BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Grey Life
Ms. Wellington's Oak Tree
The Politics of Consumption
Bringing Down the House
Gyges the Terrible
THE BUNKER SERIES
Thank You For Your Cooperation
Your Call Is Important To Us
Can I Be Of Some Assistance
Today's Edition
Contamination Event
first in a series of
science fiction shorts
Adam Wasserman
First Edition, April 2017
Copyright 2017 by Adam Wasserman
All rights reserved
Smashwords Edition
Cover photo is of Enceladus
imaged by the Cassini spacecraft
and is credited to NASA
The universe is a hostile environment. Most of it is space – the space around planets, the space around stars, the space between galaxies. Then there are the vast, unthinkable voids through which the galaxies themselves are strung like ribbons. Despite the utter blackness and lack of air pressure, all this space is far from empty. It is permeated by loose atoms and ionized gas, dust and radiation. And it's all flowing. If you stare at it long enough, you'll find that nothing in the universe stays still.
The sky is crowded with stars. Every cadet is astounded by the sheer number of them the first time he ventures from the cocoon of Earth's atmosphere. How strange to think that of all the worlds that surely orbit those countless pinpricks of light, only the Earth and its pitiful five hundred million square kilometers are safe enough to call home.
The Institute for the Exploration of Deep Space has catalogued hundreds of brown dwarfs, carbon giants, and variable stars, all of them in the vicinity of Sol. Most of them have planets. But the fact is we have yet to find a single world other than Earth where human beings can survive unaided.
The perfect mixture of oxygen and nitrogen, the correct air pressure, abundant water and balmy weather – none of it is replicated anywhere else.
At prestigious universities such as Lagos Polytechnic and the Saskatchewan Institute of Technology highly regarded minds are quick to point out that humanity has only just begun its exploration of the cosmos. The professors will bleat like sheep penned up in their lecture halls when they tell you there simply aren't enough data points to draw such a hasty conclusion.
But the dry, dusty professors don't venture out into space. We argonauts, we venture out into space.
The argonauts are humanity's vanguard in its quest to conquer the galaxy. We are the first to set foot on alien worlds. Are they are appropriate for study, mining or permanent settlement? Our experiences and recommendations largely determine the answer.
The dangers are many. Few of us make it back to Earth alive. It is a small concession that the dusty basins, deep ravines and towering mountains of these strange worlds bear our names. But that's not why we sign up.
The rain pelted down on the surface of HO-Librae-IV. That's the official name and the one we use in our reports. But only the scientists use that designation. The rest of us call the planet Zarmina.
Above us an unbroken, yellow sky. The oppressive cloud deck, dark and gloomy, stretched to every horizon, enveloping the planet. The feeble light of HO-Librae never touched the surface, but we knew it was daytime nonetheless.
HO-Librae was always in the sky at two hundred sixteen degrees longitude, forty-one degrees south latitude. Zarmina was tidally locked to its star, which meant it always showed the same face in its orbit. Ordinarily, planets like this one would have a scorching dayside and a nightside so cold the entire atmosphere would lie in icy clumps, frozen out. But Zamina's planetary ocean was massive enough to efficiently distribute heat. Everywhere on the planet the temperature was in the neighborhood of sixty degrees centigrade.
Sometimes, there was wind. It was slight – gusting no faster than a meter per second – but in the dense atmosphere the force was enough to push stones. Occasionally, one would bump into the exterior of the Biological Safety Zone, a sudden and throbbing bass punctuating the steady staccato of the raindrops.
I had picked a rocky outcropping near the coast of a small island as the site for our base. That's all there was on Zarmina – little islands thrusting up from the depths of a deep planetary sea. Spread out irregularly across the globe, the largest was about the size of Puerto Rico.
We could see the roiling ocean from the Biological Safety Zone. Tall, powerful waves rippled across its surface, driven by the deceptively slow winds. Even when it wasn't raining, the ocean was rough.
Zarmina was similar to Earth in more ways than the ocean and the weather. There was life here, too.
The talking heads back at IFEDS just fall over themselves when we report back the presence of life somewhere. But we argonauts have learned through experience to temper our enthusiasm. Life in the universe is as hostile as the interplanetary medium. Perhaps more so. The interplanetary medium is the same wherever you go. Life, on the other hand, has a myriad of forms. Each one is strange, its behavior unpredictable. Past experience doesn't help.
Personally, I love the landscapes. There's nothing like setting down on a new planet and getting a first look around. High-resolution photography from one thousand kilometers above the surface just doesn't compare. It can't capture the delicate shades of purple left behind by a setting supergiant, reflecting brilliantly in interlocking veins of mineral. The gossamer strands of some as-yet-uncategorized polymer dancing through the wispy fumes of a thin atmosphere, collecting into piles at your feet. The silence of an empty world dominated by angular silicate plains and ravaged by an unforgiving sun.
The universe may be hostile, but it is also extraordinarily beautiful.
Dalia Haggar was standing patiently in the sterilization chamber, waiting for the cycle to end. I could see her round, pudgy face through the tiny window in the inner door. Strands of short-cropped, brown hair were plastered to the sides of her head in the fine mist. In the outer lock next door, the clothing and equipment she had brought with her were receiving ultraviolet treatment.
Dalia was the team's primary life sciences specialist with expertise in micro- and macrobiology. She had also received training as a pharmacologist and chemical engineer.
Esther Sainclair – our nutritionist, dietician, and (in those dire moments of need) primary surgeon – was over by the 3D printer, preparing our midday meal. She constantly referred to an orderly line of vitamin and mineral charts, humming to herself contentedly as she checked off boxes.
Esther rarely set foot outside the Biological Safety Zone. Her place was inside, monitoring the temperature and composition of the air, scanning for alien microbes, making sure we got enough rest. Esther took good care of us. But none of us took her motherly demeanor at face value. She was the quickest and deadliest shot in the team.
Sergei Lebedev was our robotics expert and Level-III programmer. Wherever he went a swarm of small tools and circuit boards followed. Scattered about usually just beyond reach, they all had esoteric and very specific uses. There he was, crouched under his workbench, grumbling that he couldn't find his oscilloscope. One of the scouts was hoisted overhead in a cradle. It had taken a nasty fall earlier in the day and needed repairs.
Sergei was also our pilot, which according to IFEDS's regulations made him our team leader.
And myself? I, Jonathan Crozier, was the communications officer and navigator. Which meant I had to fill out a lot of paperwork and file everything with IFEDS. If I didn't, I got a lot of angry messages from our project leader back on Earth.
The more enjoyable part of my responsibilities was poring over maps
and collating the various data brought in by the scouts. Sergei had the final say about the daily missions, but he usually followed my recommendations.
Every argonaut underwent extensive training beyond his specialities. We were all proficient Level-I and -II programmers, for example. IFEDS regulations specifically stated that a crew must be able to operate without any one of its members. For example, I knew a thing or two about biochemistry, and Esther could fly us out of there if Sergei for some reason was unable.
Beyond that, every argonaut was fully versed in how to set up, operate and maintain a Biological Safety Zone. A large, dome-like structure divided internally into habitation and work areas, it was a transferrable, mini Earth-environment. Able to withstand extreme temperatures and pressures, it was also a reliable barrier between terran and alien ecosystems.
“Do you need a hand over there, Sergei?” I asked after a particularly foulmouthed outburst.
“What?” he stammered and pulled his head out from under the workbench.
I pointed at the scout. “Do you want help?”
The edge drained out of his eyes. “Oh, help. Yes. Why in fact I do. Thank you.”
I was glad he accepted. I was keen to hear the results of Dalia's latest tests on the fungal fields piled up on the rocks below. But the report would have to wait until the sterilization cycle completed.
Sergei looked up and shook his head at the stained, mottled underside of the scout. “Those beds of fungus are corrosive. They do quite a job on these things.”
I helped him test circuitry and replace a few filaments, mostly by handing him tools or pulling back bundles of wire so he could reach behind.
Esther finished programming the 3D printer and joined us. “Has Hornet reported signs of volcanic activity?” she asked. Hornet was the argonauts' pet name for the mother ship orbiting far above us.
“So far so good.”
As far as we could tell, Zarmina was not affected by plate tectonics, but we were still concerned about earthquakes and tidal waves. They often accompanied volcanic eruptions.
And Zarmina was volcanically active. Several peaks rose above the ocean surface here and there across the globe, but most of the volcanos were buried far below in the swirling depths. The wide, crumbling calderas had been imaged from space.
The planet's atmosphere was eighty-five percent nitrogen, eleven percent carbon dioxide, and two percent hydrogen sulfide. All of these gasses were colorless, as was the water vapor forming the clouds high above. What exactly gave them their light, yellow hue was still a mystery.
Over time, the carbon dioxide should have dissolved in the ocean, where it would have been deposited as layers of limestone on the seabed, until there was none left.
Unless, of course, something was replenishing it.
Two underground eruptions had been observed before we landed. A link had been suggested between them and an uptick in solar activity.
The red dwarf HO-Librae was a highly variable star, prone to sudden, angry flares and covered in starspots like measles. It was one of the characteristics of red dwarves that made them so inhospitable. The temper tantrums of a comfortable G-class star like Sol were dangerous enough to the planets in its proximity. But HO-Librae was a full-fledged berserker, and Zarmina had a feeble magnetic field. It could hardly offer sufficient protection.
Hornet had warned us yesterday that solar output was increasing. Naturally, we were concerned.
“I wish I could go down in one of the subs and get a closer look,” Esther said wistfully and cast a meaningful glance in my direction.
Sergei started and nearly bumped his head. “You mean of an eruption?” He glanced first at her and then at me. “Don't you get any funny ideas,” he told us and turned back to the scout. “We've already been over this. There are life forms in that ocean. Big ones.”
Esther made a face at his back, but I could tell she wasn't angry. We both knew Sergei was right.
Eventually, there came a sucking sound from the inner door as the vacuum seal was broken. In stepped Dalia, naked and dry, clutching her equipment in a bundle.
Argonauts live together in close quarters. We can't be ashamed of nakedness or the sounds we make on the toilet. But it is true that sexuality can be a problem on long missions such as ours, especially when we are cooped up together for so long. An argonaut must be focused on his work, even when he is resting. The idle pleasures of life – from long, hot showers to a pleasant frolic in the sack – are as foreign on alien planets as fresh, unrecycled air.
To help us in this regard, our food was supplemented with hormone suppressants. Fortunately, the effect was temporary.
“Let me get dressed and then I'll tell you all about it!” Dalia breathed as she lumbered towards the ladder leading to our quarters above. Her steps were slow and awkward as if she were moving through water. Deprived of her gravpads, her muscles were struggling in Zarmina's natural gravity, a field twice as strong as Earth's.
Soon, she was sitting with the rest of us, dressed in a simple white tunic and ensconced in gravpads.
“I've confirmed it!” she announced and smiled. “Not that we should be surprised.”
“Confirmed what?” Sergei wanted to know.
But Dalia pressed on excitedly. “We already knew there is a large amount of potassium cyanide dissolved in all that sea water. Now I've found significant amounts of sodium cyanide in the sedentary rock comprising these islands. In fact, those reed-like structures that periodically shoot up through the fungal fields and then decay just as quickly – I theorize they carry up much needed sodium cyanide to the top of the heap.”
It was amazing news. “So,” I said, “it looks like another entirely new biochemistry, eh?”
“It's the fifth planet humanity has found life on. So far, no two are the same.”
Sergei scowled as he tried to follow the conversation. That's when I remembered, he hadn't been there this morning when we conducted Dalia's mission preview. He was off on his own mission, checking up on the cybers outside.
“Sergei!” I howled and tried not to laugh. “You look like Esther's announced fried liver and onions for dinner tonight! Lighten up!”
Dalia quickly explained that life here on Zarmina depended partly on cyanide. “Of course, to us cyanide is a deadly poison. It's impossible to say how it could be used biologically.”
“Obviously, it has a place in a very complex biochemistry,” I said. “Not just simple fungal colonies.”
Dalia cocked her head. “How do you mean?”
“Those life forms we detected in the ocean! Some of them are five meters in length.”
Dalia shrugged. “You can't infer complexity from size, Jonathan. Remember those air cells they found on Proxima Centauri-II?”
I did. Another large, rocky planet with a dense, moist atmosphere. The temperature was too warm for liquid water. The entire troposphere – from equator to pole – was swarming with large, bubble-like creatures that floated along with the currents. Some of them were larger than a person, but in the end they were just single-celled organisms.
Fortunately, dinner that evening was not liver and onions.
Esther served us pumpkin soup with heavy cream, a bean and vegetable stew seasoned with pepper and turmeric, and various cheeses with dried bread. For desert there was a mixture of yogurt, nuts, and honey. Afterwards, tea and coffee.
That evening, it was Dalia's turn to lead the conversation. For some reason, she wanted to talk about education. I was bored as soon as she announced it.
Tomorrow was my turn. I had already settled on a topic. We'd talk about lassoing asteroids!
“I think humanity educates its children well enough,” Sergei was saying. He looked around the table. “We all turned out just fine.”
Dalia nodded and hastily swallowed a mouthful of stew. “All the local regions on Earth adhere to the same principles,” she said. “Once a child turn three, she is expected to begin her general education. She joins a group of
no more than five girls and boys, all more or less united in ability and temperament. Every day, six days a week during the morning hours, they meet at a tutor's home. They learn reading and writing in several languages, the arts, later mathematics and the sciences.”
“Well,” Esther interjected, “it's not the same everywhere. In Egypt, we start our schooling at four years old. And we have several different tutors. One might be specialized in the arts, another in mathematics.”
“Of course, there are local differences,” Dalia hastily agreed. “But the principles are the same. At sixteen students may choose to apply to any number of academies and technical schools for advanced learning. Or not pursue their education any further.” She shrugged, but it was clear in her body language that she couldn't understand why anyone would do that.
“I've heard that before the Troubles schooling was restricted by age,” Sergei said.
“That's ridiculous,” I scoffed. “What does age have to do with learning?”
“That's what I heard. School was only available until a certain age. And the children were herded into large groups. Thirty, forty. Two hundred even. They attended formal institutions not from sixteen onwards but even as small children.”
“It's true,” Dalia confirmed. “And they taught them subjective material, like history and religion.”
“And all those other harmful habits they practiced back then,” I said, waving a fork over my plate for emphasis. “Politics. Business.”
Esther smiled gently. “Well, it was before the Troubles.”
“I've done quite a bit of research on this subject lately,” Dalia admitted. “That's why I brought it up. I'm curious what you think. Did you know that back then schooling had purposes other than simple education? Schools – that's what they called them – were supposed to produce citizens.”
Contamination Event (Short Story) Page 1
