Heaven's Shadow

by David S. Goyer

  And since she was running through the sensory spectrum, Tea motioned for Taj to freeze. “I hear something,” she said, though she could not have described it.

  “More wind?” Taj said. “I think I hear it, too.”

  Tea held out her hands. “It’s not much. I can’t really feel it.” She noticed that the vyomanaut had the Zeiss in his hands, dutifully recording images. “What’s your magic radio telling you?”

  Taj shook his head and showed her the instrument panel on its back, which had a signal indicator just like that on Tea’s cell phone. “No bars.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. I never had more than one deeper into Keanu. We’re closer now, so it should be better.”

  “Unless there’s suddenly a bunch of rock in the way.” Tea’s mind had instantly fixed on a horrible concept. “Do you think maybe there’s been a landslide out there?” All through the journey into the junction, she had had to remind herself that although it looked like a West Virginia coal mine, the passage was larger and had remained open for likely thousands of years.

  Still, the idea of being trapped . . .

  “I think we need suits now.”

  Twenty minutes later, Tea and Taj had donned, sealed, and tested their suits . . . and penetrated the Keanu side of the membrane.

  Now they were emerging into the junction. “Still no bars?” Tea asked.

  “Zero.”

  Never one to hope that bad news got better with delay, Tea plunged into the gauzy curtain without hesitation, praying that she would not find it blocked with tons of fallen Keanu granite.

  She didn’t. Not that what she found was much better. “Oh fuck.”

  There was no longer ice on the other side. The entire junction was filled with fog generated by puddles of water that were cooling and refreezing.... “Venture, Tea. Venture, Tea for Yvonne . . .”

  She listened and heard no response, no change in the steady background hiss. “I’m open to suggestions,” she said to Taj.

  “Volcanism?” Taj said. “An eruption of some kind?”

  “Could be.” She ventured several steps away from the membrane, but not too far. “We knew Keanu wasn’t inert, so I suppose it’s possible. I don’t much like what that could mean for the vehicles.”

  “That’s what we get for naming the vent Vesuvius.”

  Tea couldn’t help laughing. “And you say I trivialize the experience of spaceflight.”

  “I can no longer suppress my natural gallows humor.”

  “Well, hell no. Given the circumstances.” During this exchange both explorers had put twenty meters between themselves and the membrane. “Problem,” Tea said. “If this heat was the result of a volcanic event out in the vent itself . . . where’s our camera and the cable?” Tea cursed herself for not asking the question earlier, but she had simply missed it; the items were gone, picked cleanly and taken away.

  “Pyroclastic venting—”

  “—Would have blown them sideways, yes. Though I’ve got to tell you, Taj, I don’t think you get a lot of pyroclastic pressure when you’re in a vacuum. Even so, I would think we’d see cut cable or a camera smashed against a wall.”

  “Here’s something else,” Taj said. “Listen.”

  The dominant sound in Tea’s earphones was her own near-panicked breathing. But, yes, there was a click-click-clicking sound, at the rate of almost one per second. “What is it?”

  “Geiger counter. It’s on my chest pack.”

  “Did it do that when we came through here earlier?”

  “ No.”

  “So now there’s radiation?”

  “Low-level, and very inconsistent. The rate rises and falls every few steps.”

  Tea considered this. “Heat, overpressure, radiation. Call me a pessimist, but it’s as if someone set off a nuke.”

  Taj stopped in his tracks and turned toward her. “I think so, too.”

  “The Architects have their own anti-missile system?”

  “That would be rather less startling than most of what we’ve seen.”

  Tea saw no point in going farther. “I’m not getting anything from Venture.”

  “No response from Brahma.”

  “If there’s serious damage to either vehicle, we are in a world of shit.”

  Now Taj laughed out loud, a harsh, unfriendly sound. “We have been in a world of shit since we landed here!” He seemed more hunched over than usual. “Houston and Bangalore will be working the problem.”

  “You guys have a rescue vehicle anywhere close to launch?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Good point,” Tea said. “But since we can’t go forward, I suggest that in the great explorer tradition, we go back where we came from.”

  They made a quick return through both membranes to the Keanu interior and rover Buzz. Once they had opened their suits and removed helmets and gloves, Tea insisted that Taj share water and food. “We need it, and God only knows when we’ll have it again.”

  “I was thinking of the others.”

  “There’s not enough for everyone, no matter what we do. We’re going to have to find some sort of nourishment here.” Tea had not really considered the possibility until she heard herself say it. The thought frightened and depressed her. It was bad enough to consider the many ways you could die on a spaceflight—getting blown up or depressurized merely the top of the list. She hadn’t thought to add starvation.

  She continued to remove her suit, then started in on the crusty undergarment.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Stripping.” It was clear Taj had no idea why. “So I can run better, Taj. We have no other way to contact Zack, so we’re doing it old-school.” She smiled. “They can’t be far, maybe a couple of clicks. I know they’re headed for the Temple. I can get there in twenty minutes.”

  “So fast?”

  “I ran the eight hundred in high school and college.”

  “What should I do?”

  “I’d keep working the radios. Come to think of it, let me see that dealie.” She gestured for Taj’s magic Zeiss radio/camera. “You know, we’ve got the rover as well as our suits. We should be able to talk to the vehicles and mission control without this.”

  “Yes,” Taj said. “What is the point of your observation?”

  “Let me take this thing.”

  She expected an argument, but all the vyomanaut said was, “Be sure to bring it back.”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Any other suggestions for me while you’re gone?” Taj’s English grew wobbly with fatigue, but he still managed to do sarcasm.

  “Yeah, given what’s happened, make sure somebody doesn’t come along and tirejack the rover.”

  Destiny-7 EVA manager Mariah Nelson and her team have worked TIRELESSLY to support suited crew ops on Keanu. Her conclusion is that all astronauts should have expired at least four hours prior to end of Stay-2. That they have not, at last report, indicates that we are breaking new ground. Please share ANY THOUGHTS AND INFORMATION with Mariah.

  NASA MISSION OPERATIONS DIRECTORATE, STAY-2 SHIFT STATUS,

  AUGUST 23, 2019

  “Do you see it yet?”

  Zachary Stewart’s ragtag team of five—there was no other phrase in his increasingly tired mind—had covered several hundred yards of Keanu real estate, heading deeper into the interior. They should have been closing in on the Temple.

  “No,” Megan said. She had taken the lead, causing Zack to wonder if she was following some memory—or just being Megan, the woman who loved maps and happily gave directions. “If what Tea and Taj said was right, we probably still have a hundred meters to cover.”

  Zack regretted not having Taj, or especially Tea, with him, at least to serve as cavalry scout. For that matter, he was also wishing he hadn’t left the helmets and suits behind at the campsite, even though they were nothing more than dead weight. Taj had been able to punch through the rock and membrane with
his Zeiss radio, but even with Houston theoretically reachable, Zack would still have to be able to get a signal to Venture, and he couldn’t do that until he returned to the other side of the membrane.

  No, he had put together the best plan for the circumstances. And dealing with both Megan and Tea was beyond him right now. They would all be back at the membrane soon enough....

  For an instant, the glowworms went dark, as if they’d had their plugs pulled.

  Natalia stopped. “What was that?”

  “The beginning of night?” Lucas said.

  Zack wasn’t sure the momentary shadow meant anything, until a gentle breeze started up and began to gust.

  More from habit than any other impulse, he looked at Megan, who was standing still, facing away from him, eyes closed and head down.

  Camilla was in the same posture.

  “Megan,” he said.

  Megan literally shuddered, then opened her eyes. “Oh, fuck.”

  The wind had continued to rise. The dense foliage all around them waved. It was like being on the leading edge of a tropical storm, the kind that blew through Houston every few years.

  The air even began to smell different . . . moist, thick.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Something bad happened.”

  “What?”

  “On the surface.” Megan was pressing her fingers to her temples, as if trying to tune in a poor signal. Then she abruptly dropped her hands and looked at him, wide-eyed. “Did you have a bomb?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s so damn weird . . . like, like you just picked up an old family album and remembered some uncle.” She pointed to the glowworms, then at the waving, windblown trees. “The light faded for a moment, and then I knew that something had gone boom. Something you brought.”

  Camilla started clutching at Lucas, talking to him in Portuguese.

  “And she knows, too?” Zack said.

  Lucas held the girl, listening briefly, then said, “Yes, something bad happened. She’s very afraid.”

  Zack turned to Megan. “I didn’t bring a bomb.” Even as he said it, he could easily imagine two possibilities: One, Brahma had a weapon. Two, Venture did, too . . . but the commander never knew.

  There was a sound from somewhere nearby, a deep, guttural noise. Like a giant clearing his throat, Zack thought.

  The others heard it, too. “Zack, what do we do?” Natalia asked.

  “For the moment, record it,” he said, wondering at the sad sound of his own voice. He looked at Lucas, who had his camera out. Then at Megan. “Unless we should run. . . .”

  Megan looked as numb as Zack felt. She could only shrug as, with no warning, two giant watery globes appeared from the woods.

  They stopped, dissolved, and disgorged a Sentry each. The beings looked identical in size and coloring. The only difference was in their vest belts; one of them looked worn and used, the other straight from the box.

  Like dogs after a bath, the Sentry pair shivered and shed the enveloping goo, splashing it on the five humans. Zack was horrified, both by the potential contamination and by the taste, which reminded him of polluted seawater.

  Now he had to act. “Everybody back!”

  He took Megan by the arm. To his surprise, she fought him! Camilla did the same with Lucas.

  Zack started to say, “Let’s get out of here—” But before he could finish the order, the nearest Sentry snapped out a limb and reached directly for Megan. Zack feared that, like Pogo, she would be sliced up.

  But the Sentry pulled her close, then rolled into a giant three-meter-tall ball, enveloping her.

  The other Sentry did the same with Camilla. Natalia and Lucas were unable to react any more effectively than Zack.

  The Sentries then rolled off, deeper into Keanu.

  Zack stared after them, stunned to immobility, hearing Lucas say, “I think they’re headed for the Temple.”

  Approximately twenty-eight hours after landing on Keanu, one hundred twenty hours after launch from Kourou, Bangalore Space Centre lost contact with spacecraft Brahma. The cause of the problem is not known at present. Further information will be made available in due course.

  ISRO PRESS RELEASE, 23 AUGUST 2019

  “Tell me you didn’t put a nuke on this mission.”

  Harley Drake rolled up to Brent Bynum. The White House representative was standing behind Shane Weldon and Josh Kennedy, who were asking every member of the flight control team, one by one, what data they had last recorded prior to loss of contact—and what, if anything, they were seeing now.

  “This isn’t the place to discuss those issues,” Bynum said. “We need to go to the Vault.” He picked up his Slate—which had been vibrating nonstop ever since the most recent “event” on Keanu—and headed for the door.

  “Fuck the Vault,” Harley said. “I’ve made my last visit to that place.”

  Weldon pushed back his chair. “So, Harley, is that the status report from Home Team?”

  “No. But I can probably give you a tentative report, along the lines of ‘We got nothing.’”

  “What makes you think there was a nuke on board?”

  “I know you guys. A couple of hours ago you were telling me to class the ‘entities’ as ‘hostile.’ Then you start talking about some ‘Item.’” Harley jerked a thumb toward the screen, which was still showing a ground-based telescopic view of Keanu and a scattering debris cloud. “Then there’s that.”

  Bynum looked beaten down. “I still don’t think we should talk here.”

  “Every person in this room has a need to know,” Harley said. “If you can’t trust them . . . well,” he said, shaking his head, “you really can’t be more fucked than you are now, can you?”

  Before Bynum could answer, Weldon stood up. “Harley is correct. NASA, the White House, the Department of Defense, and Homeland Security authorized the placement of a small nuclear device aboard Venture . Although no orders were given for its use, it is likely that it was detonated and caused the loss of the vehicle.”

  “And Brahma,” said capcom Travis Buell. “The guys in Bangalore don’t know what hit them.”

  “I wonder what’s on the news,” Jasmine Trieu said. Red-eyed, she was sitting next to Buell, having finally been ordered to stop calling for Venture to answer.

  Bynum held up his Slate. “It’s every bit as bad as you could imagine. . . .”

  “They’re reporting loss of both vehicles?” Harley said. Bynum nodded. “What do they give as a cause?”

  “So far, unexplained venting. Natural causes.”

  “Well, they’re going to figure it out soon enough.”

  Bynum opened his hands. “Sure. But they’re not going to learn it from me.”

  “Brent,” Harley said, “we aren’t learning much from you and we’re all here together.”

  Weldon stood. “There isn’t much point to assigning blame. The Item was triggered—why, by whom, we don’t know, though Yvonne Hall was the one with the codes.”

  “And a crazed Revenant banging on her door.” That comment came from Jasmine Trieu.

  “We still have two crew members unaccounted for,” Weldon said.

  “Two plus three from Brahma, plus the Revenants,” Harley said. “Or is there something else you guys are keeping from me?”

  “No,” Bynum said. “That number is correct.”

  “Then we’ve got to keep trying to raise them,” Harley said. He rolled toward Buell. “Brahma had that relay sat. Is it still alive?”

  Before Buell could respond—and his posture told Harley the answer was likely negative—one of the other controllers in the front row suddenly shot to his feet.

  “I got something!” he said. He was a young man of Indian ancestry, but Texan in voice. “I’ve got Destiny.”

  “How the hell did it survive?” Buell asked.

  “It was on the other side of Keanu when the bomb went off,” Trieu said. “And, am I right? Shock
waves don’t propagate in vacuum?”

  “It was several hundred kilometers away,” Weldon said. “Even on Earth, it wouldn’t have sustained much actual damage. I was worried about its electronics, though. Keanu must have shielded it. . . .”

  With that news, the group—Bynum included—reacted like hangover victims given a dose of vitamin E.

  “Okay, everyone,” Weldon said. “Let’s see what kind of shape our bird is in. At least we’ve still got something out there we can use.”

  He turned to Harley, who was already in motion. “I’ll see what the great minds can do with this.”

  Harley knew that his Home Team was getting the feed from mission control. They knew what he knew. There was no reason for him to trundle right in there.

  Or so he told himself. He really needed a moment to think. He wanted to strangle Brent Bynum—not in a personal sense, since the man was clearly just a messenger—but just to strike a blow against what his father would have called “institutional fuckheadedness,” the kind of arrogant blindness that believed you could put a nuke on a risky mission, then be surprised when it went off.

  It was dawn in Houston, the air already thick, the buzzing and flapping of bugs and birds already audible, the sky to the east thick with rosy clouds. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.

  Harley flinched. Wade Williams was lurking in the shadows, sitting on a concrete bench, a bottle in his hand. “I’m afraid I don’t have any orange juice, but . . .” He had a six-pack at his feet and offered a bottle to Harley.

  Who took it. What the hell, he thought, twisting off the top. “How’d you manage to get this in here?”

  “I may be a pompous ass—don’t argue with me—”

  “Oh, I wasn’t.” But he smiled to take the edge off the remark.

  “I know what I am and how I come across. All I can say is, I come from a long line of pompous asses. It’s what happens when you’re smarter than most people you meet, and louder, and unable to keep from making that clear.” He smiled and took a sip. “Anyway, I have a few fans squirreled away at JSC.”