She opens the map and studies the planned route. “Unfortunately, no,” she says, “we can’t go around it.”
“Then we have to break the door open.”
“Well, we already have experience with that.”
“No, wait. Let us first check whether there is another entrance.”
“That is a good idea, Gronolf,” Murnaka says as she consults the map. “There are two additional entrances to this area we can try.” Her arms fall down limply, indicating her relief. They start moving in single file.
They reach the first door relatively quickly. It is narrow and green and looks more like an emergency exit. Murnaka identifies herself at the sensor, but the door remains closed. Gronolf starts getting nervous while they are looking for the third entrance. It is not easy to find, and it finally turns out to be hidden behind cabinets. After he has moved those aside, his companion slowly approaches the wireless door lock. He can clearly see she is afraid, and her fear affects him, even though he is not sure what he is afraid of. Does Murnaka know something of which he is unaware?
Finally she pulls herself together and transmits her access data. Nothing happens, which is what he feared. Murnaka turns around helplessly.
“We will now go back to the main entrance and open it by force,” Gronolf says, “The risk of damaging something is much smaller there.”
Murnaka does not react, so he walks ahead. Through his rear eye he sees her following him.
“Is there something I need to know?” he asks quietly.
“No. It’s only a hunch, but it scares me.”
So she admits being afraid. That is a real sign of trust, he thinks. “Then I hope there is no reason for your fear. And if there is one, I am prepared for it. Nobody will get past me.” He points at the weapon he carries over his shoulder.
“Not all problems can be solved by... Sorry, Gronolf, I am grateful you are trying to protect me.”
While Gronolf doesn’t know why she would thank him for something that goes without saying, her words make him feel warm inside.
Murnaka’s hunch is verified by a breeze. He feels it on the hand holding the blowtorch, and he sees it by the changing form and color of the flame. Behind the door, which is supposed to contain a hidden nursery school, there must be a vacuum. He turns off the blowtorch.
“Why did you stop?” asks Murnaka.
“There is something wrong here,” he says.
“Then we have to get in there even quicker.”
That probably isn’t a good idea. Yet Gronolf suppresses the thought, because he is afraid of the images they might be confronted with. Nevertheless, he reaches for the vacuum mask, as does Murnaka. Then he removes the door lock and waits for the pressure to equalize.
“The room behind the door cannot be very large, because the pressure equalized quickly,” he says. His voice sounds quieter and higher-pitched because the air pressure is reduced.
“Good, then the occupants might have retreated into adjacent rooms.”
He opens the door. The lighting integrated into the walls comes on as they enter the room, which is almost empty. There are only a few devices near a wall, but he cannot guess at their functions.
“We have to go there,” Murnaka says, pointing to a door on the right side of the room. She tries to use her access data, but this lock also does not react.
Gronolf did not expect anything different and already has the blowtorch ready. Once again he feels the tell-tale breeze as soon as the flame has cut through the material. “Vacuum,” he says. “But that makes no sense. The rooms are sealed off and airtight.”
“Somebody must have pumped out the air via the life-support system.”
Gronolf only knows one entity that could have done that. He cautiously opens the door. This looks like a conference room. The furniture has been thrown around, as if the occupants were defending themselves against something.
There are two black lines on a wall. Gronolf examines them. They are dried out. “Could be blood.” he says, “or possibly some kind of paint. Do we have a molecular analyzer?”
“No.”
The room has only one exit. Close to it he finds a part of a machine that looks like a support arm. It is heavy and made of metal. He examines it from all sides. “Look at the fracture surface here,” He holds the thing closer to Murnaka. “This must have involved considerable forces.”
“But where is the rest of the machine?” she asks.
“Perhaps behind this door,” he replies.
At first it feels like it always does when he tries to use force to open the door. The typical breeze tells him the air pressure behind it is even lower. They wait for the pressure to equalize. However, even after he removes the lock the door cannot be opened. He bends down and looks through the hole with his front eye. The room behind it is dark, so he takes a lamp from his tool belt and shines it inside. Another chaotic scene.
“They must have welded the door shut on all sides,” he says. “But we’ll fix that in a moment.”
He looks at Murnaka, but she does not resist when he takes his weapon off his shoulder. He aims at the left hinge and triggers the harpoon. The shot is not as loud as he expected. The door falls forward. This movement automatically activates the room lighting and gives him a free field of view.
“Back there,” Gronolf calls out. He has to yell so that Murnaka can still hear him, because the air is so thin by now. A shapeless mass is lying in the left corner. Murnaka runs forward. He deliberately takes his time so he will be prepared for what he sees. His companion holds her touch-arms in front of her front eye. Her eyelids are trembling.
In front of them is a Grosnop, definitely a female. Three of her four arms are interlaced in an unnatural way. The fourth one has been severed and someone stuck it into her breathing fold. She probably suffocated from it—unless the vacuum killed her first.
“Who would do something like that?”
He realizes that Murnaka knows the answer. No Grosnop would mutilate another one like this. There were wars in the history of his people in which countless plexes died, but according to the historians, they always kept to the rules of warfare.
This one seems to be still fresh, unlike the first corpse they found. The vacuum has hardly dried out the corpse, so she cannot have been here for much longer than two days.
“We have to concentrate,” Gronolf says, “The enemy might be still nearby.” However, that is not very probable. The Omniscience could not have known they were coming. Why should it have its machines waiting here? Yet they have to be careful—who knows what kind of strategies the Omniscience might develop?
“What should we do about her?” Murnaka asks, then turns around and looks at him with her front eye.
“We can’t do anything.”
“The control room?”
“I don’t think it would be a good idea if they sent someone here.”
“You are right, Gronolf. Nevertheless, it feels wrong to leave her here in such a state.”
“We can pick her up on the way back.” If we ever return, Gronolf thinks. The Omniscience seems to be a merciless opponent. He has no clue how they can fight it.
The room has three doors, and all of them have been welded shut from the inside. Gronolf finds the blowtorch the woman used and hooks it into his tool belt. How did the murderer make it into this room, though? He looks at the ceiling. There are two life-support vents there. The machine that killed the female must have come via the air ducts. Why didn’t he notice this earlier?
He points upward. “Could we advance faster in there?”
Murnaka unrolls the map and zooms in on the duct layer between this level and the next. “The pipes are very narrow. Do you really want to risk it?”
Tactically, this is more of a disadvantage. He would either have to crawl with his weapon at the ready, which would slow him down, or he would have to drag it behind, making himself vulnerable. He definitely won’t be able to react quickly to attacks coming from behind. I
t all depends on whether the Omniscience is expecting them by now. They probably have to assume this to be the case.
“We are staying down here,” he says. “That way we are prepared for any surprise. But we also have to keep the ducts in view, both in the ceiling and in the floor.”
“Fine. We have to continue through this door.” His companion points to the right.
Gronolf takes the weapon from his shoulder when he remembers they should first check what lies behind it. He melts a peephole into the metal and takes a look. The room is cluttered and airless.
He places a small explosive charge into the harpoon, aims, and pulls the trigger. The explosion blows the door out of its frame. As before, the light is activated, but this time Gronolf also sees something move on the floor. Something is quickly slithering toward them. He has no time to replace the explosive charge, but even without it the harpoon is a destructive weapon. He aims the barrel down slightly, calculates the enemy’s movement, and fires. The harpoon hits the ground three leg lengths away from him and gets stuck. Dust is stirred up, which settles only slowly.
“Watch out!” Gronolf yells, holding back Murnaka, who is trying to run ahead. He slowly approaches the spot where the harpoon is stuck in the ground. Something is wiggling around it. A hit! The hardened arrow has pierced the middle of a long, slender machine, and pinned it to the ground. It is made of a dark material, certainly not steel, probably carbon fibers, and it is divided into many small segments that can be twisted. It reminds Gronolf of a swamp crawler, a specialty of the Coal Coast, which is often eaten grilled.
What could be the function of this machine? Is it a spy, or does it also possess weapons? Could it kill a Grosnop? He notices how its segments are twisting more and more. The rear of the machine is hardly moving, but the front obviously does not want to accept being pinned by the harpoon. If the segments twist any further, the whole thing is going to rip itself apart. That is probably its intention, Gronolf thinks, and at that moment the front part of the fake swamp crawler tears itself free. It is so fast that it zooms away between Gronolf’s feet. In the same moment he sees through his rear eye how Murnaka raises her right load-hand and hits the fleeing remainder of the machine.
“Got it,” she calls loudly, raising her hand. Hitting the hard floor must have been painful for her, but she does not let it show. The swamp crawler lying on the floor now is only half as high and no longer moves. No matter what it was, a harmless spy or the murderer of the female in this room, Gronolf cannot suppress a shout of joy, and Murnaka joins him.
They have rested for half a bubble period. All by themselves, and without talking about it, they slid to the floor with their backs to the wall, stretching out their legs. A conversation would have been too exhausting due to the masks and the thin air, but Gronolf was in no mood for talking anyway. He doesn’t often feel like this, but it happens with Murnaka—he can simply sit without saying anything, and it doesn’t feel awkward.
He is gradually starting to feel hungry. Therefore he pulls some dried food out of his belt pouch, giving Murnaka half of it. Then they drink water from a dispenser in the wall. He is still not saying anything, but both of them seem to feel that the time for leaving has come.
Murnaka pulls out the map and then points forward with her touch-arm. He looks at the path ahead of them. There is still a long way to go. They will be traveling for several days if they have to continue opening doors by force. Yet he doesn’t mind—he is actually glad, because the time with Murnaka seems more valuable to him than any minutes without her.
He doesn’t know what is wrong. He keeps catching himself watching her flawless green skin and admiring the play of the muscles in her powerful thighs. He must not get distracted by this.
Before they open the next door, Gronolf first seals the door behind them, because Murnaka has discovered a control panel for the life-support system. Using it, she can purposely reestablish normal air pressure. The Omniscience is not overriding it. Murnaka sets the life-support to keep the pressure on a normal level. Now they can finally take off the masks and talk normally.
They reach the next two rooms via the proven blowtorch method. Gronolf wants to open the third door this way, but then the sensor reacts and asks for authorization. His companion enters the data, and the two of them are admitted. Are they past the worst parts of this sector now? Gronolf would like to believe that, but then where are the occupants, particularly the children who were supposedly raised here?
The room they are entering looks as if it had just been left. There are scattered documents, and a monitor displays the data of an experiment. On a table Gronolf finds an open food container, which still smells fresh. In the corner is a climbing plant just starting to blossom. He admires the cyan blue of its leaves. Plants are not allowed in the crew quarters. Gronolf has the impression of detecting the various scents of numerous comrades in the air. Males and females seem to have worked together in this room. Yet where have they gone—and why?
In the middle of the large room there are wide double doors on both sides. Murnaka points left.
“That way,” she says.
The doors are not locked, and Gronolf can push them open by hand. He takes his weapon off his shoulder, but he detects no danger. This area is covered in waterproof tiles. It could be a hygiene room—after all, the crew has to wash somewhere. Along the walls Gronolf sees long basins with side walls at chest height, so he cannot discover what is in them. Above the basins, heat lamps were later added, which is unusual. No, this is not a normal hygiene room, unless the crew of this sector has grown totally soft. Gronolf approaches one of the basins and looks over the edge.
He jerks back immediately. He has to get this image out of his head, as otherwise he will go insane. He grabs hold of Murnaka, who also wants to peek into the basin.
“Don’t,” he says. He is unable to utter more.
Murnaka wiggles out of his grip. Normally he would be strong enough to hold her, but right now he has to empty his stomach. The fold opens and all the food squirts out. He has entered a nightmare. How can he get out of it again? Gronolf pinches his thigh, but he is still caught in this false reality. Through his rear eye he sees Murnaka holding onto the side of the basin. Despite this, she is swaying heavily, as if a heavy tremor hit the ship. Oddly enough, this scene gives him new energy. He has to protect Murnaka and keep her from perishing due to this sight.
Gronolf takes three rapid steps and jerks her toward him so violently that she falls on her back. Murnaka utters a painful shriek. Gronolf briefly peers into the basin—briefly, yet much too long, because he will never escape this sight of extremely decomposed children immersed in a slimy, stinking sludge. They will never experience their draght. He feels like he is being welded to the side of the basin, like being unable to ever avert his front eye. Yet then Murnaka’s fall pulls him involuntarily away and he also lands on his back on the cold tile floor, breathing heavily.
For half a bubble period they just lie there. They don’t say a word and they don’t move, because each of them is busy trying to purge the horrible images, so there will be space for other thoughts in their minds. Then Gronolf slowly gets on his feet again, carefully avoiding a look over the edge of the basin. He is still swaying a bit, but he stands on two legs. Somehow he has the feeling he should take the weapon off his shoulder. He slowly walks to the exit.
“Where are you going?”
“To the other two doors.”
Murnaka briefly moves arms and legs, but she still remains on the floor. Let her rest. He has one more task to fulfill.
Gronolf goes through the double door and back into the large room. He traverses it and reaches the other double door. It is slightly ajar and he sees a narrow gap between the two doors. He only has to push it open with his hand, but something is holding him back. It is the fear of what he might witness.
He unlocks the safety catch on his weapon. This is foolish, but the weapon gives him strength. He uses its tip to push the right
side of the door open and enters the room. It looks just like the other one, with tiles everywhere and basins at the edge, and with heat lamps above. Yet there is a crucial difference he sees at once, which he simply can’t ignore. The crew members, who had been missing in this sector so far, sit inside the basins. They are arranged in a neat sequence, and they don’t move. A long row of big black eyes is staring at him. He can only see their upper bodies. They look uninjured, as if they might get up at any moment, but an unmistakable odor of blood emanates from them. Gronolf does not have to get any closer to be sure they are all dead.
He turns around and leaves the room again. The door closes behind him with a squeak. Then he changes his mind. Everyone must know what happened here. He reenters the room, takes a recording device from his belt, and starts filming. A few moments is all he needs, as the images have so much effect. Then he walks to the edge of the basins, holds the device over them without looking himself, and presses the record button again. When he is done, he feels an enormous sense of relief.
“What are you doing there?”
He steps next to Murnaka and helps her get up. “Just a few recordings.”
“You want to—”
“Yes. What happened here must not remain without witnesses.”
Murnaka places her right touch-arm on his back. “We should not rush things.”
“Whoever is responsible must be punished.”
“And who is responsible for it? The leadership group, because it broke the taboo and allowed procreation, perhaps even experimented with it? The Omniscience will claim that it only interfered because rules have been ignored.”
“Murnaka, you’d better take another look over the edge of the basin, then maybe you wouldn’t talk like that anymore.”
Gronolf immediately realizes this is unfair. Murnaka pulls her hand back and stiffens. Perhaps he can make amends? To be honest, she was just as shocked by these murders of innocents as he was. And he did not think that she was trying to protect the leadership, or even the Omniscience.
Proxima Dreaming Page 15