Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  The room behind the door is large and empty. There are bunks along the walls. This might have been a sleeping area once. One can only survive here with a mask. His companion consults the map, but she doesn’t say anything. He follows her through two more doors. They have arrived in a room that must have been a kitchen. Cooking utensils are neatly arranged on a shelf. The stove looks freshly cleaned. Murnaka suddenly stops. He can barely avoid bumping into her from behind.

  “What’s up?” he asks. Then he realizes Murnaka cannot hear him due to the vacuum. Her right touch-arm points downward. Gronolf steps aside and sees what his companion tried to avoid. A Grosnop is lying on the ground. The male is holding a cutting tool in his hand. He must have been surprised by the pressure loss during his work.

  Another one of these ‘accidents,’ Gronolf thinks. How many of my comrades have been killed by the Omniscience so far?

  Murnaka hits the top of the table so hard that a dent appears in the middle, but he hears no sound. She raises her arm again, but he grabs it. If she keeps hitting the table she might injure herself. She looks at him. He notices the anger in her front eye, its lid trembling, yet she obviously is trying to suppress this emotion and replace it with something he interprets as gratitude. Gronolf is glad that he is unable to say anything right now.

  Murnaka points at a narrow door to the left. It won’t open. The air pressure behind it probably is still normal. Now they have to be careful. If they simply open the lock, the vacuum will spread to the neighboring room, and they would help the Omniscience in depopulating the ship.

  Gronolf turns around. The kitchen is not very large. He closes the door behind them and welds it shut for safety’s sake. Then he starts opening the door in front of them. Another bulkhead slams down in the distance. He notices it by the vibrations of the floor. The automatic system has noticed the loss in pressure. The kitchen is gradually filling with air. Gronolf watches his vacuum mask’s display. Soon he will be able to breathe normally again. Once the area is safe, it should be possible to open the bulkhead further ahead.

  Murnaka touches his hand and points at the dead male.

  “We have to leave him here,” he says. “Otherwise the Omniscience will notice that we are advancing.”

  “Don’t you think it noticed us cutting doors open? It already knows we’re coming.”

  She’s right. He picks up the corpse with all four of his arms. Due to the time spent in the vacuum, it has become very light. Murnaka steps aside so he can carry the dead into the adjacent room. There he discovers a bed. He places the corpse on the sleeping beam. One might think he simply fell asleep peacefully.

  “Control room. We have found a corpse. Please pick up in...” Murnaka looks at the map, “Sector 332.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Gronolf looks at his companion. She shows no signs of weakness. Nevertheless, he feels it is his duty to ask, “Should we take a break?”

  “Are you tired?” she asks him. “I am not.”

  “Then let’s go on.” He waits for her to get moving. Murnaka closes her right eye. She seems to be concentrating on what the sound button on her skin tells her. Then she walks away with rapid steps. Gronolf has to hurry so he won’t fall behind. She is really well-trained and in shape.

  Obviously, the learners have not grown soft. He could not chase his recruits through the corridors at this speed. However, Murnaka has longer legs because she is a female, so it is a bit easier for her. The halls and rooms they enter and leave seem deserted, though sometimes they encounter a technician or a soldier standing guard. The leadership has not given up the plan to keep the sectors habitable.

  The map either leads them around airless zones, or those particular zones are becoming rarer the closer they get to the center. This allows them to proceed swiftly.

  Gronolf allows himself some thoughts that have nothing to do with the room in front of him. What will the new world be like? The Space Scientists calculated that it should be habitable and offer water. It is for that reason his people risked everything and built the Majestic Draght as a colony ship. Old texts contain hints about a world with only one sun. Gronolf loved these stories as a child, but he was always aware these were only fairy tales. Now the fairy tales are coming true.

  Murnaka slows down after a while. Is she finally getting tired? wonders Gronolf. He winks at her, but she doesn’t react this time either. Instead, she places her load-hands on the pit of her stomach. This is a warning sign. What is she warning him about? Murnaka comes closer, so close that her typically-feminine scent enters his smell sensors. Gronolf would like to take a step back, but how would she interpret that?

  “The sector in front of us is secret,” she whispers. “So secret I did not even know about it until now.”

  “What is going on here?” He adjusts his voice level to hers.

  “My father described this to me before the launch. The leadership group has developed an alternative program to compensate for the accidents.”

  “How would this work?” Gronolf asks the question, but he already has an idea of what the answer will be, and he doesn’t like it at all.

  “Just like in the double sun system. Females lay eggs, males fertilize them.”

  He does not want to hear that. If it is true, it would represent an enormous breach of taboo. Eggs are only allowed to be laid by certain females on certain days, in the sand of an ocean beach. Any child knows that this rule serves to protect the double sun system against overpopulation. In ancient times it was different, but in a modern society, too many descendants in a plex survive.

  “They are not allowed to,” Gronolf says. “I now understand, why...” He stops in mid-sentence.

  “Why what?”

  “The leadership abandons our traditions in order not to endanger our cooperation with the Omniscience,” he says.

  “There is no other way.”

  “You really think so, Murnaka? Who are we to break with the traditions of our fathers?”

  “Space travelers. We are space travelers.”

  “So when we arrive at Single Sun, we will be different from what we were at launch.”

  “Yes, Gronolf, every day will change you and me. We will never again be what we are today.”

  “Oh, certainly not.” Gronolf can’t quite follow her argument. Giving up ancient traditions for a short-term advantage? It seems wrong to him. Yet it would be useless to reproach her. After all, she has to obey her father, just as he must obey his.

  “I am just asking you, Gronolf, to behave inconspicuously while we traverse this sector. Stay calm, no matter what you see. Will you promise?”

  “I am calmness personified.”

  The entrance to the area is blocked by a yellow double door. Murnaka enters her authentication code at the lock sensor. The system does not reply. He can see she is getting nervous, as her eyelids are trembling. So maybe she is not as cool and collected as she pretends to be. Murnaka repeats her code, but nothing happens this time either.

  “Is there a way around this zone?” Gronolf asks.

  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. It 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, calcu
lates 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.