Noumenon Infinity

by Marina J. Lostetter

  Now, on the display screen, one of the ships sat with an airlock open. A gaping maw, lit up with a pale yellow glow.

  Justice’s eyes went wide. “Is that for us?” They’d tried on several occasions, especially early on, to mirror the aliens’ first-contact method. They’d taken shuttles up to presumed doorways and waited to be let inside. But nothing had happened.

  And few Lùhng pods had followed the first. There had been only six direct human-to-alien interactions since they’d met. Each time, a different set of dragons had boarded Pulse. Each time, they’d stayed for less than an hour, observing the humans who’d come to watch, scanning with strange devices, but never probing, never taking invasive samples—at least as far as anyone could tell.

  So this was new. Unprecedented.

  Justice reiterated her question in ASL, for Carmen’s benefit.

  “Perhaps. Nothing has come out,” Tan said. “At this point, we’re taking it as an invitation.”

  “But . . . today?” Justice asked. This was . . . this was so strange.

  “What about today?” Dr. Ratha asked.

  “It’s the anniversary of our first contact, three hundred and sixty-five days out.”

  “Why is that weird?” Dr. Ratha asked again.

  “Because it’s an Earth-based anniversary,” she said. “It means something to us, but it should be arbitrary to them.”

  “We’ve considered that,” Tan said. “We’re taking it as confirmation that they have been able to understand at least some of the information we’ve tried to communicate to them. We sent them details of our solar system, identified which planet was ours. The orbital mechanics were all included. Mathematically speaking, if they could understand the visual models, then they could logically conclude that this chunk of time might be significant to us.”

  Justice thought that a stretch, but wasn’t about to argue. “So you think it shows their willingness to communicate? To try to understand us?”

  “Yes. We should look at it as a good sign, like when they sent us the proteins and sugars.” He looked pointedly at Justice.

  Early on, along with information regarding their origins, Tan had also sent a plea for aid. Within a few days, the Lùhng sent them a care package. Simple molecules, raw necessities, which Justice had been able to reconfigure into supplements for the crew.

  The assumption wasn’t that they’d understood Tan’s message, but rather that they’d simply scanned their ship and deduced the convoy’s plight.

  Not that anyone complained. The resupply was a good sign—a friendly gesture. But the fact that the shipment had only contained left-handed molecules was significant. Human bodies can only utilize “left-handed” proteins—the same molecule, only right-handed, passes uselessly through the body. The Lùhng could have sent both left-and right-handed, leaving the humans to sort out which ones were consumable and which ones would need to be broken down and reconfigured. But they’d taken the time to figure out which type human biology was based on—either through scans or analysis of a random hair strand or skin cell.

  Since they’d shown such care, it served to reason that they’d be interested in further, more in-depth interaction. But up until now, that didn’t seem to be the case.

  The convoy didn’t know how to reconcile the Lùhng’s effort in some arenas with their seeming lack of interest in others. Communication was slight. They had sent many messages to the Lùhng, but as far as they could tell, the Lùhng hadn’t sent anything back. When aboard, the aliens had only responded to physical gestures, and so Tan had sent them a visual library of ASL signs, hoping to bridge the gap with a preexisting language.

  It wasn’t perfect, of course. Though the alien limbs could potentially mimic the hand signs, the facial expressions would not translate, nor anything that required finger spelling. Still, Tan considered it their best bet.

  Thus far, however, the Lùhng had made no indication that they’d received the broadcast, let alone attempted to decode the language.

  Of all of the scenarios humans had imagined for their relationships with alien intelligences, Justice couldn’t ever remember one of mild disinterest being suggested.

  If any of that bothered Carmen, the navigator didn’t let it show. “What does the bay contain?” she asked, signing emphatically as she spoke. Carmen seemed much more prepared for this meeting than Justice, as though she’d been waiting for just such a call from Tan.

  So, what am I here for? Justice wondered. Does he want me to analyze whatever a probe brings back, or . . . ?

  “The bay appears empty,” the captain said. “I’m setting up an away team, and I’d like the three of you to lead it. Sotomayor, you’ll take point.”

  Justice fought with her face, trying to keep her expression neutral, sure she was failing. An away mission? He wanted her to go aboard the alien ship?

  “We’ll take five hours to set up a plan—nothing too complex, we’re taking baby steps,” Tan continued, either refusing to acknowledge Justice’s clear anxiety, or simply failing to notice. “I know it seems hasty, but we have no idea how long the hatch will be open. If, when we’ve finalized everything, we still have an opening, you go in.

  “I’m picking you three because you are fluent in ASL, and have scientific expertise that could help us understand their origins.” Since the aliens had responded to a few signs, a good portion of the crew had made an effort to learn. Most people had at least a small ASL vocabulary these days.

  Justice guessed the three of them had been deemed the most proficient.

  “You’ll be accompanied by a security detail of four,” Tan continued. “Sotomayor will be our primary communications point. Though they have an ASL lexicon, it’s doubtful you’ll be able to hold a conversation should you encounter them, but still, baby steps. Jax, you and Doctor Ratha will gather samples for analysis. We’ve given them enough info about us—it’s time we get a little in return. I expect the trip to be short and professional. No wonder tours, okay? I want you to set a peaceful precedent so they’ll invite us aboard again. If we’re lucky, they’ll try to start an actual dialogue.

  “With that in mind, the guards will stay aboard the shuttle as long as you don’t leave the initial area, got it? Do not wander farther into the ship. This is a get in, look around, get out trip.”

  This is a terrible idea, Justice thought, locking her knees after she noticed they were trembling. She’d seen way too many monster movies, and she knew exactly how this kind of shit went down. And if there was one sci-fi horror flick rule to follow, it was this:

  Never be on the first away team.

  Ever.

  Because that’s how you turn into a redshirt, and she wanted to be in all the sequels. “With all due respect, sir,” she said, her voice hoarse. She swallowed dryly. “I’m not sure I have the temperament for this mission.”

  He pursed his lips, unimpressed. “Oh?”

  A little voice in the back of her mind told her not to question this. Just do it. Suck it up and take the order. You were a soldier, for god’s sake. You know how this works.

  But she was not a soldier here. This was supposed to be a civilian posting.

  So, she pressed her case.

  “I’m good with people. I get people,” she said, as Tan let the silence stand. “And I’ll head into a combat zone any day of the week. But I’ve never been much for animals.”

  Carmen raised an eyebrow.

  “I know, I know they’re not animals,” Justice said quickly. How could she explain? She thought of Stone’s father’s farm, then. About the homecoming celebration she’d ruined. They’d both been honorably discharged from the air force, and Stone had invited her to come along with him to Puerto Rico. Stone’s dad had introduced Justice to his horses. Beautiful things, six of them in all. She couldn’t tell you the breed if her life depended on it, but they were pretty, deep-brown creatures with flowing black manes.

  But there was this one, real skittish. And Papa Perez had laid out the ground
rules for interacting with that horse right up front. Gave her all the pointers on how not to spook it. But of course she’d spooked it. She’d scared the shit out of that poor creature.

  It was still a sore spot between her and Stone—that damn horse . . .

  But she had the same worry now.

  What if I spook the dragons?

  “What I mean is, I’ve never been in negotiations. I don’t know what the proper diplomatic etiquette is for dealing with a hostile I can communicate with. Whose thought processes are human. When it comes to something whose understanding of my motives is limited or nonexistent, and vice versa, I’ve never been . . . I worry my nerves will get the best of me.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Tan said confidently. He punctuated it with a frown and a firm nod, as if that settled everything.

  But what if I’m not? she thought. Already, her throat felt tight and her clothes too restrictive.

  [Don’t worry,] Carmen signed, [Dr. Ratha can bring some tranquilizers and shoot you up if you cause a problem.]

  Justice touched her chin. [Thanks,] she signed sarcastically.

  “All right,” Tan said. “Time to meet with the security staff and go over our plan.”

  In a few minutes, they were standing with the security guys. She was surprised to see Steve Weaver, Stone’s prison guard, as well as Mac Savea among the security detail. Steve gave her a rough grunt in acknowledgment but said nothing more.

  Tan called them to order before laying out their approach, and the conditions for success. Basically, if they landed the shuttle on the foreign ship’s decking, they were to consider their mission accomplished. Everything else was just gravy.

  “Everyone will meet in the shuttle bay in four hours,” Tan said at last. “As long as everything is tight and ready to go—and the hatch is still open—you will make us proud.”

  Justice didn’t scream out loud, but nothing could put a cork in the voice inside her head. Only it wasn’t her usual internal chatter. It was that horse. The panicked cries of that damned old mare would not leave her. Except now it was coming from the mouth of a dragon.

  A dragon with teeth and claws and fire . . .

  Give her a baby any day. Crying wasn’t a problem—human crying she could handle. The little things could coo and poop and upchuck all day and she’d never bat an eye. Her nephew—

  Nope. Best not to think about that, either.

  That kid was gone. Hell, that horse was gone.

  In a way, that made this easier. All you’ve got is today, so suck it up, she said to herself, marching into the suit room at the appointed time. She secured her helmet to the suit’s inner guide ring, taking a deep breath, trying not to feel the sudden claustrophobia inherent in sticking one’s head in a fish bowl.

  The EVA supervisor double-checked the team’s work, then sent them on their way to the designated shuttle.

  With a confidence Justice herself could not muster, Tan gave them all firm handshakes and wished them well. She tried not to “ha!” at his encouragement—after all, it was unquestionably sincere.

  The flight over was short. Too short. She looked out the nearest portal, marveling at the clearness of the universe. Like looking down through an ice-chilled pond. The stars were little tadpoles, the nebulae algae patches. You couldn’t get this kind of impression staring out of your private quarters on Pulse—the curvature of the ship got in the way. This sense of distance, of being unsupported over a vast chasm, was new. She was sure some people would get a stab of vertigo, reeling back away from all that emptiness. But not her. She could stare into the depths forever.

  In fact, if she could freeze time and stay like this, permanently suspended in space, instead of having to venture even an inch into that alien bay, that would be A-OK with her.

  Not that it was all comforting. The six alien ships still surrounded the convoy, each wondrous, each terrifying.

  The yellow light of the open hatch on their target vessel eased into bright white as they approached. It was difficult to tell where the light came from—it seemed as though the walls and the decking were themselves alight, rather than illuminated.

  The ships dwarfed the convoy craft. If they were animals, they could have eaten Pulse whole, swallowing it down easily. Their contours were dramatic, shell-like, and their opalescence made them appear more threatening than beautiful.

  As the little shuttle slipped inside, the outer doors of the hatch immediately began to close. They hadn’t officially touched down before they were fully swallowed by what appeared to be a simple supplies bay.

  Justice was most surprised by what she didn’t see.

  There were no goo pits or slimy membrane walls. No slithering wires or plantlike connections. Nothing moved—the walls didn’t heave in and out as though with breath, and nothing peeled itself from the bay’s corners like so much living wallpaper.

  She was equal parts relieved and disappointed.

  The only two unusual qualities were the light—which, since it came from all directions, ensured nothing cast a shadow—and the lack of uniformity. The convoy ships had a lot of ninety-degree angles, internally speaking. Sharp, harsh corners that gave well-defined boundaries and evenly quantified use of space. Here, everything flowed. There was no clear delineation between the floor and the walls. Seams did not exist.

  “All right, all ashore who’s going ashore,” said the pilot. He sounded as nervous as Justice felt.

  His words ran across the inside of Justice’s helmet as well, a ghostly water-blue.

  Carmen took the lead, approaching the door first. Unlike Justice, she looked ready. Not just ready—eager. She’d come here to make a mark, get some answers.

  I guess I’m eager, too—to vomit. But whatever. To each their own.

  Surprisingly, Justice wasn’t the most uncomfortable. That award went to Dr. Ratha, who was currently the personification of “sweating buckets.” Behind his faceplate, his chin dripped every few seconds, as did the end of his nose and the lobes of his ears. He blinked rapidly and shook his head, trying to keep the stuff from his eyes and failing. His comb-over now looked like it was painted to his scalp.

  “Hey, you okay?” she asked, tapping him on the knee. He had yet to unbuckle from his seat, and everyone else was already standing. Though the guards weren’t to leave the shuttle, they were stretching, prepping—just in case.

  Ratha licked his sweat-shined upper lip. “I—I uh—”

  People. I can do people. She crouched in front of him. “Look at me, huh?” She’d done the same sort of mothering during her enlisted days. If one of her squad members went into panic mode, she was there. She’d danced this dance before.

  Eh, maybe Tan wasn’t so off the mark, ordering me along.

  Ratha’s eyes wandered up to hers before darting away like a scared rabbit. “Look at me,” she said again, nodding encouragingly when he complied. “There we go. Listen—we only have room for one screwup on this away mission and I called dibs.”

  There was a microsecond of a smile, but then he shook his head emphatically. “Not going to go out there. They . . . we don’t know anything about them. Tan sent us over like we’re . . . what? Canaries?”

  “Wow, coal mining reference. Oldie but a goodie. And dead wrong. He sent us because he trusts us. Look, we touched down. Like he said, mission accomplished. We’ll dart out the door here and wave for the cameras, and then dart right back in, okay? Really, you don’t have to go out there for more than five seconds.”

  “Do not feed me shit, Jus-J-Jus . . . J. J.”

  “Not my name, but I’ll let it slide because you’re melting like the Wicked Witch of the West. Dehydration makes the mouth do funny things.”

  “Give me his gear and I’ll do it,” said Mac. Mac, like a big gross ground beef patty. Meathead for sure. He hadn’t done much to help Stone out in his time of need, and Justice wasn’t ready to give him any slack.

  She didn’t have anything against the security personnel in general, but Mac
and Steve had a long way to go to earn her trust. She glared at him.

  “You are supposed to stay here,” Carmen said and signed, cutting off Justice’s more acidic retort. Carmen then turned to address her directly. [It’s okay, Justice. He doesn’t have to come.]

  [I can get him out there. I can,] she signed back, then turned to the doctor once more “Ratha, I know you. You are going to kick yourself for the rest of your life if you don’t put two feet on that alien floor, am I right? Two boots—one, two. That’s it.”

  He took a deep, raggedy breath through his nose. “Yeah. I can do that. Two boots.”

  Justice helped him up, then jostled the security guards out of the way. She was bigger than nearly all of them, but, more importantly, she knew how to stare down a thug until he put his tail between his legs.

  Shit, and these are the guys who are supposed to protect us?

  The pilot let them out, and Carmen went first. Justice maneuvered Dr. Ratha in front of her and followed him down the two rungs to the decking.

  When Carmen hit the floor, both of her arms shot out to help her keep her balance. “Careful,” she said. “Not stable.”

  Dr. Ratha kept one hand on the shuttle, locking his gloved fingers around the door seal and swinging himself down to the surface. Justice slid one boot out, as though she were testing ice over a pond, and found that it wasn’t low friction that had given Carmen the jolt, but a squish to the material. It depressed as she put her weight on it, like thick memory foam.

  If this was a supplies bay, as she suspected, this was an innovative approach to preventing the items from shifting. She glanced at the shuttle’s landing struts, and, sure enough, they’d sunk into the material.

  The texture wasn’t sticky, though; it didn’t grab her boot, simply cradled it. Once she got the hang of planting her foot and letting a beat pass before taking another step, she found it wasn’t too difficult to get around. It was a bit like walking on sand—strenuous, but workable.

  It was difficult to gauge the gravity in the ship—what with the added bulk of her suit and the unexpected challenge of the surface. But it clearly had artificial gravity, which meant she should be able to figure out the quantity of captured gravitons and their spin.