by L. E. Howel
Planetfall
L.E. Howel
Copyright © 2014
All rights reserved.
ISBN:-13:978-0615968490 (Howel Works)
ISBN:- 10:061596849x
DEDICATION
To my family
“The mind is its own PLACE
and in itself can make
a heaven of hell,
a hell of heaven”
Planetfall
ONE
In the space of our imagination there is adventure, there is hope, but above all there is the promise of a brighter future. In this dark corner of reality, however, there was nothing. The cold emptiness of space remained unaltered, an impassive witness to the events that would never take place in its void. Even the brightest stars shone only dimly here, their light and warmth diminished to single pinpricks by the distance. This was as close to nowhere as anywhere could be. Yet it was here that it first approached, small at first, but growing ever larger. A ship, a massive hulk, not beautiful, and yet somehow an ugly, majestic tribute to the great things that small hands could accomplish, if they had the spirit to imagine.
Through the silent darkness the great vessel approached unnoticed. Four huge, carbon encrusted cylinder engines throbbed noiselessly below an almost delicate smaller structure fixed to them. It was a ship, a tiny ship that might have been a parasite, long since dead but still clinging through memory to the mighty engines whose energy had once sustained it. Now even the memory seemed to have faded and all that remained was this lifeless shell. Like all parasites it had met with a greater force intent on its destruction. The icy fingers of space had reached out and swatted it. It was dead now, and the four immense engines, fired by little more than the vapors of its former hopes pushed the dead mass on to its unknown goal.
***
Feeding time at the zoo. It was an early June morning and the fresh, clean air of spring had yet to be replaced by the oppressive summer heat. In the days of his youth this might have seemed like a day of opportunity, like the forerunner of a long, glorious summer ahead. Even now these memories echoed somewhere in his head as the laughter of children sprinkled the air through the buzz and bustle of the crowd. A silent orange balloon bobbed rhythmically in the air, anchored to a noisy child, who was pointing excitedly from one animal to the next. A young baby cried and was consoled by its mother. A father demonstrated a greater knowledge of animals than he truly possessed in his explanations to his wide eyed young daughter. Everywhere excitement and a sense of freedom pervaded the grounds as the sun glistened lustily on the roofs of the dew kissed enclosures.
Chief Keeper Edwards passed through the throng, unaffected by their optimism, spirit, or enthusiasm. His ears did not hear their laughter, his eyes did not see their smiles, and his soul was untouched by their joy. His world was a different place. Something had broken loose years ago, and he had drifted further and further from the experience of others until now he was utterly alone in both thought and deed. He could share nothing with them, and so he walked among these people as through a mist or fog that had the appearance of reality, but no substance.
He couldn’t remember when it had all begun. This had all been the reality of his dreams once: this job, this position, this life, but now they had changed into the phantom of his nightmare existence. He had worked hard for this, but when he had reached the very summit of his life he had only found the panorama blighted. Whatever he had been looking for wasn’t here. It never had been. The happiness he had expected to find had somehow eluded him, and his weary eyes could find nowhere else to look.
And now it was feeding time again, and the animals’ calls for food were drowned by the baying of the crowd, hungry for its entertainment. Edwards had felt a habitual duty to both, and so, despite his position, he had made public feeding a part of his daily schedule. Back at the beginning of things he had seen this as an important part of keeping him from losing touch with both patrons and protected under his care. He wasn’t sure that either really mattered any more, and now he was hardly aware of the noise that surrounded him as he pushed the cart of food toward the first enclosure. It was a daily routine and his mind was on other things.
His thoughts were running down the same dark channels they always followed. He rarely strayed from them now and deep ruts of habit had formed so that he could hardly escape them if he had wanted to. There was something wrong with him, he knew that, but he didn’t know what he could do. He couldn’t even say what it was, but he knew it was there, and he also knew instinctively that no one else must know. It wasn’t normal. It must have been something inside him. A spark, or something else, wasn’t quite there anymore and it had been replaced by darkness. Life continued the same as ever, on the surface it was better than ever, but still a hunger-like emptiness remained, gnawing, demanding, waiting to be filled, but by what? That was the trouble, knowing what.
Edwards reached down for a bucket on his cart. His own emptiness, so unknown an experience until recent years, seemed mocked by this ritual of feeding time. Animal needs were so easily satisfied, he thought to himself as he poured the food into a meager dish. He eyed the contents dubiously.
“Such food, such vile food,” he muttered to himself, and yet he knew that just the smell of the stuff would be enough to start a ripple of unbounded excitement in the enclosure. This had always disgusted Edwards, such joy from such a simple thing, and yet it was this that fascinated him most of all. He was even vaguely aware that if he looked deeply enough within himself he would have found an odd admiration, even envy of this simple desire and the pleasure its fulfillment seemed to bring to his animals.
Placing the bowl within the first cage Edwards shuffled away on the rest of his rounds. At least someone would be happy today, he thought to himself as he started toward the next enclosure.
***
The ship persisted on its unknown course. With throbbing engines muted by the vacuum of space it glided past a small, dark sphere, a dead world of rock, cold, lifeless, and desolate. Unwavering, the craft moved on, soon encountering a second planet. In contrast with the first its shimmering atmosphere seemed to glint welcomingly, to invite further investigation, but this also went unheeded by the travelling monolith as it proceeded silently toward its goal.
Inside, the same quiet embraced a single, dark room in a perfect state of nonexistence. No sight, no sound, no awareness. This was the interior of the smaller ship, the delicate parasite that had once lived off the great power of the engines below it. Once it had been alive, but now there was nothing- or so it was until now, for the blanket of darkness was suddenly pierced by the appearance of five glowing green dots. Like the luminous eyes of the pack surrounding its unseen prey, they gleamed in the darkness. These were no animals.
Slowly things changed. An orange light eased in like a mock dawn, dimly revealing a small, stark room with a domed ceiling and six rectangular shapes lined in rows of three against its two longest walls. The boxes, like the room that contained them, were almost featureless, and the sterile functionality of the whole place was made only somewhat less severe by the faint orange glow that now bathed it.
The appearance of the boxes, the hushed quiet, the drab surroundings, all of this might have been interpreted as some quiet mausoleum where the bones of loved ones rested. Yet the warmth of the now brightening orange light jarred against this impression. This was not death; a life and vitality rested here, dormant, but not dead.
The lighting in the room gradually altered. From the panels of five boxes the glowing green dots seemed to grow, spreading their light over the whole shape until each was engulfed in their lively glow. The orange of the room had now melted away into a warming sunlight yellow and, as if in response, the light from the boxes, transformed, slowly at first, almost
imperceptibly, from green to light green, to light blue, to dark blue. The lights flashed with ever increasing speed. Green, blue, red, orange- the colors blurred, finally stopping at brilliant white, and five boxes hissed as their lids slowly rose. Then silence returned. A shower of white light cascaded over the containers, like a cleansing stream, until it flickered, winked dimly, and died. Steam rose from the newly opened lids and condensed on the ceiling. A distant pulsar beep began to sound and was met by faint wheezing, gasping breaths. A hacking cough pierced the stillness, as though someone had almost drowned and had fought their way back.
Moments passed. The steam dispersed on the ceiling. Nothing moved. Finally a man’s hands grasped the sides of one box from the inside and, with effort that turned the fingers white, pulled himself into a sitting position. He blinked, looking groggily at his surroundings with uncomprehending eyes. He rubbed his fingers through his graying black hair and over his worn face. He had the look of a man waking up from a short sleep after a long day.
In fact, Thomas Birch would have been glad to feel that bad; he felt much worse. At once he was acutely aware of his own body and its pain. His head ached, his body ached; even his soul seemed to ache as a great feeling of despair washed over him like the icy embrace of deep waters. His mind struggled for focus, to understand what he was doing and where he was. He felt cold; this was reality.
"Made it", he managed to mumble inaudibly. His mind was beginning to clear. He knew where he was, and why he was here, though even in his confused state he wondered about the wisdom of it all. He knew the time for those questions had gone. He had work to do, and as his thoughts turned from the past to the present his dark mood began to lift.
His despair had been natural enough; it was all expected. There were scientific explanations. You didn't spend long periods of time in cryogenic sleep without becoming dependent on the dark, warm security it provided to your subconscious. The shock of reality after this existence was hard to deal with, and no better than it must be for the newborn babe, pushed from the womb, turned upside-down and given a swift slap by the doctor to start respiration. Birch would get over it. He had done it before.
Again he rubbed his face in his hands, then tore at the I.V. tube attaching his arm to the unit. As it came free a drop of blood trickled down his arm, like a tear for the things that were lost. Ignoring it Birch pulled himself to his feet and gingerly tested his weight against the floor.
Before the mission they had been assured that great progress had been made in cryogenics. The problems with earlier long-term hibernation experiments had been overcome and there was little risk that they would suffer any ill effects. It wasn’t that reassuring. The earliest experiments had left the subjects in a permanent vegetative state, and there was always that risk. Improved techniques of neural stimulation were supposed to keep all the mental and physical functions at their peak condition, but there was still that hidden fear that everyone had to swallow when they signed up for one of these missions- the realization that things did go wrong.
If he had felt any better Birch might have been grateful for his throbbing limbs and aching brain which indicated that he had survived another trip, but the pain was too real to be ignored. The promise of the experts had been that you would wake up as refreshed as from a night’s sleep. Having already experienced the reality Birch knew it would be a long time before he felt nearly that good. Cryogenics would keep you alive, but it was always a long time before you could ever believe that it had actually been worth it.
The pulsar beep suddenly intensified, becoming louder and more urgent. Birch straightened himself and saw that his four crewmates were all wearily pulling themselves from their chambers and making their way to their stations. He knew the drill, they were approaching Base Two. Now it was time to find out what had really happened. “This’ll be good,” he muttered to himself as he followed the others through a narrow doorway. He hoped he was right.
The adjoining room was the only other habitable space on the tiny craft. The cramped compartment served as the ship’s control center and was only used on the rare occasions that human input was preferred to automation. The bulk of the flying was the mindless monotony of deep space. The computers could handle this, but when it came to the more significant parts of the mission humanity again wrestled control to itself.
As he entered the room Birch quickly sensed the change of atmosphere. He had felt it before, and now he saw that even a lifetime of sleep had failed to erase the indelible marks on their former friendships. Karla’s expression, as always, had been the easiest to read. The others just became cold and motionless, refusing to acknowledge him, but Karla stole a glance at Birch, then back to the empty doorway behind him. Tears filled her eyes before she too looked away to stare blankly at the instrument panel before her. That was going to be it then, the furtive glances and sudden hush. Things weren’t going to change. What had he expected, that cold hearts would melt while cryogenically frozen, or that inactive minds would be changed? None of this was possible and now, even though a hundred thousand yesterdays might have passed, the long dead conflicts of their own time were resurrected within their own breasts. So be it, he thought to himself as he marched over and sat in the pilot's seat.
“Let’s get to it,” Birch barked as he began punching keys in the panel before him. He was mad. Mad at everything. The mission had tested them all. Nothing had been textbook, but then he had learned that truth could rarely be found in any set text; it was just too hard. The cold, hard reality they had found wasn’t anything that they had trained or prepared for. Now all they could do is live it the best they could and see what happened.
"Ten minutes to radio range of Base Two," the woman to Birch's left announced. This was Major Jane Gray, his co-pilot and something like a friend. His most recent experiences had led him to dread the word. Turning his attention to the terminal he brought up a heads-up display to follow their progress. Yes, they were approaching Mars, sight of Base Two. This would tell them a lot.
Everyone stared at the screen, willing the ship on to the communication point. The flashing green of the icon marking the ships position on the display cast a sickly glow over the crew’s perspiring faces and increased the sense of numbing tension. Time passed slowly as the moment approached. No one ever leaves home for any time without some anxiety at the absence. Whether it’s an irrational fear that you left a door unlocked, or a concern that some natural disaster might strike in your absence, there is nothing like the relief of that point in the return journey when you turn the corner on your road and see that your own house is still there. Birch and the others were straining to see around that corner now.
There shouldn’t have been any cause for concern, after all hadn’t humanity finally begun to reach for its highest ideals? This was to be the golden age. For years they had been making great strides in scientific understanding, but finally there had come a change in the social perspective. Old idioms had died away and a peaceful self-awareness had replaced the discordant voices of history. Their own mission, the Hypnos missions, had been a small part in this grander scheme of human progress. Like the old expositions of the nineteenth century, theirs was a grand display of what people could do.
And yet the voice of doubt persisted. Birch understood too much to somehow find it in himself to believe in peace. There were always those who brought discord and conflict. He had fought against it many times in his own life, even in his own head, so how could he expect anything good. For some the hope remained that one day the old enemies would be thrown down in the dust and trampled underfoot, but it seemed unlikely to him that anyone would ever rise far enough above the dust to trample anything but themselves, and so Birch wondered.
They were about to knock on humanity’s door after a long absence. Would anyone answer?
TWO
"Hypnos III to Base Two, Hypnos III to Base Two. Respond please." The almost mechanical repetition of Lieutenant DeSante`s voice had an edgy quality to it. He finge
red a button on his console, turned two knobs nervously and tried again. "Base Two this is Hypnos III, code 4-1-9-9-3 Alpha Phase, please respond." A faint hiss was the only answer as DeSante paused. He started again.
"Wait!" Birch's interruption was unexpected and the young Lieutenant turned in his seat to look at his commanding officer. After half an hour of fruitless attempts at communication the words were stabbing into Birch's brain like daggers and the last thing he wanted was to hear them repeated again. "It's obvious that we're going to get no response here," he continued. "Gray, send out a probe, let’s see what’s going on down there.” She hesitated for a moment, turned to speak but seemed to change her mind and turned again to her console.
“Probe launched,” she announced flatly, “transmitting within normal parameters. We should hear something in the next ten minutes.” Birch nodded and left his position to look at her screen.
“Good, that should give us a good sweep of the main control area. Let’s see if we can find out what they’re up to down there that’s keeping them from answering. Dawson,” he turned now to address Karla, the young blonde lieutenant to his right, “keep close track of that probe. I want to know as soon as anything happens. The rest of you need to finish the status evaluation of the ship and see what shape this old bucket’s in. We don’t want the bottom to drop out of it while we’re sat here pondering the fate of our universe. Let’s get to it.”
Silence again returned to the room, save for the electronic hum and buzz of the ship. Glancing up from his panel Birch caught sight of the rusty orb of Mars through the cockpit window. The mute planet seemed to offer a glint of understanding to some unknown mystery, but these were secrets it was unwilling to share.
