, lifting her off her perch. “Who? How many are hurt?”
“No, none of ours,” said Br’sei. “It’s the New People.”
The words jolted straight through T’sha. “What?”
Br’sei dipped his muzzle. “The overseers watching the New People report that two of their transports have crashed near Living Highland 76. They believe them to be damaged.”
There are overseers assigned to the New People? This isn’t in the reports. T’sha went very still. “Are their own kind responding?”
“Not yet,” said Br’sei.
“P’tesk, D’han, come with me.” T’sha spread her wings. “Br’sei, you will sweep the base. Bring everyone we have. Get the dirigibles flying and bring the emergency spares. We need whatever we’ve got to work in cold and low pressure.”