Proxima Rising

by Brandon Q Morris

  “Heat and radiation,” I reply.

  “I understand,” Adam acknowledges.

  “I can manage for a while longer,” Eve says, but I notice her voice sounds uncertain now. I look down. We have climbed about 400 meters. After going up another 300 meters we will reach a mountain pass leading through the mountain range, which has a total height of several thousand meters.

  I am puzzled by the shape of the mountain range, particularly the steep foothills. It seems as if the mountains once surrounded a kind of giant bathtub. Was the central plain an ocean at some time? That would have been when Proxima b was still farther from its star and was generally colder. Perhaps back then a meteorite struck the ocean, vaporizing the water and moving the planet to an orbit closer to the sun?

  We spent two hours to climb this far, and Eve will have to make it for another hour at least. Human bodies do not handle overheating well. They react with nausea, headaches, and finally loss of consciousness. We can’t let it get that far.

  I radio Adam. “Do you have any ideas? What alternatives are there?”

  “We wait until night and then keep climbing,” Adam replies. He is quite the joker today.

  “The uniform, as Adam suggested,” Eve says.

  “It is another hour in full sun and strong physical exertion,” I remind her. “A little bit of cooling is better than none.”

  “We cannot avoid the sun, but we can get around the exertion.”

  Eve is right, and I know exactly what she means. “I could carry you,” I offer.

  “Just admit you are lazy, and your pressure suit is working fine.”

  “Adam, that’s enough,” I insist.

  Eve does not answer for a moment, as she seems to be thinking about it. “Can you really do that?” she asks.

  “I would not have—”

  “Yes, I am aware of that,” she breaks in. “Oh, well.”

  I wonder whether I have overstated my promise to her. Yes, if either Adam or Eve or the both of them fell, I could quickly anchor myself to the wall of rock so the rope would hold them. Unfortunately this will not help me climb. I will have to ascend the last 300 meters with the added weight of Eve and her backpack, using just two arms. A single arm would need to move almost half a ton upward. I know these values are within J’s specifications, but does the rock edge this arm will be holding onto know that, too? Will it be stable enough to support 500 kilograms? I cannot be absolutely sure, even though the rock has so far seemed very sturdy.

  And what would happen if I fell? Adam is connected to the same rope as I am, but he definitely will not be able to hold on to my mass. So he will fall as well. I’m being irresponsible. Eve should be connected to Adam’s rope. If I fell, the two of them could survive. One has to expect any kind of contingency in the mountains.

  I explain my plan to Adam and Eve.

  “Out of the question,” Adam says. “It’s either no one or all of us.”

  Eve agrees with him. “I am not going to connect to Adam’s rope, and you can’t do anything about it.”

  Even though they do not obey me, exposing themselves to danger in a very illogical fashion, I am nevertheless glad.

  “Well,” I say, “if you want it that way, Eve, I would suggest you sit on J’s shoulder and hold on to his head.”

  Eve does not hesitate for long. I am hanging below her on the rock wall, at an angle. This position is perfect for her to climb onto my shoulders.

  “Giddy-up, horsey,” she says after taking her place, and she uses a loop of the rope as a whip. I feel like whinnying, but I suppress the impulse when I realize all three of us could plunge into the abyss at any moment.

  “Hold on tight,” I say to Eve, who is very mistaken if she imagines our climb to be some leisurely ride. Then I remember that she has no concept of what a ride is like. She only knows about horses from her lessons. I carefully free the left arm and feel for a stable ledge higher up. The joints of my fingers that are holding on to the rock are made of an incredibly strong titanium alloy. Then I free the other arm. I automatically move slightly lower and to the left, because I am swinging on only one arm. I give a push with my lower body, allowing my other arm to find a new handhold. J the robot climbs like a monkey, which is not a pleasant form of locomotion for a person sitting on his shoulders.

  Eve is very quiet now. I press my chin against her knees in such a way that she cannot fall off. Swing to the right, swing to the left. I have to slow down so I will not pass Adam. Perhaps it will take us less than an hour. Swing to the right, since there is a better handhold there. Suddenly the view out of my right eye becomes blurred. I almost miss the rock ledge, but then I reach it and hold on.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I had to throw up,” Eve replies. “I am sorry, but it was so sudden I couldn’t warn you.”

  This catches my attention, as vomiting can be a sign of heat shock. “Is everything okay with you?” While I am asking her, I already check the data supplied by the bio-monitor.

  “Yes, everything is fine, and I am not feeling that hot anymore,” she says.

  I am relieved. Eve’s body temperature has not risen further. “Adam, let’s go on,” I say. “Another hundred meters.”

  We reach the plateau 20 minutes later. I lift Eve from her place on my shoulders. As if on cue, we all turn back to see the view. The sunburned central plain lies 700 meters below us. We only encountered two of the species living there, but there must be more. At some point we will have to return here, if just because Messenger is waiting for us beyond the horizon. It has no engine that would provide sufficient thrust to launch it into space, but that could be changed. I turn back around, and Adam and Eve follow me.

  The information we recorded during our orbital flyover is correct. The mountain pass will lead us to the other side of the mountain range. Its walls—several kilometers high—cast dark, cold shadows that feel threatening.

  December 20, 18

  We put up the tent to one side, because a strong wind is blowing directly through the mountain pass. The air current, which is cooled by the eternal darkness, sweeps past us and into the wide valley of the central plains below us. We designate eight hours of the never-ending day as ‘night’ and enjoy warmth and light one last time. Adam is still sleepy while he gathers the last of our stuff. Eve has disappeared around the corner into the shadow to relieve herself.

  The scan from orbit shows us that the mountain pass crosses the entire mountain range. How might it have developed? Did a fracture in the planet’s tectonic plates spread at this very spot? Had there once been a river flowing through here, or could the wind alone have created all of this? I hope we can discover the answer along our way. The sides of the mountain pass should indicate whether water, air, or tectonic forces created it.

  This time I take the lead. I can light up the darkness with my sensors, thus protecting us from surprises.

  “Come on, it’s just a mountain pass,” Adam says. I won’t even discuss letting him go first.

  The first few meters are very straightforward, and we still can see the entrance of the mountain pass, the only source of light. Further up, the mountain pass walls must bend, because we do not see the sky.

  The temperature drops rapidly. A moment ago it was 30 degrees, but after 100 meters it is only 15.

  “Turn on your suit heater if you are feeling cold,” I recommend.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Eve replies.

  After about 300 meters we are in complete darkness and the air becomes even more humid. I activate the lamp on J’s head.

  “Yuck—do you feel that too?”

  “What, Eve?” I ask.

  “Something is constantly brushing against my face.”

  I have to focus my optical sensors more, because so far I have not noticed anything.

  “Yes, those are hairs,” Adam confirms.

  I aim the light directly at the mountain pass wall. Something is growing there. I switch to ultraviolet, and the image becomes cle
arer. Fine hairs are streaming in the wind. Their outer layer looks phosphorescent in the UV light.

  “They resemble the plants in the shade biotopes back there,” Eve says.

  “Yes, this appears to be an adaptation to the solar flares,” I say. “While photosynthesis is more efficient, it is also far riskier on Proxima b, because the plants would be exposed to dangerous radiation. A part of the plant life prefers to stay in the shade and live off wind energy.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Eve says.

  I decide this is a good time to take a closer look at the hair plants. Here, on the walls of the mountain pass, they seem easy to access. I scratch one from the hard, rocky surface. The plant is really easy to dig out, unlike those in the desert. It's a small wonder they can live here. I inspect it with J's visual system from tuber to the top of the hair. It is clearly an individual.

  The deeper we advance into the mountain pass, the longer and denser the hairs get. I also notice that the vegetation density increases with the atmospheric humidity, which means the hairs probably filter water from the air.

  Eve’s voice reaches me from about 20 steps away. “Could you wait for a moment?” She must have fallen behind without me noticing. I stop and Adam bumps into my back. I turn around and aim the light in Eve’s direction. She is hard to see, but appears to be fighting off something with her arms. Adam runs toward her, and I follow him.

  “What is going on?” Adam asks, nervously.

  “There is something inside my suit. It itches,” Eve radios.

  Once I reach her, I scan Eve’s body but cannot find anything. “It can’t be helped,” I say. “You have to take it off. Where does it itch?”

  “On the side,” Eve says, and pushes a button that opens a special zipper. The upper part of her suit peels off. “There, just above my hip,” she says, pointing.

  J’s hand shoots forward, and I see what Eve is talking about. Inside the hand is an animal, maybe eight millimeters long, which at first sight resembles an ant. The robot fingers grasp it in such a way that it cannot escape, but so that it will not be injured, either. I use a telephoto lens to observe the object. It still resembles an ant—even magnified—but with an important difference.

  “Look, this thing has wheels,” I say. I project an enlarged image onto the rock surface near us. Instead of legs, this little animal has eight round limbs that seem to be formed of coiled hairs.

  “Perhaps this developed from the parasite we saw out there,” Adam suggests.

  The wheels are rotating wildly while I hold the animal. In the middle of the body there is a capsule with a very strong hair leading into it, and this appears to be the drive mechanism.

  “It works like a wind-up toy,” I explain. Adam and Eve give me blank stares. “I am referring to a spring mechanism.”

  Both of them nod.

  “This strong hair here,” I say, marking it on the projected image, “is coiled like a spring. The wheels move when the animal unwinds the spring.”

  “But how does it coil the spring?”

  “That’s a good question, Eve,” I reply and look around us. “Here almost all surfaces are vertical. If the animal rolls down the wall in reverse, the motion of the wheels should coil the spring. Then it can use the stored tension to climb the walls again.”

  “What about the conservation of energy?”

  Eve is right. The energy gained from rolling down is not enough. The animal must have an additional mechanism to tension the spring.

  “We won’t be able to discover that here. I would have to run a few tests first,” I conclude. “Perhaps it is an electrical mechanism, or some kind of muscle. This animal probably feeds on the parasites. That’s what it was looking for on your body, Eve.”

  “I hope it didn’t find any,” she says, anxiously.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Sooner or later our bodies will come in contact with the microorganisms of this world. Your bodies, that is.”

  “Yuck, that’s disgusting,” Eve says.

  “Could we go? I am getting cold,” Adam says, sounding impatient. Eve pulls her suit back on and puts on the helmet.

  “Good idea,” I say. “It’s probably going to get a lot colder.”

  We make good progress for the next kilometer and a half. Adam also has his helmet closed. The walls are evenly covered with hairs, as if we were walking through the armpits of a giant.

  “Look here,” says Adam, who is up front in spite of my objections. In the light of his helmet lamp I see an irregularly-shaped area without vegetation. The ground seems untouched, and I examine the area under magnification.

  “The hairs are shortened down to about two millimeters,” I explain.

  “Maybe it’s caused by a disease. A kind of hair loss?” Eve suggests.

  “Then the hairs would be all gone. No, an animal was grazing here,” Adam interjects.

  “Which is to be expected,” I say. “There must be something to cut the hairs now and then, otherwise the mountain pass would be all overgrown.”

  “Something?” Eve’s voice expresses both curiosity and awe.

  “Hard to say what it might look like, or whether it would be a danger to us,” I say. “We ought to be careful. It’s for good reason that I want to walk ahead of you.”

  No one says anything for exactly seven minutes. Then I hear a soft sound behind me, like a whoosh, followed by a shrill scream. Eve! I turn around, frantically, colliding with Adam, who is walking behind me and does not react as quickly.

  “Adam, get out of the way. Fast!” I command.

  He reacts but does not let me pass. Instead, he runs a few steps in the direction we came from. Then he abruptly stops. “EVE!” he screams.

  I brighten the beam of my searchlight. Something is lying on the ground. It looks like a huge, eyeless bat, with two triangular wings and a kind of suction mouth. The wings are wrapped around Eve. Only her arm and her hand stick out.

  “NO...” I hear Eve’s voice yell. I immediately dim the light. The creature might not like illumination, and I don’t want to enrage it.

  I switch to the radio. It’s good that Eve has her helmet on. “Stay completely calm,” I say.

  “I’m try—” I hear Eve croak. The weight of the animal seems to be pressing on her chest. Her heart is beating faster, but her vital functions are not alarming.

  “Reduce stress,” the computer prompts. My own stress level is rising to the maximal value.

  The bat seems to be calmly sitting there. Is it wondering what to do with its prey? Should it digest it right away, or might it be better to tear off pieces to feed to its offspring? I am terribly worried about Eve and have to force myself not to act impulsively.

  Adam shares my concern. He raises his hand and appears to be ready to attack the thing.

  “No, Adam,” I tell him via the helmet radio. I myself am surprised that he stops. I switch to infrared to watch the bat without disturbing it, but Eve immediately calls out, “No!”

  The animal does not seem to like infrared either. What about the ultraviolet range? Now the alien bat looks phosphorescent! This clearly shows how its suction mouth searches Eve lying below it, presumably to find food. Since her suit and her helmet are closed, I do not see any immediate danger for her, no matter how scary the situation might look.

  “Eve, it is just licking you. Don’t worry,” I say, attempting to reassure her.

  “Vrrry hvvy,” Eve pants.

  The bio-monitor calms me down a bit, reporting the oxygen saturation of her blood has hardly decreased. She is getting enough air.

  “Still, don’t move,” I say, trying to hide my fear from Eve. She must not do anything rash.

  “Nothing is going to happen to you, trust me,” I say calmly, and can see the animal is pulling its left wing from underneath Eve. At its end is a very long bone that seems to end in a point, and appears to be a very effective weapon, if needed. Adam seems to have noticed this detail as well and moves toward Eve. I grab his shoulde
r with the robot arm. He twists and turns to get away.

  “No, Adam! If that animal wants to attack, Eve will be dead before you get to her,” I reason with him. “Do you want to fight it with your fists? You just would anger it! Just stay calm!”

  “Do something!” he yells.

  “It will better for Eve if we wait. Safer, I mean. Really, it will. You have to believe me.”

  Adam briefly stops resisting, but I do not fall for his trick and keep holding him back.

  “Damn...bsst,” we hear Eve mumble. Now the bat pulls out its second wing as well, and there is also a sharp bone at the end of it. Adam once again tries to get away from my grip. The creature now seems to have had enough. It raises its head, extending its long neck, and sniffs in our direction. Does it wonder which one of us to check out next as a potential source of food?

  The animal lifts its left wing, then the right one, and now I see what the sharp knives are for. It pushes them against the opposite walls of the mountain pass. Like a mountain climber inside a crevice, it pushes itself upward and quickly moves away. I aim my UV searchlight at it but lose track of the creature. The skin on its lower side does not seem to be phosphorescent. Meanwhile, Adam runs toward Eve, helps her get up, and hugs her tightly.

  Eve leans against the wall and opens her helmet. Her face is very pale, and she is breathing heavily. The bio-monitor tells me she has not suffered any damage. I am glad nothing worse has happened.

  “That was...” She does not finish the sentence.

  “That was a kind of sheep, a harmless herbivore,” I say.

  “The thing was terribly heavy. It dropped on me from above.”

  “In your situation I would have been scared shitless, too,” I say. “But I saw its mouth. That thing could not eat you. It probably was just curious. I am sorry it frightened you so much. All of us, indeed.”

  “That’s very reassuring,” Eve says, breathing deeply, but then she turns around and vomits. Adam places a hand on her shoulder and gives her a cloth.

  “On those wings...” he begins to say. I vehemently shake my head to discourage him, but Eve cannot see it. However, Adam ignores me and continues to say, “On those wings, the creature had a kind of knife. I imagined it slicing you open with that.”