by Rob Rowntree
“Shepperd, I can’t—”
Before coming over, the blue-space specialist took a while to inspect his crewmates. Only then did Shepperd reply, “Look there, in the lower left hand quadrant.”
Alan looked. He saw nothing new. “So what are you trying to show me?”
Striding towards the virtual with purpose, Shepperd pointed, “There.” An open tunnel, a huge doorway hung out into the void. “As the SROV went by the hatch opened out. The vehicle stopped for a while to wait and see if anything more would happen. Ten minutes into its wait a small flash of light burst in the depths of the tunnel.” Shepperd paused as if he couldn’t believe what had happened, before adding: “Then everybody here went nuts. Nobody’s really recovered enough to discuss their experience.”
Alan turned to look at distraught colleagues. Not just me then. They’d each experienced some form of... of what? Hallucination? Dream? Or...
Truth of the matter was, he along with everyone here probably would never be able to pigeon-hole the experience. Hell, he didn’t even know whether they’d had a vision as disturbing as his, or something else entirely more benign. From the looks of them though—
“Shepperd, did everybody have... have an episode?”
For a moment Shepperd remained silent and then, like a kid who’d missed his first flash of female flesh, said, “No, not everyone.”
“Okay then. We must hope that whatever happened is over. I’ll run a ship diagnostic to try and discover the cause of the power surge or dump, and then we’ll see if we can quantify what happened. Perhaps the others can shed some understanding upon the event.
“Shepperd, do you want to continue to dole out the water and see if you can get one of the more coherent guys, Gibson or Kiki there, to help me rustle up some food, crackers or sandwiches or something? Give the rest something to keep them occupied.”
“Sure.” Turning to go, Shepperd hesitated and said, “Did you have, y’know, anything...?”
“Yes, yes I did. But it’s over now and we need to get back on track.”
“Sorry, you’re right of course.”
As Shepperd moved away Alan wondered if it was over. Could the guilt he felt for Jimmy’s condition ever be expunged? Perhaps not. Somewhere within, a thought bloomed, and a resolution grew. He’d be damned if he would let ancient artefacts remind him of his mistakes.
He went to work.
***
Near their first target, stars washed out of the blackness, erased by the glare from the approaching planet.
From here the cloud deck covered the rocky ball in a bright swirling haze of browns and pinks. A little smaller than Earth, the planet rotated just shy of this system’s goldilocks zone, brushing its inner edge in a slightly elliptical orbit. There were moons, three of them, but they amounted to little more than captured asteroids, a navigation problem, that’s all.
In ten hours they’d be in orbit, and then Alan could perhaps go to work on Conway, change the game plan. Worth a shot at any rate. By then the SROV would in position to inspect its first tunnel entrance.
A chime indicated a link from the crew quarters.
Absently Alan connected.
“Alan, it’s Avram. Can you come to see me?”
For a moment Alan wondered what the artist wanted with him. Although they’d developed a civil relationship, she’d never before asked for a chat. “Yeah, I guess. When?”
“Is now too soon?”
“It’s kind of impractical.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have imposed.”
The connection ended abruptly. Reaching out, Alan re-established the link. “Look, I can give you a little time now. Ship’s doing fine and it’ll be hours before I need to return to my data-well. Okay?”
Avram Stowe sounded relieved when she came back with, “Thank you Alan, thank you.”
***
Her cabin smelt of acrylic paints and oil. Clothes lay piled in a heap at the end of her bunk. On the far side of the room canvasses and easels obscured the only chest of drawers.
Avram Stowe was a striking woman. Not beautiful in a soft or girlie way, more of a heroic beauty, raven hair and olive skin draped over a lithe athletic body. Alan wondered why he’d never noticed before, but seeing her sitting in one of her two armchairs he realised that he might have underestimated her, for artist and beauty were a powerful combination.
She rose, “Alan, thank you again for coming. Please have a seat. A drink?”
“Water, thank you.”
“Of course.”
As she busied herself fetching his drink, Alan examined the bunched canvasses. Here were starscapes, a few portraits, Conway, Gibson, one or two sporting blue-space interpretations which were startling in their depiction of the environment, yet containing a subtle quality that spoke to him of soul and frailty.
“Do you like them?”
He hadn’t noticed her return and a little too quickly he said, “Yes, they’re wonderful.”
Placing his drink down on a small coffee-table Stowe appraised him, “Critics often tell you something to your face that bears little or no resemblance to their later articles.” Smiling she said, “You wouldn’t be trying to bullshit me now would you?”
Her sudden humour put Alan at ease.
“You know, I do think your work is magnificent. Well, maybe everything except the portraits. It’s bad enough working for the guy, but having him immortalised to possibly stare down on some unsuspecting future employee makes me uneasy. Can’t you paint in a mole or something?”
Stowe laughed, her teeth bright. The laughter slowly ebbed to a chuckle, “I guess you want to know why I wanted a chat.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Well there are several things I’d like to talk about. You see, right at the beginning, the start of this venture, I was the most reluctant to join. My ancestors shipped out on the Peterson and sure I was curious, who wouldn’t be, but I have a life back home and it took a lot of persuading to get me to sign on.
“Then, I thought the reasons were altruistic, worthwhile.”
“But now?”
“Conway, Gibson and Pickering don’t always seem to be focused on the objective.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t misunderstand me; they each have their own ideas, hopes and dreams. It’s just that now and again I’ve heard them bemoaning the fact that they may not find the Peterson and...”
“Ms Stowe, unless the information you’re about to impart threatens the safety of this expedition, I can assure you that it will remain with me. I would only ever use it should it become absolutely necessary.”
“You know, now that you’re here, I feel a little foolish. It’s not much.”
“If you’d rather not, that’s okay. However, if you want an opinion, fire away.”
“Well I’ve heard Pickering and Conway talk of this before, but since the unpleasantness the other day Pickering’s been openly talking about ‘The Object’. At first I thought they were referring to the Peterson, and gave it no thought.”
So somebody else had picked up on that. Alan remembered hearing Pickering use that very term, earning a reprimanded from Conway in the process. “But you’ve been thinking about it.”
“Yes, ever since Pickering announced yesterday that once we find the Peterson we’ll all be extremely wealthy. He appeared ecstatic. When I asked him what he meant, he said ‘The Object my dear is the Peterson’s cargo.’”
Peterson’s cargo? So here it was, revealed. That bastard Conway put this whole thing together for money, profit. Alan didn’t find the information surprising, but felt a little let down. Still, the fact remained there was no sign of the ship. Another thought entered, “Has he ever mentioned what it is? It strikes me that sending two navy missions doesn’t come cheap; implies that people are prepared to take extreme measures to recover whatever it is.”
“I’m sorry Alan, he’s never mentioned detail, just that it’s important.”
&
nbsp; Looking at his chronometer tattoo he said, “Thanks for this. I heard Pickering mention something the other day and Conway slapped him down. I won’t say a word unless it’s required, but I will keep an eye on them. If you have concerns don’t hesitate to tell me. Okay?”
“Sure.”
Stowe appeared unsure and Alan said, “Is there something more?”
“Maybe, but it’s not my place to say really.”
“Dive in; we aren’t going to be able to chat later, for the next few hours at any rate.”
“Tell me to mind my own business, but you and Kiki seem close. Okay, look since that thing the other day she’s been popping by for chats. Alan, she says she has to follow Rosie, Rosie Black. I’m worried she’s going to do something.”
Alan’s short burst of laughter didn’t ease her concern not even when he said, “You are the regular agony aunt aren’t you?”
“Alan, like I said, I didn’t mean to over step any boundaries.”
Alan realised he’d been a little harsh, “Gut reaction. There’s never really been anything between Kiki and me, but at one time I would have liked to explore the possibility. Bringing it up just hit a nerve, that’s all.” Seeing Stowe calm, he added, “I’ll go look in on her later.”
“Thank you. I just don’t want any more tragedy. The voyage is becoming difficult enough.”
Rising, Alan said, “Thanks for the drink. Have to go. Duty and all that.”
Once in the corridor he linked with the ship’s AI. “Where is Kiki Bech?”
The AI located her in the power production centre and Alan brought up a wall- virtual, “Show image.”
Kiki sat with her back against the reactor, knees hugged close.
“Sound,” he ordered, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
Kiki sobbed, quietly.
Chapter Eleven
Cloud Decks and Decisions
“Now that we are here, surely you can accept my point. The planet below and your other target are not really compatible with our destination.”
Alan looked around the table waiting for an answer. Conway stared at him, mouth tight and drawn; Gibson and Woodland avoided meeting his gaze.
Outside Conway’s panoramic window, a small rocky planet hung in space. The terminator raced around the limb of the world hurriedly covering the brown and orange streaked clouds. It was a desolate, intimidating sight.
Not wanting to lose the initiative, Alan pressed, “We need to climb above the system and complete a thorough scan. It’s not like we don’t have the time. And before one of you raises the issue of the other star, I can tell you that as a bet for harbouring life it’s probably a non-starter. It’s putting out low amounts of radiation.”
Conway stirred, “You can’t say that. Any life may have adapted.”
“Peterson’s people were out on the planetary surface with the natives. Did it look inhospitable? No. We just have to look harder.”
Woodland coughed, “Alan, if it’s here, where is it? We have three rocky inner worlds and four gas giants. The Peterson found them, but the navy teams that came after failed to find anything. Something’s odd here and I think it’s got something to do with the objects we’ve found.”
Alan bristled, but tried not to show it. Woodland and Conway now wanted to go back and examine the artefacts and, to be honest, so did Alan. They were enigmatic. Despite this, the episodes they had experienced forced Alan to question any closer approaches. The SROV continued to survey the site, allowing them time enough to look under every cloud and asteroid they could.
“It’s not safe, Woodland. And you know it.”
Conway said, “God damn it, Alan, who or whatever built those things left a wealth of knowledge for us to examine. I know I vetoed the idea earlier, but I’ve had time to think on it. Technology, new material, perhaps even new physics, just floating there waiting for us. It’s an opportunity like no other. How can you pass up the chance at discoveries that might benefit everyone back home? Maybe even Jimmy.”
Alan nearly retaliated. The fact that Conway now used Jimmy to try and change his mind was a low blow. Counting to ten he offered, “I have an alternative plan, and an idea.”
Conway shrugged, “We’ll listen, but I think you know our views. And you were the one wanting us to investigate these objects initially. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, but I can’t equate the risk with any potential return. We don’t know what happened to us. So, if I may...”
Taking a breathe, Alan continued, “You must agree there’s a possibility that the inner gas giant has a moon system? Tidal effects and the fact that it’s just outside this star-system’s goldilocks zone might mean that one of those moons could be our target.”
Before Woodland could argue, Alan rushed on, “Those earlier navy vessels could have met with disaster before they ever had any opportunity to complete a full reconnaissance of the place. And while we are on the subject, if they did, I would have expected them to come straight to the objects. They would have drawn the navy boys like mechanics to new tools.”
Sitting back he watched the three exchange glances.
Conway leaned forward, “I’m aware of my assuring you that I would give you control over safety issues where planet-fall is concerned, but these objects are not worlds to go mud-skimming on. Therefore, and your objections are noted, I feel we have the right to examine any and all points of interest in the system. You yourself have said we have the time.”
Woodland saw his opportunity, “Who’s to say that the Peterson didn’t end up stationed off one of these artefacts.”
“And why would they have done that and left their crew mates behind?”
Woodland flushed, but said, “I wouldn’t know. But when that tunnel door opened I couldn’t help thinking it was an invitation of some kind.”
Perhaps Alan’s lower dose of medication propelled him towards anger or maybe frustration tugged at common-sense, “What? Are you friggin’ losing it? You of all people should know better. Where are your years of training? Christ man, we don’t know anything about that object beyond what we can see, touch and measure, and some of those things are crazy. I have no objection to using the SROV more extensively on the proviso that we remain at a safe distance—”
“And just how far away is that, Alan?” Conway appeared smug, like he’d won a point. “Your arguments are counterproductive. I’m sorry Alan, but we will approach the objects and ascertain as much as we can. Naturally, we’ll approach with caution” The pause said it all but for good measure Conway added, “I do hope we can count on your support.”
That closing remark grated but Alan, much as he loathed doing it, said, “Of course. After all, I am one of the crew. I distinctly remember agreeing to work as directed by my superiors.”
The veiled sarcasm apparently drifted over their heads and as the meeting broke up, Alan wondered at his choice of new job. But being shanghaied didn’t often buy a lot of loyalty.
***
Thirty six hours later the SROV vanished.
They assembled in the observation lounge as the last telemetry arrived from the small vehicle.
The pock-marked cylinder filled the screen and as the SROV manoeuvred nearer, Alan felt worried. The shadows ate away at what little light touched the surface and as the remote vehicle approached he felt sure darkness reached for her.
The mini vehicle’s lights flooded on.
Twin circles illuminated a large hole as they slipped over the lip of the tunnel and moved into the darkness beyond.
Woodland queried, “Is that the one that opened?”
A quick look at the telemetry indicated it wasn’t and a small wave of relief rolled through Alan who said, “Sorry man, just a random opening.”
“Pity,” Woodland said, to nobody in particular.
The image halted and then slewed right, light beams scuttling across metal protrusions, ledges and rills.
Conway asked, “What’s caused that?”
Alan c
hecked the data and fed it to the virtual. A small window opened containing steadily rising figures. “Gravity increases nearby, pulling at the SROV. I would have thought the engine could cope though.” As he said this the image’s wobble slowed and halted then moved back in the direction from which it had come.
The illumination stabbed into the gloom, but for all its worth it might only have been lighting a few meters ahead. No reference points presented themselves making any sense of depth difficult to ascertain.
Alan mumbled, “We should have fitted radar.”
Stowe sat near the far wall, painting feverishly. She suddenly stopped and stared, “Does anybody else see that?”
Alan looked; for a moment he saw nothing. Slowly a horizontal platform crept from the darkness. As the remote vehicle approached additional details emerged. The platform’s surface appeared flat and cold. In the harsh illumination provided by the SROV, shadows bit deep and hard into a jumble of shapes. At the platform’s far end the shapes, looks like a rubbish dump, rose into a wall.
Pickering came to stand with Conway, “I’m not sure what I’m looking at here.”
“Nor am I,” said Alan, “only seconds left.”
As the craft descended towards the platform’s surface, something shifted on the platform. The harsh glare made it difficult to see. Bulky, fast and then it blended with another shape.
The SROV halted. On the platform light flared, reached out. For a couple of seconds the small vehicle tried to fulfil its mission. Only ruby light, flawless and coherent flooded back. Two seconds later, the SROV died.
***
“No. That’s not an option.” Alan paused, waiting for Conway to respond. Outside of Conway’s window the object spun, its slow rotation mocking Alan’s attempted bravado.
“When we discussed your position here, we came to an agreement, an agreement Alan, which you were most insistent on. You, as the only experienced mud-skimmer aboard, would have a veto on any planetary landings you felt were overtly dangerous. I retained the command chair in all in-flight decisions. Isn’t that right Alan?”