by B. V. Larson
“I understand your concerns, Weaver,” I said. “How far now, Ensign?”
“Another fifty meters should do it, sir.”
“How large is the affected area?”
She tapped at her instruments for a few seconds before answering. “Looks like it’s about ten meters around. Sir, it’s a perfect circle.”
Frowning, I almost halted. While still aboard Cutlass, we’d circled this entire rock multiple times, pinging it from space. But being down on the surface gave the instruments a different perspective. I didn’t recall a ten meter wide hole, filled with snow or not, but we might have missed it.
We moved forward another dozen steps then halted. I felt my way along every step now, nudging the snow aside and making certain I had firm footing before putting my full weight on each boot.
“Am I close?” I asked.
“Very.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Take a look, sir,” Yamada said, struggling up next to me.
“Careful,” I said, not letting her pass my position.
Weaver came close too, and he forced his helmeted head in between the two of us to see the instrument.
The image was clear. Directly in front of us was a circular area of lower density snow. It was distinct, and it had a regular circumference.
“I don’t like it,” I said. “Unlimber the torch, Weaver.”
We’d brought along a drilling laser. It wasn’t much, but it was more than up to the task of removing thin ice.
“Step back, guys,” he said. “This will probably vaporize the snow with an explosive release.”
I stepped back with Yamada, and the two of us checked the lines that linked our belts to Weaver’s belt. We set our feet as he directed the torch toward the snow and lowered his outer visor.
When he powered up the device, our vision was immediately clouded by a gush of vapor. Within seconds, Rumbold was trying to contact me.
“Captain Sparhawk?” he demanded. “Are you all right, sir?”
“We’re fine,” I said, wiping steam and chunks of ice from my visor. “We’ve found a low-density area and we’re burning off the ice to take a look.”
“Is that wise, sir? This surface is unstable. You could—”
Overhearing Rumbold, Weaver had stopped operating his torch.
“I’m well aware of the dangers, Chief,” I said. “I thank you for your concern. Continue, Weaver.”
He shrugged his big shoulders and went back to work. After he’d worked for several minutes, I ordered him to halt. After a time, our vision cleared.
We stepped up to the lip of a circular hole and stared down into it.
“How can this be here?” Weaver asked.
“It’s a mining plug,” Yamada said. “A test hole drilled by a tug, probably.”
I nodded in sudden understanding. “The miners requested permission to exploit this object, but they apparently ran out of patience.”
“Yes. They’ve already started drilling. But there is a layer of fresh ice over the spot—that indicates they must have drilled this hole quite a while ago.”
“Either that,” Weaver suggested, “or they covered up their tracks. Look here!”
He stepped around the rim of the hole, which was several meters deep and perfectly circular in configuration. He plunged his gauntlet down into the snow and tugged, pulling an object up into our view.
“It’s a sensor-blot,” he said, bringing it to me.
“These are illegal,” Yamada said, examining the device.
It looked homemade. It was about the size of a man’s fist, and several small dish antennas sprouted from the central metal hub.
“That’s why we couldn’t see this hole from space,” Weaver said. “They didn’t want us to find it.”
“I’ve noted that criminals rarely wish to be discovered,” I said, examining the device. Using a tool from my belt, I switched it off and tossed it aside.
I stepped to the very edge of the hole. It had frosted up again almost immediately after Weaver had exposed it. I gazed into the find.
“The interesting question,” I said, “is why someone is working so hard to keep this spot a secret. Weaver, keep burning away the snow. I want to see what’s at the bottom of this hole.”
“On it, Skipper,” he said, shouldering forward and going to work.
I noticed both of them had changed in their attitudes. At first, they’d given the impression they were humoring their young commander. Now, they were paying full attention.
Weaver was working with purpose. He was as curious as I was.
Ensign Yamada, however, had become more cautious. She’d retreated a few steps to the limits of her tether and stood there, watching with a frown.
I walked to her side and we were able to see one another despite the geyser-like venting Weaver was sending into space with his torch.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her. “You seem worried.”
“Aren’t you? This is freaky. I don’t like this rock, and I don’t like the fact there’s a hidden hole on the surface of it.”
“It’s our job to investigate.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
I chuckled. “Indeed it doesn’t.”
“Sparhawk?” called Weaver. “Come see this!”
Moving with careful hops, I joined him at the rim of the hole. The gases thinned and froze again, and I was soon able to see. A dark shape lay in the hole.
“Is that a discarded spacesuit?” I asked.
“Close,” laughed Weaver. “The suit’s occupied. It’s a body. I burned it slightly, sorry. Didn’t even see it until after I’d crisscrossed over the legs a few times.”
“My God,” Yamada said, coming closer and staring in with us. “Who is it?”
“Some rock rat,” Weaver said in disgust. “He screwed up. They usually don’t live long, you know. Not more than twenty years on average after leaving Earth. Even the people who are born out here only make it to thirty or so.”
“A dead man,” I said thoughtfully. “Way out here. Let’s get him out of that hole. We need to know how he died.”
I sent Weaver down to retrieve the body, which he did with ill grace. He complained for a time, claiming that the body was tethered, but he managed to cut the line and haul it out eventually.
The march back to the ship with the feather-weight body on our shoulders was less jovial than it had been on the way out. The corpse had been burned and disfigured by Weaver’s torch. I’d begun to wish I’d brought shovels instead of a laser to the site.
“Skipper?” Yamada said as we approached Cutlass. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been thinking.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t think we should bring the corpse into the ship.”
I halted. Weaver stared at us like we were crazy. “We’re almost back inside! Don’t stop now!”
“What’s the problem, Yamada?” I asked.
“It’s my job, as the senior science crewmember aboard, to warn you there could be contagion of some kind.”
“Oh come on,” Weaver groaned. “You just don’t want to do the autopsy. Admit it.”
“That’s not it,” she said, looking from one of us to the next, then back to the dead body we were carrying. “I just can’t recommend that we carry this person aboard.”
“Are you enacting protocol?” I asked her calmly.
She hesitated, then nodded. “I am.”
Weaver groaned aloud and dropped his half of the dead man we were carrying. The corpse fell stiffly into the snowdrifts.
“Very well,” I said, my attention fixed solely upon Yamada. “I require a clear statement of your reasoning, and I won’t hesitate to countermand it if it seems frivolous.”
“Understood, Captain,” she said. “Let me explain myself. This rock—it’s not normal. I don’t understand what’s going on out here, but I’m sure this is more than a comet or an asteroid. That’s point one.”
&nbs
p; “Go on.”
“Further, we’ve had two deadly accidents. Jimmy nearly died, and this man was even less lucky. Both incidents have no clear-cut cause. Therefore, as is my responsibility, I can’t condone taking this body into the enclosed space of Cutlass and possibly exposing the entire crew to whatever killed this individual.”
I nodded thoughtfully, going over the regulations in my head. “Proven hazardous environment. Unknown dangers encountered… Yes, I see your point. We’ll leave the corpse outside. You can set up a tent on the ice to perform the autopsy.”
Yamada stood still for a moment in shock. “Sir?”
“You heard me. Weaver, get a survival unit out here. I’ll help you set up camp, Yamada.”
Weaver hooted and climbed into the ship’s airlock. He returned shortly with several packages. It took more than an hour to set them up, but once we’d done so, I sent Yamada into the tent to figure out what had happened to the corpse we’d found.
I wasn’t without sympathy. The look on her face was a mixture of disgust and shock. I doubted she’d participated in an autopsy since her days in training, and then she’d probably not been alone. But I wanted to know what had happened to the man we’d found.
After I learned the truth, I intended to head back to the spot where we’d found him and dig deeper into that hole. All the way to the bottom.
-13-
I wanted to question Yamada about it as soon as she was done with the autopsy. But the woman looked the worse for wear. She came back to the ship and went straight to the showers. She exited after several minutes and moved into the molecular cleansing booth, which used ultraviolet light and tickling micro vibrations to tease loose and kill all pathogens.
At last, a little sweaty and breathing hard, she came to the bridge to make her report. Seeing her state of mind, Rumbold eased out of his chair and let her slide into it.
“Human, sir,” she said. “A rock rat, as we figured, judging by the elevated radiation levels in his bone marrow. Lots of heavy metals too—he doesn’t have any implants, so he must have been taking pills to clear his blood for a long time.”
I nodded patiently. All this I’d surmised just by looking at him.
“Cause of death is harder to determine,” she went on. “But I think it was blunt trauma.”
Frowning, I tried to envision how this could happen in space on a low-gravity object. “Someone beat him to death? Were there skull fractures? Was his visor intact?”
“That’s the thing…his visor’s blast shield was rolled shut. Rock rats face a lot of radiation out here, and they often have full metal shielding around their heads. Otherwise, they can get dementia over time.”
“Okay, so how did he die of blunt trauma if he wasn’t hit on the head?”
“His helmet was dented, but it held up. The rest of his body was only protected by a relatively thin spacer’s suit. He was pummeled to death. It was as if he’d been hit by a thousand rocks—or one hammer hundreds of times. Most of his ribs were broken, as were all four of his limbs.”
I winced, envisioning such a death. It didn’t sound pleasant.
“If he was murdered,” I mused, “it sounds like his murderer was enraged and wanted him to suffer. It would have been much easier just to shoot the poor guy.”
“Yes—but I don’t think it was murder. I think it was something else. You see, all the injuries appear to have come from the direction of the object—from deeper down in the hole.”
We made eye contact as I absorbed what she was saying.
“You mean he was down there and something—or someone—fired a massive number of rocks at him?”
“I think so.”
“Hard to envision. It might have been a drilling accident.”
“Maybe, sir. What are we going to do now?”
Rumbold had maintained his silence up until this point, but I could see by the look on his face he wanted to join into the discussion.
“What is it, Chief?” I asked.
“Let’s just wait here. I’ve got an update from Altair. They’re only a few million miles out, and they’ll be here in the morning. They’ve already begun braking hard. Singh must be really pushing those engines. There’ll be hell to pay when he gets back to Araminta Station and has to explain his reckless use of fuel to the quartermaster!”
He laughed, but the sound turned into a cough and died. I was staring out a porthole. Frost rimed the glass, and the light outside was a bluish-white.
“He’s speeding out here,” I said with sudden certainty, “to make sure he’s on hand if we discover anything unexpected.”
“What, sir?” Rumbold asked, bewildered.
“I don’t know, but it’s the only thing that makes sense,” I explained. “Singh doesn’t love us, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Hardly. He hates us, more like.”
“Yes. So why is he hurrying out to help us now? He wanted to leave us out here as punishment. But now he’s changed his mind. He probably got around to reading those reports I sent him. I think he figured out that we’ve found something interesting and he wants in on the find.”
Rumbold’s eyes bugged at me. “I can tell you’ve got something in mind, sir. Something I’m not going to like.”
“We’re going out again, Rumbold. Let’s find out why rock rats, smugglers and even our brave Captain Singh are so interested in this discovery.”
There was less grumbling than before as we prepared to exit the ship again. I thought the rest of the crew might be growing curious as well.
Yamada was an exception, however. She clearly needed a break. The unexpected autopsy duty had taken its toll on her.
“Yamada,” I said, “you’re in charge of the ship in our absence. Rumbold, Weaver, follow me.”
Rumbold made a gargling sound. There were no intelligible words in his response, so I ignored it.
Within the hour we were back out on the ice again, plowing through the snow. Fortunately, the snow only fell lightly here. About a centimeter a day, as far as I could determine. Following our trail to the site was easy.
Along the way, I had a thought. Radioing Yamada, I asked her opinion on the matter.
“This is another mystery,” I said. “There isn’t enough precipitation on this rock to dust over the hole we found, not in a thousand years. How did it fill in?”
“Someone must have done it deliberately,” she answered back. “Either that, or there was some kind of impact that kicked up the snow and it settled down again since the miner died.”
“Yes, those are the only two answers that have occurred to me.” I thanked her and disconnected.
Rumbold hung back when we reached the lip of the hole. He stared from a safe distance. With a blade or a gun, the man was a stalwart companion. But he didn’t like holes on alien worlds.
I spent several minutes pacing around the location while Weaver kept beaming, melting snow in the hole. It was soon ten meters deep—then fifteen.
Several things occurred to me during the interval while he worked. One was the surprising lack of equipment. This hole was perfectly round and somewhat conical. It sank down into the ground as if laser-cut—which I expected it had been. But, where was the laser that had done the cutting? And for that matter, where was the dead man’s ship?
“It seems he was left behind,” I said after I explained these discrepancies to my crewmen. “Something big burned this hole, then retreated after he was killed.”
“Either that, or they dumped him into the hole after beating him to death,” Weaver offered. “Have you ever been to a rock rat cantina, Skipper?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“They’re like stray dogs—worse than that. They pack up to do jobs, but they’re as likely to shank any man they don’t get along with as share their loot with him.”
I had my doubts about his statement, but I didn’t argue. The rock rats were mean and almost lawless, but they had their own code of honor. They couldn’t have survived in space f
or so long without it.
After another few minutes, we were down to the bottom of the hole. I examined the steaming walls and the blackened floor. It was rough and pitted.
“That’s a different material,” Weaver said of the bottom. “They sealed it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen things like this,” he said, rappelling down the side some fifteen meters to the bottom. “This is a plug. A mix of polymers meant to seal a ship’s hull. They burned their way down this far, and they sealed the bottom. How strange. Do you want me to burn through it, sir?”
I stared down at him. There he was, aiming his laser drill at the dark, dimpled surface at the bottom of the hole.
“No,” I said.
“Why not? We came this far. I doubt it’s very thick.”
“Because,” I said calmly, “I think if you burn through that plug, you’ll die.”
He stared at me uncomprehendingly, but when I tossed down a line, he climbed out quickly enough.
When he’d rejoined me at the top, I explained my thinking.
“This object we’re standing on—it isn’t a comet,” I said.
“Well, I kind of figured that much. It’s too dense for that. Must be from out-system…maybe.”
“What I mean is,” I said, kneeling and rapping my gauntlets on the edge of the hole. The material didn’t crumble. It was so uniform, so dense. It reminded me of concrete more than anything else. “What I mean is this entire thing is artificial. It’s a construct.”
The two men gaped at me as if I’d gone insane.
Rumbold laughed first, uncertainly. “Are you having us on, sir? There’s never been a ship this large. It’s almost as big as Araminta Station!”
“Almost,” I agreed, “I looked it up. Think of it: we’re standing on a ship. A ship a kilometer long and nearly half that in thickness. The snow is just frosting on top, coating the external hull.”
“If it’s a ship,” Weaver demanded, “why cover the hull in snow?”
“Maybe they wanted to be invisible. Just one more cold rock in the sky. Or maybe, the ship is dead and collected ice over the years as it drifted. I think that explanation is more likely.”
“Hold on, sir!” Rumbold said. “What makes you so sure it’s a ship at all?”