Eve rises and puts on pants and also the jacket of her suit. She decides to not put the LCVG back on. Then she stands in front of the control panel. The number of options is huge. Her gut feeling tells her she should ensure some distance from the place where she is standing. That seems silly, but as she has no other selection criteria, she might as well follow her instinct. She looks for a position on the bottom left of the control panel that corresponds to a honeycomb close to the ceiling. Yet she hesitates. From here she could not even recognize the color of the light. And she does not know how long the awakening takes. It would take her several minutes to go up there. If she is unlucky, she might be too late.
So she selects a honeycomb further down. She moves her finger around in a circle a few times and then chooses a sequence of symbols in the lower third. First the circle with the dot. She presses it and shortly afterward sees a light go on about two meters above the ground. During the first seconds it flickers, as if it could not make up its mind, but then it glows a steady red. She already knows yellow, blue, violet—but red is something new. What might the different colors mean? Do they indicate the rank or sex of the sleeper? Or are they related to the state of the chamber?
The alien in the only honeycomb whose interior she saw seemed healthy, as if just taking a little nap. The associated lamp had been yellow. She activates the next symbol, the two triangles. She does not wait long but goes directly to the honeycomb that by now should have become transparent. Yes, she can look inside. The revulsion she feels when seeing this alien is not as pronounced, even though this creature looks just as strange.
Eve tries to notice possible differences. The condition of the sleeper appears to be good, as far as she can tell. The creature is naked. At least she doesn’t detect any clothing. Could the eyes be a different shade? She walks to the other transparent honeycomb to make sure. Yes, she was right. The iris of the first alien seemed almost black, while that of this new candidate is dark blue. The new guy also has fewer muscles on his load arms. That’s what she is calling the shorter arms that are obviously intended for harder tasks.
How does this creature consume food? Eve cannot discover a mouth. At the belly the leathery skin forms some wrinkles, though. Perhaps there is an opening hidden below. She does not notice any sexual differentiation. She sees a few pointed appendages between the legs of the creature, but these could be either genitals or excretory organs, or teats for feeding offspring. Eve wonders whether she should turn a few more honeycombs transparent. Then she might find children or other variants of this life form. She does not even know whether this species is oviparous or viviparous, or how many sexes it has. In the end, though, she can only conjecture.
Would that help her? She shakes her head. Only one of the aliens could provide her with reliable information. Eve imagines how the awakened sleeper hops toward her and stretches out a seven-fingered, slender hand. Then she would have to control herself and not flinch. She turns around to the control panel. This time she remembers the two keys belonging to the selected honeycomb. But why did the builders not integrate any status light into the control panel? Do aliens have a perfect memory?
She is once more veering off from her actual task. A key with a reversed S is waiting for her. Is this a letter of the extraterrestrial script, or rather a pictogram? She places a finger on it. The pattern has a soft feel to it, without sharp edges, as if thousands of fingers had already touched it before. Hers definitely is not the first one. She just has to push it briefly into the control panel, and then the event she both fears and desires will happen.
Eve presses the button. The metal vibrates slightly. That’s new. She turns around and walks to the selected honeycomb. For half a minute nothing happens. Then the lamp starts to blink. The infrared glow around the honeycomb increases, as energy is apparently supplied. Fog appears inside the chamber. At first she can discern the outline of the alien, but then the vapor gets too thick. Eve stands right in front of the chamber. The fog is pulsating, as something is probably being blown into the honeycomb.
Suddenly something slaps against the pane from the inside. Eve jerks back. It must be the sole of one of the two feet. It seems to suction itself against the transparent wall. These frogs can probably climb walls. The fog is getting thicker and now almost resembles cottony clouds. The foot falls down. All of this happens completely without sound, indicating the chamber must be well-insulated. Eve cannot hear anything, even when she places her ear against the windowpane.
Then the material starts to vibrate. Eve takes one step to the side, then another, until she no longer blocks the area in front of the chamber. She has an idea of what is about to happen. The vibrations of the pane increase. Eve notices that it moves forward millimeter by millimeter. First it projects one centimeter, then two, then three. How thick is the locking mechanism? At 15 centimeters the pane briefly stops. That can’t be it, Eve thinks, and indeed, soon afterward fog hisses from a narrow gap that has formed between the lock and the wall of the chamber. Then the front side moves forward again.
Eve sees now that it is held by four strong rods sticking out from the upper and lower corners of the honeycomb. The fog is cold and heavier than air, so it sinks. Soon Eve can see details on the inside again. The couch still seems to be in place. The alien has changed the position of its feet, but she knew that already. Now the couch starts moving, following the windowpane. At first it seems to float, but then Eve recognizes it rests on two metal rails that disappear into the inside of the chamber. The couch and the glass front move forward gradually, as if proudly presenting its owner. Eve feels a shiver running down her spine. Their first encounter is about to happen. She has cold sweat on her palms.
The extraterrestrial lies on its side, though she cannot tell whether the front or the back is facing her, as the eyes are distributed all around. Once she imagines the creature hopping like a kangaroo, she can tell by the position of the legs that she is looking at its back. She hasn’t seen it in motion yet, though. At this closer position, the eyes are even more impressive. The dark blue of the huge iris looks inviting, like a tropical ocean in which you can dive down, directly into the soul of this being. Even though the rest of the body might seem repulsive, the eyes are really beautiful.
Eve takes a step backward. She is still waiting for the first sign of life. Would the alien first move its hands or its legs? It would be best to stay out of reach, in case there are involuntary spasms. She realizes that the creature must breathe somehow. How does fresh oxygen get into its body? Through the skin? Considering the body size and the related energy expenditure, that should be difficult. There is nothing indicating breathing, no chest moving up and down. Could this creature be sick?
She walks around the couch that has by now been completely extended. The lamp to the left of the chamber is still blinking. Is the chamber waiting for something? Or should she do something? Under normal circumstances, would there be a team waiting to place an artificial respiration tube on the alien’s belly? She does not know. With every passing second she feels more and more convinced she has made a terrible mistake.
She approaches the couch until she can touch the skin of the creature. In front of her lies a huge, ugly frog-like creature, which at the same time is the only intelligent creature within a radius of several light years. She has to force herself to touch the alien. The tips of her fingers graze against the skin. It is not as slick as she imagined, but instead feels more like leather—cold leather. Sure, these beings might be cold-blooded, but this specimen is definitely too cold. It can’t be more than ten degrees. The revival process must have failed. A dead individual lies in front of her. This being slept for many years, until a human broke into its house to awaken and kill it.
She has to make amends. Eve overcomes her repulsion and gently touches the leathery skin. She touches the extremities that are just as cold. Then she tries to move its arms, but they feel like they are frozen. There is no trace of life. Before long this creature will start to dec
ay, until it turns into dust again. It might have a glorious past, though she doesn’t know that, but she took away its future. Eve places her ear on the body above the skin flap. She is still full of hope, but she hears nothing. Nothing is moving. This creature is dead. She can no longer suppress her tears. They roll across her cheeks and drip onto the alien’s skin. Eve would like to sing it a lullaby, but the words stick in her throat. She cannot comfort the alien being, nor herself. Now she has become a murderer as well.
What is that? Eve hears a sound behind her, a soft bubbling noise. She is shocked and turns around. The sound comes from between the legs of the creature. The pointed appendages discharge a slimy liquid. The stuff stinks abysmally. Eve cannot grab her nose quickly enough. She immediately feels nauseous. She throws up right next to the opened honeycomb.
May 4, 19
‘Fortune favors fools.’ That’s what I can hear my mother saying right now, the same as she always did when she was patching me up with vodka—as an antiseptic—and a band-aid after one of my risky pranks went awry. My front section is completely functional, while my rear has been splintered into many tiny parts. The accident cost me a third of my nano-fabricators, which is particularly annoying. The repair is not as extensive as after the encounter with the pleated wall, but it will take almost as long.
Seeking to use the time wisely, I prioritize a task I had planned to do at the control center of the life support system. Just before the accident, I had sent my legs on their way as ISUs. They are supposed to be exploring the labyrinth of rooms and pipes and, if possible, finding Eve. And sending their findings to me, of course, now that I’ve survived.
This situation has its positive aspects, I think as I let my mind wander. For one thing, the way to the control center is now free. In addition, the crash also exposed electrical wires and coolant lines. Thus I find enough resources here for a truly extensive repair. The builders of this facility used lots of rare earths. Therefore I can use the optimal raw material for each purpose.
I pull myself back on task—I use the forced downtime to monitor my mobile sensors. The ISUs actually found the control center very quickly. If I interpret their data correctly, data I had hoped to be collecting myself, almost the entire building has been shut down. According to the information they send, some areas are not supplied with fresh air. I can already exclude those from my search. Even if Eve might have reached them, she could not have survived without oxygen.
Most of the rooms run in standby mode, without heating or other services, but they are pressurized. Eve might be anywhere in those sections. Yet there is one room that receives a higher than average quantity of fresh air and uses an unusual amount of electricity. I have no idea where any of these sections are located or what they are like.
The ISUs did not find any maps of the building. They only measured where resources are sent, and how much of which ones. Now their task is to follow those tracks. I ordered two of them into the most promising area, while the remaining four have been ordered to cover everything else. The sensors possess enough intelligence to select the least dangerous path that will lead them, sooner or later, to the preprogrammed destination.
Tock... tock... tock. The sound comes from the destroyed pipe in front of me. I check the locations of my ISUs, but none are nearby. The noise sounds like metal hitting against metal. The rhythm is slow and regular. I imagine an old grandfather walking barefoot while tapping his walking stick against the ground. Tock... tock... tock... tock. Now he is walking faster, but only a few steps. This is definitely not a mechanical process, like a clockwork. This thing adapts its behavior to the environment. Tock... tock... tock... tock... tock. It sounds almost playful, like a cat on the prowl.
Damn. I am probably pretty close to the truth. The destruction I caused here must not have gone unnoticed, and now someone comes looking. Perhaps it really is a pet that is hunting intruders... or is it one of the inhabitants? No, I rather suspect it is a machine—a guard. It has to be able to reach all rooms, including the ones not supplied with air. Furthermore, machines simply last longer... unless they constantly let themselves be destroyed in accidents. It would be wise to retreat from here. If that thing investigates the scene it will quickly find the cause for the incident—something that does not belong here. Me. Unfortunately, my legs are currently far away. I can’t get away from here, and the thing that makes the tock-tock-tock sound coming from around the curve is getting closer and closer.
I am watching the hole from which it must emerge. It is cautious. At first it sticks out a kind of proboscis that it is using to peek around the corner. Tock... tock... tock... tock... Now the noise sounds cheerful. The guard seems to be glad to have found the damage. I see an object with six legs, about the size of a German shepherd, with smooth, black skin and no head. Instead it has the afore-mentioned proboscis—in front, of course—that is surely full of sensors and is being used to examine the former rotor. The thing touches the suspensions, of which only a few parts remain. Unfortunately the corpus delicti is one of them, the hub with a part of my prehensile tail stuck to it.
The guard sits down on two hind legs and starts investigating its find with the proboscis and the four other legs. It rips apart the material with two legs. I had not expected it to be so strong. Finally it throws away the hub. Then it walks toward me. Tock... tock... tock... tock... It is taking its time, aiming it proboscis in all directions. It seems to enjoy its job, like a railroad worker cheerfully checking a few kilometers of track. I am clearly the goal. How intelligent might this thing be? If it is all alone here, its designers must have given it more than a weak AI. I would like to make myself as flat as possible, but I lack even that capability.
Tock. ‘The inspector,’ as I will call this thing from now on, comes to a stop directly in front of me. Its proboscis hovers close to my body. It is probably scanning me. It seems to like what it finds, because a claw now reaches out from the end of its proboscis. The opening claw moves down at me and digs itself into my body with great force. I feel that I am being picked up. The thing drags me away. What does it want to do with me? Why doesn’t it simply toss me into a corner, like the useless hub? It must have recognized that I am something special. Do I really want to know its instructions for such cases?
We get going. The inspector carefully lifts me over the damaged section, managing to do so without bumping me into anything—quite some achievement, considering the inspector must be about my height and weight. It keeps moving through the large pipe. I suspected as much. The inspector probably wants to deliver this unusual find to the control room. Thus it can’t be alone, because otherwise it would have dismantled and examined me then and there. There is probably a higher-ranking unit responsible for the analysis of problematic cases.
We reach the control room. The shape of the room is a regular octagon with a diameter of approximately 15 meters. The ceiling is about three meters above me. It is dark, but not completely so, as multi-colored symbols glow on various devices in the middle and on the walls. Pipes both large and small emerge from the walls wherever the walls are not covered with switches. In addition, each side of the octagon has an area without technical devices—probably doors. If I were not in such a predicament I would feel in paradise, because there are so many things I could explore. This would probably keep me busy for weeks. I look at giant boards on four sides of the octagon. They are covered in numerous symbols. Why, I want to ask, do some display glowing lights while others are dark?
In the middle of the room my radar sees several technical consoles about one and a half meters tall, forming a circle. There are two entrances, and the inspector drags me through one of them. Inside are two high-backed chairs that look very comfortable but must have been designed for giants. One of them is empty. The other chair is turned away from me, and the inspector places me on the floor in front of that one. Then he uses a tentacle to turn the chair in my direction. This chair is occupied. Everything inside me urges me to flee immediately. I’m frig
htened to death, but the irony still strikes me as funny. My legs have not come back yet. A mummy stares at me through empty eyes, the mummified shape of an enormous frog.
At first the weird-looking thing really does frighten me! Then I take a closer look. The frog consists of lots of skin and a few bones, suggesting a once very-corpulent body. The eye sockets near the top are impressive. I can only see three, but symmetry would indicate there is a fourth one. There are four upper and two lower extremities. I would have to crawl closer to examine them in more detail. The leg bones are very strong. Eve’s hand could not reach around them. Could this be one of the former inhabitants? This specimen must have been dead for a long time. I experience a sense of cautious optimism. If this is the boss the inspector wanted to present me to, then I don’t have to be afraid of it.
I am lifted up again. Does the inspector intend to place me on the lap of the dead frog? I look around and am shocked to see that I have misinterpreted the inspector’s intentions. The thing sits on its hind legs, while it uses its front extremities to open an apparently heavy octagonal plate that covers a hole of the same shape in the floor of the room. I am already suspended above the hole. This stupid machine did not want to show me to its lord and master. I am much too insignificant for that. It decided to dispose of me. While I am still processing this, my body already plunges into the dark shaft. A thud indicates that the inspector has closed the hatch above me.
Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction Page 42