In unison, Garcia and I both say, “Liar.”
We trudge up the slope, which is probably set on an angle of not more than twenty degrees but feels steeper as we bake under the hot sun. I look back a few times. Sergei hasn’t moved. His head has slumped forward.
“And how exactly are we going to convince these things to give us a ride?” Garcia asks.
“Ah, that’s where you come in,” Pretzel replies. “I’m thinking all this is largely an autonomous collection process, using some kind of artificial intelligence to manage the workload. I’m hoping you can interact with that and get us some first-class tickets.”
“I don’t know how that’s going to work,” Garcia replies as we reach the top of the platform. Hundreds of empty pods sit stacked to one side. Incoming alien machines traipse over the jungle to unload their pods, placing them beside the elevator. They pick up a new pod before heading back out to look for other samples of life on Earth. There’s some kind of manager, which to my surprise, is a much smaller machine. It has stocky legs and is orchestrating activity on the platform, setting pods on the elevator.
We dart between the silvery snake-like legs towering over the platform as machines exchange pods, and jog over to the collection area. Pretzel leans in toward one of the newly deposited pods, cupping his hands on either side of his eyes so he can block out the sunlight and peer through the mirrored surface. I copy him, reaching out and resting my hands on the surface of the pod. The strange alien device responds to my touch like water, with ripples moving out across the surface. Inside, two gazelles from the lowlands lie with their legs tucked beneath them and their heads resting on the smooth surface. Their hides are tan in color, except for dark marks on their faces. One’s a male, with long curving horns. At a guess, they’re asleep, having been sedated.
“Do you think they’re going to breed them?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Pretzel replies. “It’s possible. If I’m right and this is a sample-return mission then they’re going to want to collect as much as they can as they may not get another shot at this, certainly not within their lifetimes. They’re trying to gather as much as they can to understand how life arose on this rock.”
He turns to Garcia. “What do you see when you look at the surface of these things?”
Garcia stands in front of another pod. “This one’s empty, but I see what looks like circuit boards. Lots of incredibly fine wires weaving intricate patterns. They move when you touch the surface, shifting out of the way.”
“Who’s going to be the guinea pig?” Pretzel asks. The look on my face must suggest confusion as he clarifies with, “Stepping inside there is probably a one-way ticket. At best, we’ll have a chance to get to the alien spacecraft, but we could equally be put into some kind of hyper-sleep and out for the count until we reach wherever. Hopefully, the sedation process is governed by the machines and not the pod itself.”
“I’ll do it,” I say, feeling I owe that to Jana and Lady.
“Hell no,” Garcia says. “I’m already a lab rat. I’ll go. If I’m knocked out, make for the hills. Try to get out of here before the Russians hit.”
We stand back as Garcia rests both of his hands on the pod. He breathes deeply, making as though he were about to plunge into ice water, and then pushes, leaning into the smooth, curved, mirrored surface, passing through it as though it were a bubble. His body, then his legs, and finally his boots disappear inside the pod, leaving the surface rippling like a crystal-clear lake after a large stone has sunk into the depths.
Pretzel and I look at each other, wondering what’s next. I guess we should peer inside the pod to see if he’s out cold. We wait for a minute, which feels like an eternity. Slowly, we step forward, wondering what we’re about to witness when a hand appears poking through the silvery surface, waving for us to join. The sky, clouds, the warped legs of alien spider-walkers and the concrete on the platform all appear distant in the reflection, making the dismembered hand even more unsettling as it beckons us to approach. It’s unnerving to watch fingers disappearing back into what appears to be mercury shimmering in the sunlight.
“Well,” Pretzel says in a rather unconvincing tone. “There’s no time like the present.”
He places his hand on the surface before pushing slowly, watching as his fingers pass through the membrane. He wiggles them, looking at the faint outline before stepping through. I follow. The surface of the pod feels like silly putty, being clammy and smooth to touch. There’s a little resistance, like wading through water, but I step in beside Pretzel.
“Welcome aboard,” Garcia says, smiling.
“I hope you can get us down from up there,” I say.
“Hey,” Garcia replies. “I always thought this was a bad idea. I didn’t even want to get on the chopper out of Sinai. I was quite happy squatting behind rocks in a hundred and twenty degrees and shitting in small plastic bags.” He slaps me on the shoulder, winking, “Makes you feel alive, huh?”
Pretzel looks befuddled, but I reply, “Oh, yeah. Been feeling alive for a while now.”
Garcia laughs. Pretzel shrugs, not being privy to our banter.
“See anything else in here?”
“Yes. The circuits are lighting up. It’s as though they can sense the pod is occupied.”
“Good.”
The gazelles are picked up before us and placed on the ribbon of the elevator where concentric rings begin swirling around them, then, whoosh, they’re gone, racing up into the sky. We’re next.
“Lie flat,” Pretzel says, “and try to relax.”
Although the pod is oval-shaped, inside the floor is raised and relatively smooth, with only a gentle curve. The glass surrounding us appears to be a one-way mirror, allowing us to see clearly out of the pod, while the floor is milky white and a little spongey.
Our pod is picked up effortlessly and placed against the ribbon that forms the space elevator. It looks metallic, as though oil has been spilt on chrome, lighting up with the hues of the rainbow. Lying on my back, the ribbon seems to taper into nothing. Clouds billow through the sky, but they’re well clear of the elevator.
“No countdown, huh?” I ask.
Pretzel starts to say, “No,” but never gets to complete that one word.
To me, it feels as though we’ve been shot out of a cannon. I’m not sure what kind of speeds rockets reach, but I’m pretty sure they accelerate over time. We seem to go from zero to infinity, and in that fraction of a second it feels as though the skin on my face is going to fall off. My hips dig into the floor, while my arms and legs feel as though someone’s attached lead weights to them. Outside our capsule, thin rings swirl, moving in all directions. They’re not overly fast, but they seem to have something to do with our locomotion on the space elevator—wheels within wheels.
Once we’re up to speed, I feel normal again. To me, it’s kinda like being in a car doing 60mph—trees and lampposts flash by, but I feel as though I’m stationary.
I sit up and peer over the edge. Oh, mistake. Big mistake. Apart from the floor and the occasional ring swirling past, it’s as though there’s no barrier.
Behind me, the ribbon of the space elevator rushes by so fast it feels as though I’m hanging from the open door of a car racing down the freeway.
The jungle recedes below us. Although they appear tiny, I can see alien machines stepping over the canopy out beyond the blast zone. I try to look for the remains of the village and the helicopter, but even the cliff and rock pool aren’t visible from this height. Blink and clouds rush past.
“Whoa,” Pretzel says. He’s got his hands out, pressing against the invisible barrier surrounding us, but not too hard. Seems even he’s not entirely confident he won’t fall through the clear membrane. “Oh, wow. You’ve got to see this,” he says, looking straight down.
Garcia is beside him, but he can see through the pod itself and so doesn’t need to move to the edge. As the pod is oval in shape, it’s possible to lean over the edge wi
thout being outside it. I’m not sure I can, but I summon the strength and crawl closer to the edge.
“Look at the way the ribbon disappears above and below us,” Pretzel says. I lie down and lean forward. He’s right, the broad, rainbow-colored ribbon shrinks into a point converging on the jungle in one direction and up into the nothingness of space in the other.
“So what now?” I ask.
“Sit back and enjoy the view,” Pretzel replies.
Already the clouds are well below us. Above, the sky is dark even though it’s still daytime in Africa. Out on the horizon, the atmosphere seems to glow like a blue neon light, forming a haze in the distance. Slowly, Earth begins to curve away on all sides as the Atlantic comes into view. I’m surprised by how sedate the ride is after the initial burst. Were it not for the slowly darkening sky and the ribbon whipping by behind us, I’d swear we were sitting still.
The floor of the pod is soft, almost as if it’s made from gel, making it comfortable to kneel on. Within a few minutes, the sky is completely black. Swirling clouds dominate the southern part of the African continent, spreading out over the ocean, but they’re frozen in place. To me, the clouds look like daubs of white paint, or perhaps someone with an eraser scrubbing out parts of a drawing. To the north the desert is visible. Earth itself is not yet a sphere, but the curvature is pronounced, something no flat-earther could mistake. The blue neon glow on the horizon shrinks, looking thin and fragile. It’s as though the planet is surrounded by electricity fighting off the dark of night.
Coming from America, the tales we told in the village seemed farfetched to the likes of our housekeeper, Asha—Earth is round, astronauts fly like birds in space, men have walked on the Moon. Asha struggled with these concepts. Even the need to wash her hands ‘all the time,’ to use her words, seemed excessive to her. She thought it incredulous that bacteria could be invisible, covering her palms and fingers. To her, we were no more credible than the local shaman with his tales of ancestor spirits deep within the jungle. If Asha saw something in a movie, she believed it, which was strange to me as movies are make-believe. I wish Asha could see this.
“Are we in space?”
I know it sounds like a dumb question, but it’s genuine. Pretzel tries to suppress a smile.
“Yes.”
“Where are the stars?” I ask.
“I can see them,” Garcia replies.
“I can’t.”
“They’re out there,” Pretzel assures me, pointing at the pitch-black darkness. “It’s just our eyes aren’t sensitive enough. Wait until nightfall. Once we move into the shadow of the planet you’ll see more stars than you’ve ever imagined.”
“Shouldn’t we be floating?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Garcia says. “I’ve been wondering that too. If we’re in space, why aren’t we drifting around like astronauts?”
This time, Pretzel can’t contain a laugh, but it’s good natured. I think he appreciates our curiosity. He looks around, trying to gauge something, but I’m not sure what. Earth still dominates our view, but everything looks small and the planet is beginning to look like a globe.
“By now, I guess we’re at roughly the same altitude as the International Space Station.”
“So why aren’t we floating like them?” I ask.
“Because they’re not floating,” he says. “They’re falling.”
The confusion on my face must be telling as he continues.
“They’re falling in exactly the same manner as someone jumping into a swimming pool, bungee jumping from a bridge or skydiving from a plane, the only difference is there’s no wind in their hair.”
“I don’t get it,” Garcia says. “Aren’t astronauts like in zero-gee?”
“Gravity is everywhere,” Pretzel replies. “There is no zero gravity. If you’re not held by Earth’s gravity, you’re held by the Sun, if not the Sun then the Milky Way. If not our galaxy then the entire local group of galaxies, and if not them then everything in the whole wide universe.”
“So why do astronauts float?” I ask.
“Fall,” Pretzel says, gently correcting me. “Why do they fall? That’s the question.”
I’m really not getting this, but he explains further.
“They fall because gravity is pulling them back toward the center of the Earth, just like gravity is pulling you down against the floor of this pod. If the pod wasn’t here, you’d fall back to Earth, right?”
“But they don’t fall back to Earth,” I say.
“Ah, but they do,” Pretzel replies, laughing. “They’re just really bad at falling—they keep missing.”
“What?” Garcia says, shaking his head. He’s not buying this explanation at all.
“Instead of falling straight down to Earth, they’re falling around it. They’re going so fast sideways they fall around the round Earth, but they’re falling just as fast as you or I would if we jumped from here.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Really,” Pretzel replies. “Have you ever seen someone throw a dart at a dartboard and miss, hitting the wall below the board? That’s exactly what happens to astronauts, only there’s no wall to hit.”
“So there’s still gravity this high up?” Garcia asks.
“Yep.”
“But they don’t feel it?”
“Oh, they feel it,” Pretzel says. “They’re falling precisely because they feel the pull of gravity. They just don’t hit anything, so it looks like they’re flying around like superman, free from gravity, but they’re not.
“If they were free from Earth’s gravity, they’d shoot off in one direction instead of being caught on this celestial merry-go-round.”
“My head’s going to explode.” Given Garcia’s crazy metallic alien skullcap, I’m not sure that’s something he should be joking about.
Pretzel says, “Earth’s gravity is less up here, and it’ll continue getting weaker the further we move away from the planet, but make no mistake, gravity rules.” He points at the Moon which is rising slowly over the curved horizon. “Think about it. Earth’s gravity is strong enough to hold the Moon in orbit even though it’s hundreds of thousands of miles away!”
He’s got a point. The Moon does go round and round Earth, although it’s hard to think of it as falling and missing.
Garcia says, “You’re probably going to hate this question, but—are we there yet? How far away is this place?”
Pretzel shakes his head, laughing. “It’s a long way. I’m not sure how fast we’re going, but Cruthine is at least 38,000 kilometers away, that’s roughly the same as circling Earth. We’ve got a LONG way to go. The good news, though, is the view is going to be spectacular.”
“Out of this world,” I say.
Cruithne
I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but I slept soundly. I think it was the combination of the exhaustion of the past few days, the lack of any pain in my arm, the pitch-black darkness and the warmth coming through the floor of the pod. When I wake, I sit up only to bounce, which is unnerving. At first, it feels as though I’m on a trampoline, but each movement of my arms or legs, pressing against the floor of the pod, has me rebound in slow motion. It’s as though I’m suspended in water—not quite weightless, but close enough to feel strange as I topple forward, catching myself with my hands.
“Oh, wow.”
Pretzel wasn’t wrong when he said Earth’s gravity would continue to decrease as we moved further away. I wonder just how far up we are. As gravity is so low, I’m cautious, moving slowly. I lie down on my stomach but even that motion seems to unfold in super slow-mo and it takes a second or two before I’m resting lightly on the floor of the pod. I creep forward, peering over the edge, feeling as though I could topple and fall.
Earth looks small. Awfully small. I mean like, ridiculously small, like a basketball held at arm’s length small. It’s shocking to see just how tiny our planet is when viewed from the depths of space.
Earth is partially in shadow,
while the elevator ribbon appears to disappear before reaching the planet. As I’m watching, a tiny pinprick of white light appears on the night side, fading to yellow over a few seconds.
“Pretzel?” I say, shaking his shoulder, trying to rouse him from a deep slumber, but rather than shaking him my entire body shifts back and forth with that effort.
“Huh?”
“Ah, Pretzel,” I say. “I think you need to see this.”
He’s drowsy on waking and looks like he’s ready to roll over and go back to sleep.
“You really need to see this,” and I insist on waking him, only in low gravity, the motion of shaking his shoulder causes us both to move.
As he’s lying on his back, his eyes glance up at the ribbon of the space elevator catching the sunlight and the asteroid looming beyond. With that, he wakes with a jolt, although that jolt has him rise slightly in the air before settling like a feather.
“Josh.”
It takes him a second to realize where he is and for his memory to scramble up to date.
“There was an explosion,” I say. “On Earth.”
He grabs at the side of the pod, twisting to look over the edge, only to have his body sail into the air, floating a few inches above the surface before gently settling on the floor.
“That’s going to take some getting used to,” he says as I join him, still feeling uncertain about leaning out as it feels like someone is pushing me from behind, trying to send me plunging over the edge, even though I know that’s not possible.
“The Russians?” he asks, spotting a faint glow in the clouds on the dark side of the planet.
“I guess so.”
Earth really is a blue marble. I can barely see any land at all, even though I know it’s down there. Thick white clouds swirl around. Patches of blue poke through, but there are no green or browns. Antarctica is visible, I think, as there are points where the blurry white clouds seem to blend with sharp lines and jagged edges, which I assume are gigantic ice sheets smothering the continent. If I squint, it looks like there’s a faint smudge of sandy grey in the north, but there’s nothing distinct and no way to tell which continent it might be. The clouds are fascinating as they seem to interact and respond to each other in super slow motion. If one cloud forms in a swirl, looking like a thin, wispy whirlpool, then the other nearby clouds arc around it, swerving so as to avoid crossing it, forming a bizarre maze made out of curves.
3zekiel (First Contact) Page 25
