Proxima Rising

by Brandon Q Morris

  At least the high gravity of the planet helps me work. Down here, the soil is considerably more compressed and harder to cut through than further up, but the planetary gravity also makes it possible to drive my shovel very deep into the soil. However, I have to exert extra effort in lifting the excavated material afterward. I do not experience the work as much of a challenge—it’s more a boring chore—because I am sitting for hours in a dark hole, repeating the same movements. Motivating Adam and Eve to continue working does require some effort, although they at least realize there is no alternative. If we do not work diligently, we will not finish in time.

  I hear an unpleasant grating sound and feel resistance. I pull the shovel out of the soil and see that its tip is bent, meaning it must have hit something hard. This would be the first large stone I’ve encountered, as the soil so far has been amazingly homogenous. I try to isolate the stone in order to remove it, but I only manage to do this at the front, to the left and right. In the rear, the stone extends further. It is no use. I have to clear the soil from around the stone so I can evaluate this obstacle. Perhaps we will have to cut through it. No matter how hard the stone is, I somehow will get the better of it.

  Ten minutes later I have isolated the stone. It appears to be a kind of beam. I scan it with my X-ray sensor in order to see how deep it reaches into the ground. The beam is at least 12 meters long and is sloping downward at an angle of 20 degrees. The X-ray image also shows me that this obstacle displays relief carvings on the front and sides. I had not noticed them at first, because they were filled in with compressed soil. I use the shovel—gently—as a chisel to remove soil from the embossed shapes.

  The result is astounding. The shapes look like glyphs carved in relief, maybe a bit like Indus script from the ancient Indian subcontinent on Earth, though the similarities are only superficial. I have to show this to Adam and Eve! “Please come here!” I say, calling them over to the spot.

  “Do you want to complain about something again?”

  “No, Adam. You’ve got to see this!”

  “Well, great,” Adam says. He is already standing next to me. I forgot he cannot see in the dark like I can, so I activate my headlamp now. I point at the object and say, “That beam there...”

  Adam’s gaze follows the light of the headlamp and I see his mouth opening. “Yes, we found it! It must be them!” he exclaims. He brushes his fingers over the alien signs to remove the last crumbs of soil. “Eve, you have to see this. Come quick!” Adam says as he motions her over to himself.

  It is great to see Adam so excited. It was always our goal to find the inhabitants of Proxima b, and here we have the first real clue, apart from the ominous message they previously broadcast. But the beam is about five meters under the ground and would have stayed buried forever if we had not started to build our base at this very spot.

  “Can we decipher it?” asks Eve, who has just arrived and is gazing at the signs in fascination. “I wonder if they are trying to tell us something?”

  “Sorry, but the text is much too short to allow us to decipher it,” I reply, “and it is very unlikely they were addressing it to us. The inscription is five meters below ground, in the middle of the forest. No one could have known we would be searching here. It is part of a ruin that might be very old.”

  Eve will not let these facts spoil her mood, and I can well understand this. Since our landing, I have repeatedly wondered whether our voyage—our life—may be meaningless.

  “If there is this ruin,” Eve says, “then there also must be others. Newer ones, also featuring inscriptions, that will teach us their language and culture.”

  “Perhaps it’s just ornaments, rather than a script,” I offer.

  “It is possible, on this beam here. But they must have left written records somewhere. All cultures do that,” Eve replies.

  This is not completely true, at least on Earth, but I do not want to spoil the mood today. “Yes,” I confirm, “that’s a good start. We are going to examine the beam and then dig to find more ruins. But first we have to finish our radiation shield.”

  Adam and Eve resume work without protest. For the first time in a long while, we are even making jokes. I am going to deal with the beam when they are asleep, since I do not need this artificial rest period as much.

  January 14, 19

  Far more than just a piece of an old ruin, the beam represents a piece of fascinating technology. Its function was certainly not to carry the weight of a roof. While it is sturdy enough for that purpose, it has strands of semiconductors embedded in it. Their systematic distribution makes me believe the object must have fulfilled a computer-like function. Nevertheless, I do not want to draw any premature conclusions.

  At the bottom layer of the intricately embossed ornamentations, I can detect traces of luminescent material. The semiconductor strands are embedded a few millimeters below those, so maybe they were able to make the ornaments glow.

  What could our artifact have once belonged to? So far, I have not detected any additional structures of this kind. However, my scanners do not reach very far below the surface due to the high soil moisture. There could be an entire spaceship buried 30 meters to the south, but we would only find it if we happened to dig at the right spot.

  The beam was probably part of a building. Nothing else is left of that edifice, so the beam must somehow have been brought here. But why? The object weighs several hundred kilos, so no one would have expended all that energy without good reason. I am frustrated that I have reached a dead end. We know too little about the beings that left us this beam.

  At least I can try to estimate when it reached this place, unless it was deliberately buried, which does not seem very plausible to me. Based on the current decomposition rate of organic material here in the forest, the soil layer above the artifact must be at least 2,000 years old. Whoever created this beam has been dead for quite some time. This object comes from the classical antiquity of Proxima b, so to speak. The beings here already used computers when the Roman Empire flourished on Earth. This sounds like an enormous developmental gap. On the other hand, it proves progress took a surprisingly parallel course here and on Earth. We have to recall that this system’s mother star, Proxima Centauri, is almost 300 million years older than the sun. Therefore there should be a similar age difference between the planets of these two systems.

  The ground vibrates, and a fissure appears in the wall of our makeshift subterranean chamber, unfortunately in the section I have not yet reinforced with planking. I aim my light at the spot. Dust trickles downward. I feel another shock. Could this be an earthquake? Even though we have not noticed it yet, the planet might be geologically active. The molten core creating the strong magnetic field would suggest this.

  I have to get upstairs. Adam and Eve are sleeping in the tent. The vibrations increase. If this is the beginning of a strong earthquake we better get away from trees that might be toppled.

  I rapidly climb the stairs. Eve quickly wakes up, but Adam does not want to hear anything about moving to a safer place. “Let me sleep,” he says drowsily. “I was just having such a nice dream.”

  It’s no use. I have to get him out of here. Adam only gets up after I start using the shovel and the broom to push him out of the tent. He places his hand over his heavy-lidded eyes and looks around. “And where is your earthquake?” he asks, annoyed.

  Indeed, it is quiet now. I do not trust the situation, and soon I am proven right. The shocks start up again, and this finally convinces Adam.

  Fully awake now, he asks, “Where is the way to open ground?”

  I point toward the east. Together we all retreat from the semi-darkness of the forest. The vibrations seem to be coming closer. They sound like steps, the powerful steps of a giant. I eventually manage to determine their direction.

  “Southwest,” I say, “that’s where the earthquake is coming from.”

  I realize there is something wrong here, but we can think about it once we reach o
pen ground.

  Eve is breathing heavily, and I imagine how difficult running in this high gravity must be.

  Adam takes the lead. “I can already see it!” he exclaims.

  The three of us move quickly onto the open ground, the area without any vegetation. About 300 meters from the forest we come to a stop. I check the sky. Luckily, it is not raining now, nor does rain look imminent. Eve touches my shoulder. With her other hand she points toward the southwest. No, almost due south.

  I had almost forgotten what terror feels like, but it abruptly bursts into my consciousness. What I see is so bizarre it becomes deeply imprinted in my mind: A tree, 200 meters tall, has risen on its roots and walks toward us with majestic steps. And it is not alone! Whomp... Whomp... Whomp... Whomp... They are marching toward us in step. Whenever the trees put down one of their three roots—each time smashing many tons of mass against the ground—this causes the shocks I first believed to be the signs of an earthquake. What is going on? My mind is racing. I cannot imagine that these trees are aiming at us tiny creatures. Unless... unless they want to avenge their brother, cut down by us. The trees must be communicating with each other, or they would not be able to walk in step this way. Did the felled tree call for help?

  I may never know, because while I stare in fascination at the maybe ten trees hurrying here from the south, Adam points to something else happening. “In the north, Marchenko, look north!” he cries.

  I rapidly turn my head and instinctively draw back. A group of seven trees has left the forest and is running along the edge of the woods toward us. I quickly extrapolate. No, they are not aimed at us but at the specimens arriving from the south. At least there is a 50 percent probability for this occurring, according to my calculations.

  “They don’t want us,” I say to Adam, who wants to run farther out into the open zone. I would rather not tell him that there is only a 50 percent certainty of this actually being true, but it does not matter, because I just determined the speed of the trees. They reach 25 kilometers per hour and could easily catch us if they wanted to. So we just have to hope we are only playing a cameo role in this conflict.

  Whomp... Whomp... Whomp... The specimens from the north are coming too damned close to us, and they are now running in rows of threes. The distance between us and the trees is no more than 300 meters.

  “Let’s move slowly toward the open field for a few meters,” I say, “but don’t provoke them! Take it nice and slow!” I have no clue what the trees want. The very idea of trees having intentions seems absurd to me. But one fact remains: Multiple giants—200-meters tall and weighing several tons—are running at us. Their roots could easily crush even my robot body.

  “What do they want?” Eve asks. Fear is audible in her voice, and I cannot blame her. I feel afraid for the first time in ages. Adam tries to appear very calm, but I notice how strongly he is kneading his hands.

  “I think they want to get at the others,” I say. At least that would be nice, I think, but I do not say that aloud. The distance to the trees is 150 meters, then 100, then 50.

  “Woo hoo!” Adam yells.

  Phew. The trees do not change their course, and they do not squash us, but instead run straight for the trees coming from the south.

  “Did you see that?” Adam asks excitedly. His eyes are wide open, and he is breathing rapidly. “They just kept running.”

  And more than that, I notice that they are increasing their speed. The specimens from the south do the same. This no longer resembles a peaceful family reunion—it looks like war to me. Shortly before they crash into each other, they all turn their leaves forward. The trees now are reminiscent of medieval knights attacking each other with lances. However, the difference is these knights have brought numerous lances along.

  “Watch out, it is about to happen!” I call to Adam and Eve. There is an enormous crash. The creaking and cracking, the splintering and squeaking, are so loud that I have to lower the sensitivity of my hearing. Adam and Eve press their hands against their ears. It is a cacophony far beyond comprehension, and there is also the high-pitched sound we heard earlier after I cut down the tree.

  The noise does not decrease, it only grows louder. The trees lean against one another, apparently trying to push down their opponents. The leaves are whirling furiously around the trunks, with fragments flying in all directions. I have to watch out that Adam and Eve do not get hit. While the team from the south is numerically superior, the northerners manage to slowly push back. Is this a war, a fight, or some kind of ritual related to spreading and multiplying? Perhaps several aspects play a role. Only the strongest survive and fuel evolution. Because conditions on Proxima b are overall very uniform, they no longer exert any selection pressure on plants and animals.

  How far are these trees willing to go? The southern group has already lost its leaves. The northern specimens keep hitting them, but I do not see how they can topple their opponents, as they appear to lack the mobility to do so. But I had not suspected how clever these trees would be, and now they obviously coordinate their actions. Tree Number 1, a northerner, uses its remaining leaves to hit an isolated southern opponent from the front, while Tree Number 2, without attracting attention, carefully takes up position behind it. As soon as the victim tries to take flight from the battering, it stumbles over the roots of Tree Number 2. And, just like that, the southern tree is brought down, and it is good that the battlefield is considerably farther to our south. The tree toppled by its fellow creatures smashes to the ground and keeps moving its roots, looking like a huge but very thin baby kicking its legs.

  “Hey! Look at that!” Eve says, and I share the emotion she expresses. I pity the fallen tree. It does not look like it can free itself from its predicament. Its comrades have noticed the fall, but this does not spur them to resist more fiercely. Instead, they see it as a call to retreat, and they try to evade their opponents’ blows. Two of them manage to do so without a problem, but the others do not. Suddenly their opponents stop and silence reigns for a moment. It almost seems as if the trees are all talking, agreeing on a plan for withdrawal. And then that is exactly what happens. One group goes back to the south, and the other one moves to the north. Their pace is now much slower than before, while both groups abandon the fallen tree.

  “That was crazy,” Adam says. “Just like a theater performance.”

  I look at Eve, whose face still expresses shock.

  “I could have done without it,” she says, “but what was the purpose of that performance?”

  I shake the robot’s head and reply, “It’s hard to say. Perhaps about controlling territory?”

  “So the trees are organized into tribes?” Eve asks.

  I nod in affirmation. “Probably,” I say. “At first I considered them plants, but they seem to more closely resemble animals. We have to be careful when we transfer our concepts from Earth to Proxima b.”

  “You are the one who has to be careful,” Adam reminds me. “We’ve never been on Earth.”

  We dare to return to our camp an hour later. It entails crossing an area 20 meters wide, in which the roots of the trees left imprints several meters deep. One time I can barely keep Adam from falling into such a hole. He gruffly pushes my shovel-hand aside.

  I am really worried about the state of our camp, but the nearby trees have not moved from the spot. So we don’t have to start all over from scratch!

  Adam is obviously thinking further ahead. “We absolutely cannot stay here,” he says. “Just imagine the trees around us marching off and stomping us like ants. I don’t want to be buried alive inside our underground hole.”

  Terrified, Eve looks at him. Of course he is right, but do we really have a choice?

  “We won’t be able to cross the forest before the eruption of the next flare,” I reply. “Therefore we have to finish our bunker in order to survive the radiation storm.”

  “And what if the trees become active before then?” Eve asks.

  “I am a
fraid we just have to live with that risk, Eve. We know too little about the trees’ lifecycle.”

  Adam does not contradict my statement. I go on to say, “I will certainly watch round the clock for tremors. If we flee quickly enough, we might have a chance.” After I say this, I detect a scornful smile on Adam’s face.

  January 15, 19

  As I had promised Adam and Eve, I did not let my consciousness rest during the previous night. I could have programmed some sensors to wake me up in an emergency, but after what we’d witnessed, I felt safer staying awake. Sensors might fail.

  Going without rest was an interesting experience. Nevertheless, I will not repeat it. I had not realized how much my consciousness still needs the old rhythms, even though it has been separated from my body for so long. In the middle of the ‘night,’ which is perpetually bright—perhaps at 3:30 a.m.—I reach a state of hyper-alertness that makes me cringe at every sound. Of course the trees remain calm, but I have decided that we need to learn more about them rather than simply trusting our luck. I will climb one of the trees today and get a view from its top. Then, hopefully, I can sleep calmly again tonight.

  “You want to do what?” Adam asks me, visibly shocked. Somehow I expected Adam to react this way.

  “I want to go up there to gain a better view,” I reply.

  “You are going to see a whole lot of leaves. I can tell that from down here.”

  “My optical sensors will be able to capture the forest all the way to the horizon.”

  “Great, then we’ll know how many trees there are between here and the horizon,” he says.

  “I could count the trees that are currently moving.”

  “You mean you’ll see whether they are coming towards us?”

  “For that I would have to stay up there forever,” I explain. “No, but I can calculate what percentage of the total number is moving and then estimate the risk that the trees nearby will move during the time we are here, the 11 days left until the next flare.”