Pluto's Ghost- Encounter Edition

by B. C. CHASE

  “The ECIs can’t be far away,” says Shiro. “In fact, they must be very close.”

  “How do you know that?” asks Commander Sykes.

  “I assume they are communicating with the station through some sort of radio frequency. If they’re at Pluto, the radio signal would have taken over 2.5 hours to reach them from the station and another two-and-a-half hours for any signals they sent to come back. But their reaction to our situation at Saturn didn’t take five hours. It was instant. They knew the moment we were in trouble, and they reacted right away. They’re here, nearby.”

  ∆v∆v∆v∆v∆

  We are all (with the exception of Nari and Commander Tomlinson) squished in the Japanese storage module because this is the only place without some equipment they might use to listen to us. Tim and Shiro have spent the last several days trying to figure out how the ECIs are communicating with our station. They intend to stop the communications if they can. We are all gathered to hear the results of their efforts.

  “What do you have to report?” asks Commander Sykes.

  Tim says, “We didn’t detect any communications using the radios. Not with the Russian antennas and not the orbiter’s antennas. The station’s antenna array isn’t working as it is, so that’s irrelevant.”

  Shiro says, “This leads us to believe that they might not be using radio as a method of communication.”

  “What could they be using?”

  “Quantum entanglement, maybe.”

  “Which would mean instantaneous communication, right?” says Commander Sykes.

  Tim says, “Theoretically possible if they had a way to dictate the states of the particles. But it would also mean that they would have had to have implanted one of the entangled particles on the station. Which means they had access to the station. Which means they were physically here at some time. But all of this is entirely conjecture.”

  “So what you’re saying is we have no way to disrupt their communications?”

  “Not without shutting down the whole station. Permanently.”

  Commander Sykes strokes his chin for a moment before saying, “So if we try to eradicate the nanobots, we can assume they would remanufacture them?”

  Shelby says, “I think that’s safe to assume. And they might be angry that we destroyed their nanobots.”

  “They wouldn’t be able to make new nanobots if they couldn’t use the SPHERES,” I say.

  “Are you suggesting we destroy the SPHERES?” asks Tim.

  “Of course I’m suggesting we destroy them. I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I figured out they shocked Shelby.”

  “That was never verified,” says Tim.

  I say, “I think everything we have seen them do since is good enough reason to destroy them.”

  Shelby says, “We don’t want to make the ECIs mad even before we meet them.”

  I remark, “Bullies are bound to be mad no matter how hard you try to make them happy.”

  “They’re not bullies,” says Katia. “They’re curious.”

  Commander Sykes says, “At this point, we don’t know if their intentions are benign or not. What we do know is that we are no longer in control of our own spaceship—and that is not acceptable. Destroying the SPHERES could backfire. We don’t know the extent of all the ECI’s capabilities. If they decide to retaliate, we might not even know it before it’s too late. But what if we disable them? Can’t we remove their batteries or something? That would be a more diplomatic way to send the signal that we’re not going to tolerate this bullcrap.”

  “Are you sure we should do that?” asks Tim.

  “Why shouldn’t we?” demands Commander Sykes.

  “We could make the ECIs just as angry by taking out the batteries as we might if we destroy them.”

  “Do you think we should allow them to do whatever they want, then?” says Commander Sykes. “Do you think we should sit back and cede complete control to them?”

  “They have been helping us,” says Tim. “They saved our lives.”

  “And we appreciate that,” says Commander Sykes. “But it does not give them the right to commandeer our station.”

  Tim says, “You wouldn’t even be here if not for them! Katia wouldn’t be here. And now, I’m…”

  “You’re what?”

  “I want their help, too.” Tim looks down at his useless legs.

  “Tim…” says Commander Sykes. He purses his lips.

  “They’ve been injecting me. I think they’re trying to fix me.”

  Commander Sykes’ face darkens. “They’ve been injecting you? You mean the SPHERES have been injecting you with syringes?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have they been doing that?”

  “A week.”

  “You should have told us.”

  “I know,” Tim hangs his head. “But I thought you would stop them.”

  “You’re damn right I’ll stop them. This is getting way out of control.”

  “With all due respect,” says Tim, “you have no idea what it’s like. I would do anything to go back to the way I was. Anything.”

  Commander Sykes exhales sharply. “Anything, Tim?”

  “Please,” pleads Tim. “Please let them try. You don’t have the right to keep me from a cure.”

  Commander Sykes contemplates Tim for a full minute. Then he says, “If that’s what you want, then I suppose you’re right. I can’t stop it. We’ll let the SPHERES do their thing. But I am very afraid of the ultimate consequences of what we are allowing, here. And so should you be.”

  “But what about the nanobots inside me and you?” asks Katia. “I don’t care how curious they are; I don’t want them in my body.”

  “Shelby’s method of eradicating them is dangerous to us. I don’t want to use it unless the nanobots are clearly causing us harm. So far all we know is that they seem to have brought us back to health after the radiation exposure.”

  “What is her method for eradicating them?” asks Katia.

  “We’re not going to air that information. It’s possible that if they knew we were considering it, they could protect the nanobots against it.”

  We disperse from the Japanese module. As we are floating through the American Lab on our way to sleep in the habitation module, a SPHERES comes drifting up to us, its little air jets quietly and innocuously puffing away. It passes right between us and then veers to the side. A second SPHERES joins it and together they use their arms to draw a rack out from the wall. It is the mice habitat. A third SPHERES arrives and, with the help of the other, replaces the feeding cartridge. Inside the fresh cartridge are pieces of corn, carrots, and beans.

  “Bingo,” I say. “Now we know who’s been feeding the mice.”

  “That’s brazen of them,” says Commander Sykes.

  “Of course,” says Shiro.

  “Of course?”

  Shiro rolls his eyes impatiently, “They don’t have time to be discreet, anymore. We are getting too close to Pluto. And they have no reason to fear us.”

  “I’m sure the mice appreciate the fresh rations, but I’d really, really like to know why they’re doing this,” says Commander Sykes.

  Forty-four

  It’s May. Pluto is half a year away. We will arrive on November 30th.

  “It started just this morning,” Tim says. He is staring down at his toes from where he is floating in the habitation module, smiling. Katia and I watch eagerly. His pinky toe twitches. “Did you see that?” he exclaims, looking hopefully at Katia and I.

  I say, “That little piggy is crying ‘wee, wee, wee’ all the way home, I’d say! That’s great, Tim!”

  “Great?” Katia cries, swooping in to hug him. “It’s a miracle! Do it again!”

  This time, the toe doesn’t merely twitch. It moves up and down. Tim smiles broadly at us, the hopefulness on his face almost childlike.

  After giving Tim a kiss on his cheek, Katia says, “I’m getting Shelby. She needs to see this!” Sh
e kicks off the couch for the exit.

  “It’s working,” Tim says. “They’re fixing me.”

  “That’s good,” I say. But in reality, I’m not sure it’s good at all. I don’t know what to think of this. Our reliance on the ECIs and their worker SPHERES is growing more and more complete. I say, “This morning when I went to change the carbon filters in the water reclamation systems, they were spotless. I wonder if I forgot that I already changed them.”

  “You think you would forget that?”

  “I doubt it. But I have changed so many of those darn things, I could do it in my sleep.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly what you did.”

  “Oh gosh. If that’s true, I hate to think what else I might do if I’m sleep-floating. I could open a hatch and kill myself.”

  “Better zip your sleeping bag extra tight,” Tim laughs.

  “Unless,” I say, “it’s them.”

  “The ECIs?”

  “Yes. Maybe the SPHERES are taking on my chores.”

  “At this point I wouldn’t put anything past them. But why would they do that?”

  “They can tell who’s the most overworked around here.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” says Tim. “I’ve certainly added to your burden.”

  “Hey, Tim. Don’t sweat it. I’m happy to help. Who knows, before this trip is over I might be needing help in that area, too. And they didn’t send any Depends with me.”

  “It’s not what you imagine when you think about a mission to deep space. Broken back. Paraplegia. Soiled pants.”

  “We have a good cleanup system going, don’t you think? I hardly notice, anymore.”

  “I do,” says Tim. He clenches his fists, “I hope this works. I hope they can fix me.”

  “You know…” I gently say, “it comes at a price.”

  “What price?”

  “Freedom. You really want all those nanobots in your body with no way to get rid of them?”

  “If I can control my own bowel movements, I don’t care how many nanobots I have.”

  “Just remember what you told me,” I caution. “This is bigger than you and I and what we want.”

  I suck in my breath as I wake. Something startled me out of my slumber and my heart is pounding. My CQ is dark, but the stars are brilliant outside the portal window. I hear a knock on my hatch. I struggle to free myself from my sleeping bag. The zipper is stuck. Next time, I think, NASA needs to send us with Hoodie-Footies instead of these confounded sleeping bags. The knock repeats. It sounds exactly as it did the first time: three quick taps. I haven’t been awakened in the middle of the night like this in a long time, and I am alarmed. Somebody must have bad news.

  By the time I reach the hatch, the knock has repeated a third time. I fling the hatch open to see the last person I expected.

  Floating there, holding onto a handlebar on the rim of the opening is Shiro. “You want to go SPHERES-watching?” he asks.

  “Gosh-darn-it, Shiro! You scared the living daylights out of me.”

  “That is impossible,” he says. “There is no daylight here.”

  I shake my head, grunting.

  He says, “You seemed to share my interest in watching the SPHERES, so I thought you might want to join me.”

  “You mean you were lonely.”

  “No, I am not lonely. But two witnesses are better than one, and everyone trusts you.”

  “I suppose I can give you some company. Just give me a second to get some clothes on.”

  “But, Jim, I don’t need company. I need another witness.”

  “Fine, fine. Just let me get some clothes,” I reply. As I move about my quarters to find my clothes, Shiro enters. He is saying, “I saw them do something extraordinary last night.”

  I find it odd that he is floating there talking to me as I take off my PJs, but, hey, if he doesn’t object to seeing this matured magnificence, why should I lodge a protest? “What were they doing?”

  “Hopefully they will repeat it and you can see for yourself.”

  “I can’t believe they could be doing anything more extraordinary than they have already been doing.”

  “They have. Although, in retrospect, I should have predicted this. It makes perfect sense.”

  We follow the SPHERES through the dark Japanese Lab. The blinking, eerie green lights of the equipment racks in the walls reflect off the SPHERES’s surfaces as they slink towards Node 2. There are five of them.

  In Node 3, they veer to the right for the American Lab. There, they cooperate to slide the mice habitat out of the wall. Without a pause, and in coordination, they flip open a little door and lure a mouse to it with a piece of corn. When it arrives, a cute, light brown mouse with big ears and bright eyes, it innocently sniffs the corn. One of the SPHERES’ arms strikes out with the speed of a snake and seizes it. The mouse squeaks under the firm grip as the SPHERES lifts it up. One of the other SPHERES flips the door closed. The wriggling mouse is carried to a table that has been pulled down from the wall. The SPHERES stretch out the mouse’s appendages over a board on the table and, as quick as a flash, pin them down. The mouse squeals.

  I am angry. I move forward, intending to put a stop to this, but Shiro grabs my shirt to stop me, “No. Watch.”

  “It’s torture!”

  “No,” says Shiro. “It’s science.”

  I shake free. As I do, one of the SPHERES applies a little hood to the mouse’s face. A tiny tube runs from the hood to the rack in the wall. Almost instantly, the mouse stops struggling. Its eyes are still wide open, though.

  “They anesthetize them, just like Commander Tomlinson would if he were doing this.”

  “I hope he would do it before he pinned their legs to the table,” I growl.

  “You should be relieved that they use anesthesia at all,” he says. “Very relieved.”

  I don’t know what he means by that. None of this should be happening. It is the creepiest, most repulsive thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life. I say, “You watched them do this last night?”

  “Yes. Fascinating.”

  I glance at him with disgust.

  The SPHERES prepare a scalpel and proceed to slice down the mouse’s abdomen in a straight line. They peel its skin back and pin it to the board.

  “Why would they do this?” I utter.

  “Why do you think?” Shiro says, much to my annoyance. “What would we do if we encountered a new lifeform?” He pauses, then says, “Remember when you said there should be more mice?”

  “Yes.”

  “They have been doing this all along. Who knows how many mice they have already dissected. If they want to see how the mouse works, they would have dissected only one or two. But over and over again? No, it is obvious, really.”

  “What is so obvious?” I hiss, as infuriated as ever.

  “They are confirming that the phenotypic changes they made are passing through.”

  “What changes?”

  “DNA, Jim. They are altering the mice DNA.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Don’t you see?” he grimly says. “Look at the mouse.” He gazes at the grisly scene with a chilling degree of detachment.

  I notice nothing unusual about the mouse. Now that it’s sliced and spread out on the lab table, I have absolutely no desire to look at it.

  “Its fur. Its fur is mottled. The mice we brought are standard dark brown laboratory mice—they’re known as C57BL/6. But this mouse is light with cream-colored spots in its fur. It’s a common trick in the genetics lab. There are at least twelve more like it in the habitat. I counted yesterday. Geneticists change the color of the test group to easily track them against the control. Whether these are simple experiments or if they are making purposeful changes to the mice anatomy, I don’t know.”

  I start to understand what he meant earlier when he said I should be relieved. I ask, “When you said I should be relieved, you meant—”

  “I meant, Jim, that when
it’s your turn, you’ll want to be anesthetized, too. We all will.”

  I watch the SPHERES as they extract organ after tiny organ, and I shiver. The International Space Station suddenly seems darker and colder and more alien than it ever has before.

  The SPHERES have opened the mouse’s head and one of the them is lifting the tiny brain out of the skull. I feel like vomiting, and I flee the room.

  Forty-five

  I’m in the European Lab where I’m supposed to be switching out the battery in a portable multi-gas monitor. But there’s a problem. The battery has already been switched.

  This is yet another job of mine that has already been done for me. It seems that in the last few weeks every job I have has already been done by someone else at least once. I’ve reported every occurrence to Commander Sykes, who says that I’m not the only one experiencing this. I will report it this time, too.

  I was previously a useful idiot. Now, with my menial work being taken from me, I’m turning into a mere idiot. I sigh and kick off from my spot towards Node 2. I hear voices coming from the American Lab.

  “So it’s three of us now,” Commander Sykes is saying.

  “Yes,” says Shelby. “And it looks to me like within another week, he’ll have complete use of his legs and feet. He has already regained total bowel control.”

  “Three of us with nanobots. Does he have the same concentration we do? And the same types?”

  “Yes. For certain. I quantified it.”

  “Okay. I don’t care how dangerous it is, we will have to get rid of these nanobots. Just not till after we go to Pluto.”

  “I agree.”

  Commander Sykes and Shelby round the corner in Node 2. “Hello, Jim,” says Commander Sykes.

  “Hey there. So, guess what, Commander?”

  “What?”

  “When I went to switch out the battery for this multi-gas monitor, a fresh battery was already in place.”