by Rob Rowntree
Seconds remained and here came the signal, strong and clear.
Alan linked back into ship’s coms. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have the signal, sixty seconds to dispersal. You’ll see a small burst of bright light as the re-entry thrusters’ fire; a little after the shell will open up and eject all its little babies.” Alan heard a titter from someone and added: “Kind of like a giant puffball fungus. The resolution’s not great but we might be able to see a small cloud for a second or two.”
Moments passed, and then a quick, violent burst of light, immediately followed by a smudge of darkness that was snatched away almost as quickly as it had come.
Alan played the drone’s release again in slow motion. There they were, a cloud of lightweight drones exiting from the shell, immediately distorting into trailing streams containing hundreds of drones.
The drones began to chatter. Slowly at first, in dribs and drabs, then more as sunlight pushed power through their dark wings. Soon hundreds of feeds lit up Alan’s virtual screen.
Alan imagined the little free flying drones unfurling their solar collecting wings; some short and stubby, allowing a steep descent towards the terrain below where wings and bodies would morph into a form suitable for gliding along thermals. Others morphed immediately, their long wings spread wide to prolong their descent allowing them to glide to more distant destinations.
Some three centimetres long, drone bodies were narrow supple bio-degradable tubes housing charge couple chips and digital sensing arrays: a neat package, which after use would reduce to odd looking weathered pebbles. Amused, Alan smiled at the thought of some future alien archaeologist unearthing a weathered chip and wondered what it would make of it?
Data already filled Alan’s screens. Air and ground speed showed some of the drones moving fast. Tailwind’s perhaps? Quickly checking drones heading in the opposite direction, he noted a huge difference in speed, which seemed to confirm his suspicions.
He flicked to a view from one of the drones; although minimally distorted, the scene appeared acceptably clear and sharp. Sunlight drove large shadows into a mountain range ahead, where, beneath small snow caps, it illuminated green, forested slopes. Streams and brooks riddled the hillsides forming dark rents in the canopy. The tree covered hills’ foliage undulated, sometimes against the lie of the land. He saw that the undulations were a fixed aspect of the forest canopy, as if greenery all grew in a prescribed direction.
Selecting at random, Alan jumped from drone to drone to reveal a coastline bathed in sunlight, desert, open savannah, ocean, cloud, a rain storm. Selecting the coastline, Alan opened up the receivers and played the sounds of alien surf into the observation lounge; the pacific coast on stormy afternoons, breakers against rocky shoreline. It sounded like home.
Yawning, he considered joining the others in the lounge. Hungry anyway, some company at this time would be great. Ensuring that the AI had everything under control he clambered out of the data-well. Moving away from his work-station, he heard a melancholy wail from the speakers and thought it may be wind picked up by the drone. The rationalisation failed to prevent the shiver that caressed his neck. He hurried to join the others.
***
The observation lounge buzzed with a buoyant vibrancy that drew Alan up short at the door. Conway and Pickering stood before a virtual screen engrossed in the image. They talked intently. Nearby Stowe painted. Woodland, Gibson and Kiki huddled around the food preparation area chatting like excited school children. The background hubbub of voices mingled with the audio relayed from the planet and Alan found the scene hypnotic. Nothing like a new world to clear away the debris of long-distance space flight. Smiling, he stepped into the lounge.
Conway placed a hand on Pickering’s shoulder and called, “Alan, come and join us over here; there’s so much data I don’t know where to begin.”
Heading towards them Alan smiled at Kiki, “Coffee?” she said.
“Thanks, I’ll be with Conway.” He jerked a thumb in that direction. Alan noted her broad smile and hoped that the sight of this little world might have eased her worries. Turning his attention briefly to the virtual that Conway and Pickering studied, he moved on. Passing Stowe he heard the artist whisper, “She blows like the wind.”
“Yeah, you can say that again.” Alan answered.
Conway shot round and blurted, “What was that Alan? Didn’t quite catch it.”
“Nothing, just saying hello to Stowe there.”
Conway placed his arm around Alan’s shoulders, “She’s painting our portrait, all very grand and everything. Thank god it’s not the nineteenth century; she’d have had us braced against steel stands.”
“I heard that,” Stowe said with a grin.
The atmosphere felt bizarre, yet intoxicating. Overcome slightly by this unexpected development, he smiled back. “Conway, it will look great on your wall when you get home. It’s not every day somebody discovers an air holding, god-damn, real life-bearing planet. We should commemorate in some way.”
“Here, here,” Pickering chimed.
Shrugging away Conway’s arm, Alan said to Pickering, “Has it been worth it? I know you haven’t found this the easiest of trips, but how many people can say they’ve gazed out on a newly discovered world?”
“Almost newly discovered,” Conway added.
“Yes, almost.” Alan waited for Pickering’s reply.
After a moment’s thought Pickering said, “It’s hard to put into words. I guess you were right back there at the beginning. I’m no spacer, not cut out for it, not then, not now.”
“Look, I rode you pretty hard—”
“No, it’s okay,” Pickering continued, “I deserved some of it and I never quite got past my resentment of people like you. The freedom, the travel, the fame, needled away at my shortcomings. I never thought for a moment that I’d be standing here gazing down at such a beautiful sight. It’s... It’s almost magical.”
Pickering’s frankness was a little disturbing. He’d never liked the preening man, especially Pickering’s use of power to manipulate, allied to his air of superiority, characteristics that always forced Alan into a mental corner. How could people behave like that? Surely they knew others would take offence. Obviously the answer lay in the fact that people of Pickering’s calibre didn’t care how people felt. Ultimately, that’s what got Alan all riled up. Strange then that Pickering appeared to be shedding some of his shallow attributes.
Alan went with the flow, not about to say anything to upset the new balance, “I’m glad you think so. It’s been an unusual and hard trip. Everybody’s been on edge and I hope we can all move on together. We’ve much to do.”
Kiki arrived with his coffee, passed it over and without invitation slid her arm around his waist. It felt warm and comforting, and most certainly brazen. He noticed the others take note, thinking perhaps here was not the right place.
Scrolling number and data feeds scurried across the bottom of the virtual. “Conway, the drones are squirting large amounts of data to us. We’ll have mountains of information to sift through.”
“How long do you think it will take, Alan?”
“Can’t really say. With the AI’s help and Gibson’s assistance, maybe a week or two.”
“Two weeks?” Conway’s eyes widened.
Alan grinned, “That would be a quick turn-around. Many of my previous missions would have taken a month or so before moving forward with another operational phase. Two weeks feels rushed.”
“I’d hoped for something a little more rapid.”
Alan sensed the disappointment in Conway’s voice. He said, “There’s the surveillance drops and landing arrangements to consider. Time will fly by.”
Pickering chortled, “That’s an unfortunate pun, right?” More seriously he went on, “Of course to drop the surveillance bugs we’ll need to find a suitable location. There’ll be no point otherwise.”
“Naturally.” Alan said, not wanting to point out the obvious.
&
nbsp; Kiki threw in an observation saying, “Once we have all the information and surveillance done, we can start to draw up a roster for landings. It’ll be great to stretch our legs on some solid ground for a while.”
Alan looked down at her. This is the girl who thinks the universe is a dangerous place? “There’s a long way to go yet. We need to understand things; how does such a small body maintain its atmosphere...the planet’s temperature model...air and biota samples to inspect and analyse...search for pathogens. And that’s just for starters. Conway’s eagerness may have been over optimistic.”
Conway butted in, “The little world’s surface gravity appears to be about one third of the Earths. That’s large for such a small body. Any hypothesis on offer?”
Alan waited; hoping one of the others would take it up. Certainly Conway seemed euphoric and eager to play twenty questions.
Gibson shouted from the across the room, “It’s dense, maybe has an iron core, possibly some heavier metal. Hey, perhaps it’s kept molten by tidal effects from the gas giant, which might explain why the place looks so inviting. The planet’s being heated from within.”
Alan found this amusing, “I’ll go for that. There’s also the warmth derived from this system’s star. The gas giant and its family of moonlets are in the outer edges of the goldilocks zone. The combination of the two might account for place’s allure.” He waited for someone else to speak but no one bit. “Conway,” he said, “could you bring up the data blocks that we’ve got so far?”
Conway obliged and the virtual beyond Conway burst into a multicoloured patchwork of flashing boxes.
“Now, if you’ll be kind enough to locate the file containing the physical planetary properties.” A box swelled to fill the screen and opened onto rows of descending numbers. Near the bottom a scrolling feed contained fixed numerical data. “There,” said Alan. “See these two figures. The planet’s got a magnetic field, and it’s probably lucky it has with all the radiation playing around this gas giant.”
Pickering said, “Now hang on a minute Alan. My understanding of planetary system formation may not be as up to date as yours, but I clearly recall that systems formed from stellar accretion disks normally have their heavier elements stored in the rocky worlds nearer the star. Gas giants and their moons are made of lighter stuff.”
“You have a good point and one I can’t explain. Perhaps this world drifted during the early phases of this system’s formation, managing to get stuck in the giant’s strong gravity well. Or maybe it drifted in from outside the system many billions of years ago. There’ll be a rational explanation, but that’s something for future expeditions to look into. For now we must ensure that the information we gather will enable us to land, and once we’re down, remain safe.”
Stowe stood, cleaned her hands of paint and walked over to join them.
“You guys make it all sound so clinical. Have you looked at the place, really looked?. What do you reckon Kiki? You think they’ve got any romance left in their souls?”
Kiki moved away from Alan, “Not a damn bit. Sometimes I think they’d talk numbers all night. I think it’s a beautiful place, the little circular seas are so blue and the cloud cover hunkered over the southern region looks like a field of marshmallows.”
Alan said, “Yeah, right, but those figures are going to save your butts.”
“Spoil sport,” Stowe interjected.
Kiki smiled, “Those seas are so symmetrical I can’t take my eyes off them.”
Alan saw two large circular seas - turquoise buttons in a tan landscape. He had an idea. “Conway, may I have control of the virtual?”
“Of course. What are you looking for?”
Ignoring Conway’s question he sent several commands to Haqiqa’s AI. Seconds drifted by and slowly an image of the world took centre place on the screen. It revolved slowly. After a few moments Alan said, “I’ll be damned.”
“What?” Several of the other’s looked on. Woodland chirped up, “That’s pretty impressive. I guess this little fellow might have been orbiting a lot closer to the star after all.”
“Would someone enlighten me, please?” Conway looked perplexed.
A step nearer the screen enabled Alan to point out certain features. “Watch as the world revolves. See how the seas form a line. And look here, this last one has a more teardrop type of shape. Millennia ago this world was struck by another large body. The impact left these gouges and crater-like depressions which later became seas. It’s quite possible that the impact herded this moon here.”
Stowe quietly said, “It must have been cataclysmic. Wouldn’t the air and stuff have been torn lose and thrown into space?”
“Obviously not,” Conway said, gesturing at the screen. “The place took a beating though, and should make for an interesting landing.” He smiled as he spoke and Alan felt a touch of annoyance at the man’s flippancy. “What is it Alan? You look like there’s something on your mind.”
“It’s nothing. Just a slight reality-check that’s all.”
Perhaps Conway felt the need to put an end to the joviality and assumed that reverting to type would ensure that the party atmosphere would end. “Yes, a reality-check, a well turned phrase Alan.” Turning so that the others could hear, Conway said, “The frivolity is over. Back to work people. Come on.”
Alan smiled at stunned looks and unabashed resentment. Taking his time to finish his drink, he saw Woodland staring. As if Alan’s returned gaze were invitation Woodland sauntered over, seemingly pleased with himself.
“Alan.”
Remaining silent, Alan waited for Woodland to continue, Alan of the opinion that silence worked well in awkward conversations.
Smirking, Woodland said, “Your little stunt appears to be a forgotten blip on Conway’s scope, but if we make it home you’ll face disciplinary action. I for one can’t wait to see the look on your face as they revoke your pilot’s license. Back there was technology, hardware, and science, like gold nuggets on a river bed. And what? You got cold feet, buddy? Scared?”
Alan waited for Woodland to finish. “Woodland,” Alan said quietly, “if we get the chance to sit in a court room, I’ll argue my case there. And while we are on the subject of altered mission profiles, would you like to enlighten me regarding the navy’s lack of success in this system? They came here looking for the Peterson and failed to figure out where the crew may have landed? After a couple of hours the logic of this location would have seeped into their thinking.”
“I told you before. The expeditions met with disaster. The navy’s assumption is that they never had time to find the ship, crew or anything else.”
“Okay then, answer me this: Why is everybody so damned interested in finding the Peterson? Back then they send over a flotilla or two and now they attach you to this little jaunt. What’s with the interest?”
A sliver of light caught in Woodland’s eyes as he held Alan’s gaze. “I don’t follow your question.”
“It’s simple. The crew were here. The crew were awaiting rescue and yet it’s all ‘What happened to the Peterson? Where’s the Peterson?’ It’s as if the ship were more important.”
“Paranoia is eating away at you Alan. There’s no mystery. We didn’t come back, did we?”
“After more than two hundred years they thought it important enough for you to be involved.” Alan shot him a cool glance. “But naturally, I may just be a tad paranoid; after all, the crew I stole the ship from just threw a party as if nothing had happened. It tends to put one on edge. However, Woodland, if we do come across the Peterson, I’ll be damned sure to find out what all the fuss is about.”
Woodland leaned closer, “Alan, you have stuck your head into a hornet’s nest and those insects are becoming agitated. Soon you’ll be stung. Best you quit fooling around before someone you like gets hurt.”
Someone you like gets hurt! Alan shivered a little. “Woodland,” he said, “this conversation’s over.”
Placing his drink on the ta
ble Alan made his way towards the door. Behind, he heard Woodland strike up a conversation with Conway.
Moving into the corridor and towards his cabin, Alan felt unable to reconcile the fact that Conway directly opposed Woodland’s presence here and yet they seemed to be cooperating with each other well. In fact, too well. Why? What were they sharing? Every train of thought Alan used led back to one thing, and one thing only, The Peterson. That ship held power or treasure, or... Secrets.
Thinking about the ship forced an image of Avram Stowe’s sculpture into his mind. The brass relief and blue space shimmer, forcing him to dig deeper, speculate harder. Although they now possibly knew the location of the crew’s last home and there was some genuine interest generated in the little planet below, Conway, Pickering and Woodland exhibited signs of apathy. Oh yes, they looked the part, said the right words but Alan felt they weren’t focused. They still wanted the ship, it’s cargo, something on it. Conway had reprimanded Pickering for mentioning something along those lines and Stowe’s information supported that. Something on board then; something worth the death of the crew.
Entering his cabin, Alan found Gibson sitting in his chair.
Chapter Fifteen
Languages and Lies
“Sorry for the intrusion, I—”
“Gibson, it’s okay.” Closing the door Alan said, “How have you been? I know you and Shepperd were close. It can’t have been easy.”
“Been a struggle. I never expected to lose him. In the end though, I had, no, have our work. Concentrating helped me move on.”
“Move on? I wouldn’t have thought it’s been a long enough time to move on. Do you want to talk?”
“Not now...maybe later.” An awkward silence followed, before Gibson qualified, “Thanks anyway.”
Rising, Alan moved to his small kitchenette, “Can I get you a drink, tea, coffee, water, juice?”
“Yes, water thanks.”
Reaching for a couple of glasses Alan noticed that Gibson’s hands fidgeted, his fingers twitched. The guy must be strung out, “Are you sure you won’t have something stronger? You seem a little tense.”