Challenging Destiny #23

by Crystalline Sphere Authors

  "Thanks, Lucy, but I have him."

  Activating the extreme visual magnifier produces a three-dimensional image over my instrument panel. The Ghost has a strange configuration, with a spider-like apparatus clinging to the front as though they had struck some huge ungainly bug. It is heading in nearly the opposite direction, moving out of the plane of the solar system. Jupiter's greedy fingers reach out even at this distance, but cannot quite grasp it.

  "You're copying this, Lucy?"

  "Affirmative, Charlie. In our timestream it would match up as an Apollo-class spacecraft, circa 1970. Designed for lunar travel only."

  "Do you copy the damage?"

  Part of the large supporting section appears to be gone, a long piece ruptured and open to space. And the same haunting aura, the same preternatural light emanating from within...

  "You know the Barrier Directive,” Lucy says simply, and needlessly. “We must not violate the crossover's integrity."

  Early human probings, reaching the asteroid belt ... earth-like spacecraft coming from nowhere and vanishing into nothingness ... the haunting sensation when they appear, the tingling of a ghostly apparition ... terrifying the first explorers as the sudden appearance of the Flying Dutchman must have the superstitious sailors on the open seas of earth. Barely registering on instruments—and always in the crossover zone between Jupiter and Mars.

  "Charlie, does it match up with any of the catalogued universes?"

  As I look out the viewshield, I picture the missing planet breaking up around me—or more likely, not even allowed to form—the spacetime distortion of the zone leaving a broken ring of lifeless rock in its wake. And the Ghost ships are always familiar, yet somehow alien. I still wince at the memory of a crossover Saturn probe once catalogued with a large black Swastika on its side.

  "Possible match to C-4 through C-9 classifications. Significant damage is confirmed, although the onboard systems continue to function at a low power level. Their communication system is very similar to ours and also appears to the functional—"

  "We've never contacted one of the Ghosts, Charlie."

  The Directive ... fears of a stronger culture overwhelming a weaker ... contagion ... parallels of smallpox, venereal disease—and maybe the most dangerous contagion of all, technology...

  And the fear that contagion can spread both ways.

  "This is a manned spacecraft, Lucy. They're damaged. We can't just leave them out here."

  I don't tell her the code of the mariners. Or the theory that energy cannot crossover, all things being internally coded like human DNA, sub-atomic particles knowing their own. Or the risk of being too close when a Ghost fades away, pulled out of our timestream like a helpless seaman sucked under by a sinking ship. After all, Lucy already knows these things.

  "You're not much,” she taunts gently, playfully, “but I would hate to lose you, Charlie."

  "It's possible they could be alive. In their timestream, Apollo-type spacecraft may have been designed to complete interplanetary missions. We can't be sure—"

  "You can't help them, Charlie."

  My visual signal grows fainter as the distance between us increases. I open a wide band channel, and at the same time program an intercept course. I suspect Lucy already knows this too.

  "Apollo spacecraft, this is earth shuttle Hermes. Come in please, over."

  Across dark waters, there is no response.

  "Earth shuttle Hermes calling Apollo spacecraft. My readings indicate you are damaged. Do you require assistance? Over."

  I focus and boost my signal as much as I dare without damaging them.

  "Apollo, I can help you. Please acknowledge my signal."

  Empty silence. As I let the seconds pass, I can't help but wonder what I would do if trapped like that in a primitive air bubble in space.

  Altering the direction of my ship is like changing the course of an orbiting planet. It utilizes almost all of my energy reserves, and although some regeneration is possible from drawing on various gravity webs, I will pass well beyond the point of safe return. Lucy knows this from my telemetry, and I'm quietly relieved to hear no order to turn back.

  "I have an errand to run, Lucy,” I tell her, trying to match her playful banter. “Don't wait up for me."

  The Hermes stubbornly resists change, every atom of its mass struggling against the interference. My original course had been meticulously calculated with all available gravity webs subtly utilized, a symphony of intertwined energy now disrupted by harsh dissonance.

  My new arcing course executes perfectly. I swing in slowly to take up a parallel course, gaining rapidly on the shimmering Ghost thousands of kilometers away. My energy readings are dangerously low.

  As I gain on the Ghost, the sight through my viewshield is one of a large cone—clearly the propulsion exhaust where ignited gasses once thrust the frail craft on its journey. To them I would seem a behemoth, a monstrous alien spacecraft increasingly filling their viewports. To men who willingly strapped into a tin can held together by archaic bolts and solder, the Hermes would seem like the arrival of a god.

  I plan my interception carefully. It is crucial that I not disturb their course, and I record every nuance so any disruption can be corrected later. Their course—their future—must not be altered, even if it lies a million empty years distant among the stars of another universe.

  Lucy is right, of course. I have no oxygen for them, no water, no way even to bring them safely onboard. Even my own life support reserves are already far too low.

  I brake gently as I continue to close.

  Details of the strange craft are now visible unaided through my viewshield. I marvel at the sheer daring of ancient astronauts who explored space in such a contraption. Bolted panels, tangled wiring, primitive antenna and thrusters ... and the stark violent damage of seemingly being ruptured from within...

  Such people would have risked anything just to see the planets firsthand. Even people like me, hopscotching in and out of our own timestream between Sleep and the time dilation inherent in the long voyages between planets ... seeing other hopscotchers in various points of our lives, having aged a few days or a few decades in our absence ... spending most of our lives alone in the vast dark waters ... a hopscotcher especially admires such courage as theirs.

  The Hermes dwarfs them as I slowly come up alongside. The radiant ship seems to pass into my pale shadow as I delicately ease up close. Windows are visible in their spacecraft, but they're small and I can't see through to the inside.

  "Apollo spacecraft, this is the Hermes. I am alongside and ready to assist. Can you hear me?"

  Again the long empty silence.

  "Apollo, I know I must seem like an alien, but I'm human like you and I want to help. Please respond to my signal. Over?"

  There is not even static.

  "Charlie, you must turn back."

  "I'm going over to them, Lucy."

  "No,” she says quickly, anticipating me. “Please, Charlie, you must turn back right now. You're already beyond any safety margin."

  We are plunging out beyond the solar system, beyond the grasping fingertips of local gravity. The perspective is strange, just as early astronauts must have felt when first viewing the earth from space. The Ghost and I do not belong here ... and there is no telling when he will fade back into his own timestream.

  But such courage...

  "Apollo, I'm coming to give assistance. Please standby."

  Lucy reads the transmissions, but knows better than to argue further. I disconnect from the instrumentation in the cockpit and break the seal. The void flows in freely. I open the hatch wide and ease out.

  I'm careful to follow procedure and attach a safety line between myself and the Hermes. It's disconcerting to see firsthand how awesome she is compared to the Apollo ship. Hundreds of times as long, filling their viewports, beyond their understanding.

  I take a moment to prepare myself, and then I leap.

  I spread myself wide an
d sail effortlessly across open space. My movements are the gliding wings of a bird in flight. The safety line lengthens out behind me, an umbilical cord reaching out from mother to stricken infant.

  The eerie aura that is the Apollo ship envelopes me. It is about to pass beyond, back to its own universe. And if I am onboard...

  I chose a point on an open area where the engine appears to be located. I ease away from the damaged panel and close on a section between small thrusters. The distance closes rapidly and I slow my speed, trying not to even slightly disturb the ship's course. At the last moment I pull back, slowing to within a meter of the hull and coiling a tendril about one of the thrusters. Fortunately, the disturbance is minimal and easy to correct.

  I gently pull myself alongside the raw open wound of the damaged section. This is clearly a service module and not the living quarters. Evidence of an internal explosion is all too clear ... a gaping hole, tangled bunches of primitive wiring hanging out in open space, fuel tanks and piping exposed by the ruptured panel.

  I come to an edge that angles away to the attachment on the forward section, crinkly gold skin shimmering even through the distracting aura. A lunar lander in our timestream. I see a window close to me, which would be the main section housing the crew. I ease up to it slowly, hoping not to startle anyone looking out.

  There is no need to worry. The three astronauts are peacefully strapped into their seats. Even fully suited they are unmistakable. I wipe at the window as though it were dirty, peering closely within. They are adult men, but they seem like cherubs, undeveloped, unprotected, unable to fend for themselves. Three daring young sailors venturing in a small leaking rowboat into the unforgiving ocean.

  Carbon dioxide poisoning. Lightheadedness, nausea, disorientation as the oxygen ran out. Eventually a gentle unconsciousness, prior to suffocating. In my timestream they managed to return, of course, but in their universe ... unable to fix their crippled ship, not finding a way to rid their rowboat of the CO2 buildup, knowing only too well that they were doomed ... just babies, frail and innocent, so wondrously formed...

  I lean heavily against the window. It comes to me why they are here. Their ship should have swung around the moon, and been doomed to a perpetual orbit about the earth. A constant reminder to the world of their failure—and a constant source of pain to their families. When the end was certain ... they set their main engine on full thrust ... breaking free of the gravity fingers and plunging forever into deep space...

  I imagine the terrible moment of decision, their mutual agreement, all eyes on the commander's finger as he pushed the ignition button...

  "They're dead."

  "I know.” Lucy's voice is gentle, soothing.

  "You know how they died?"

  "I know, Charlie."

  I ease back a little from the window, catching a faint glimpse of my reflection. What would they feel now if they'd lived? Unholy terror, blind panic, seeing only an alien with distended arms resembling tendrils, insect eyes—and a human face all the more ghoulish?

  Would they have struggled so courageously to explore space if they knew about rapid evolutionary development? If they knew just how quickly the power of human DNA evolved without the tight confines of the earth?

  "Please, Charlie, it's time to come home."

  I peer inside one last time. Admiring their fragile beauty, the strangely noble daring I too can take pride in. I caress the window gently, softly. It would have been nice to talk to them, just for moment, sitting by an earth fire...

  I am naked without the Hermes close around me. I feel like a solitary vampire returning to his coffin, but it is good to be back where I belong. I reconnect to the ship and gently seal the hatch.

  As I pull away, the aura around Apollo intensifies.

  I wonder what it would be like to sit by a cozy fire ... did they ever wonder what it would be like to see gravity, feel the cosmic wind flowing about you like a swift current, or hear planets swirling gracefully in their orbits?

  "I corrected any disturbance I caused,” I tell Lucy, who I know is waiting. “I left everything the way it was."

  "Charlie, are you all right?"

  "I hated to just let them go, Lucy. But that was the way they wanted it. I just wish ... I could have done something to help."

  "I'm proud of you, Charlie,” I hear her say. “All of us are."

  "It would have been nice to talk to them, Lucy. They're us, you know, just a different timestream. They're human beings too."

  "Charlie, you did talk to them."

  "What do you mean?"

  The pause is not like her. I use the strange silence to reset my course to Phobos Base. The gravity fields present a very different configuration, and I need to alter course drastically from the original one. I enter the necessary data and at once begin to accelerate, sucking on some small gravity wells nearby.

  "Charlie, some kind of relay was in operation. It may have been an accidental interaction between our universe and theirs. Your messages were received by Apollo and retransmitted."

  I look back toward their ship, just a hazy blur as it passes through the Barrier. Beyond is Jupiter ... and the delicate music of the spheres.

  "They must have did it on purpose, Lucy. I'm sure of it! During that age we wanted very much to make contact. They must have jury rigged some kind of relay, just in case some alien..."

  I don't finish, thinking of their frail appearance.

  "But my signals couldn't have gotten through the Barrier..."

  "Our readings indicate the messages passed through, Charlie. The signals were retransmitted off their own equipment, using their own energy. You did it, Charlie. Your message got through."

  "But, Lucy, I'm no diplomat."

  "It doesn't matter. You didn't just talk to them, Charlie—you showed them. That was the best message we could have sent."

  They are gone now. Heading back out through the uncharted darkness of their own universe. Until perhaps the next message...

  "Are you picking up my readings?"

  "Of course, Charlie."

  "The Hermes is returning. But ... you know I won't be coming back. The life support reserves..."

  She pauses again.

  "We may be able to send a rescue ship, Charlie."

  Lucy, of course, knows better than that.

  "I will miss you, Lucy,” I tell her. “I think maybe I'll Sleep now."

  I hear her warm lulling words.

  "Good night, Charlie. Sleep well."

  As I drift off, I imagine what it must be like to stretch out before a warm fire...

  * * * *

  Richard R. Harris is a lifelong resident of the Seattle area. He currently splits his time unevenly between writing science fiction, earning a living, and helping to raise two beautiful daughters. Stories of his have appeared in Absolute Magnitude, Talebones, The Leading Edge, Tickled By Thunder, and online at Anotherealm.com. He also has a science fiction novel titled The Martian Solution available via Barnesandnoble.com. In addition, stories of his have also been awarded first prize in contests sponsored by the Science Fiction Writers of Earth and the National Writers Association. Despite popular belief, he has never been to Mars.

  * * * *

  Only from the abyss can one turn and see the world as it truly is.

  —Sean Russell, The Initiate Brother

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  Service With a Smile by Craig Q. Rose

  The first few days your face hurts from smiling. But then you get used to it.

  Nobody smiles in the warehouse. Or talks much. It's discouraged.

  They wake us at dawn. We think. There aren't any windows in the warehouse so we don't know. But the guards turn the lights on and tell us it's dawn so we believe them.

  We all get off the floor, roll up our mats and stow them under our hooks along the wall. We then get undressed and hang up the green hospital smocks on our hooks. Men and women together. It doesn't matter. We're all too tired and too hungry
to really notice.

  We're always hungry.

  As we wait in line for the showers, one of the guards puts his rifle down and hands out our breakfast. Usually some week-old bread they can't sell anymore. If it's moldy you scrape off the worst of it and begin gnawing. It's always stale and rock hard.

  I think they leave the bread out on purpose. The gnawing cleans our teeth pretty good and they don't have to waste toothbrushes on us. Those are still very expensive. I don't think anyone has started making them again since the Collapse.

  I learned to save the hardest parts of the bread till I get in the shower—the water softens it up. It's okay with the guards, they look the other way. My teeth are pretty good. I've always had good teeth.

  Most of the guards are pretty nice that way. Let little things slide. As much as they can, but they have a job to do too. Its not like any one of us newbies wouldn't trade places with them in a heart beat.

  So after the shower, shaving and relieving ourselves, we are led back to our hooks and put on our uniforms. Underwear, Khakis, denim shirt with nametag, socks and shoes. We all had lots of blisters, those first days inside. Most of us had had our last pair of shoes fall apart a few years earlier. Even though we had all worn shoes almost all our lives, a few years without them and we got blisters when we put a pair back on.

  Once we're dressed the guards lead us from the warehouse into the front of the grocery store. As we walk through that swinging door we all place a smile on our faces that will stay there till we walk back into the warehouse at the end of the day.

  The first thing that hits you is the smells. They never feed us enough. I think they like to keep us hungry so we appreciate what we have. Being on the inside.

  Foxdale Village is the ultimate gated community. I'm not sure how it started, after the Collapse, but the ultra-rich will always find a way to get by. In style.

  Other than the walls and guards, it would look like any of the thousands of retirement villages from before. Scores of near-identical condos, a golf course, rec area, movie theatre—even a few shops, and of course, a grocery store.