The Loneliness of Stars
Page 7
~Astronomer Theodore T. Jenkins, in his briefing of the crew of the Ambassador
There was nothing at the first star. The scientists apparently managed to get the instruments to a workable level, and reported nothing coming from the system. Upon hearing the news, I wondered why a biologist and a chemist were put in charge of maintaining machinery – it seemed rather foolish. Any member of the maintenance team would probably have been a much better choice. Ezekiel said that it had been Korzos who had assigned them to the job. I was beginning to lose some respect for the great captain at this point – he seemed incapable of running a ship efficiently. I often thought that I could do a better job, then kicked myself for thinking that. I had no idea what it was like to be ship’s captain, and probably never would.
There were five planets circling the star. One was almost twice the size of the planet Jupiter from the Sol system, but also about twice as far from the star. The next two planets were what many members of the crew called “hot Jupiters,” which were apparently similar to Jupiter but much closer to the star. There were also two terrestrial planets. One of them was far too hot to be able to sustain life, and the other had an atmosphere of ammonia. We lingered three days in the system (doing what, I’m not entirely sure) before taking off again for the next star.
The star cluster we were exploring, the Seven Seas, had, not surprisingly, seven stars in it, each one named after a sea on Earth. They were quite far from any other stars: the journey between them and Earth was about eight weeks, using the Ethyr to cover the distances quickly. Travel by Ethyr, apparently, did not rely so much on distance as on the strength of an area’s connection to it, so the stars were actually much further physically than one would expect from the length of the journey. Nothing of interest had ever been detected from them before, and they were in a direction that humanity had never expanded in, so were currently unexplored. The first star we had investigated, Mediterraneo, was the closest both as the Ethyr travels and in terms of physical distance.
The next star, Carib, was about a week’s journey away. The week was fairly routine, save for the fact that the sensory equipment stopped working again. I heard from Ezekiel, who got around the ship more than I did, consigned as I was to washing dishes all day (Joseph went through a huge amount dishes for someone who only cooked for forty-nine – sorry, fifty – people), that the scientists had to go to Fetherkap to successfully recalibrate the equipment. They got it working again a day out from the star, and we emerged from the Ethyr to see if the readings came from the star. They didn’t, but Korzos insisted that we explore the star anyway, to Mather’s objections.
Carib was a pulsar. It sent out massive amounts of radiation, forcing Matthias to increase the artificial atmosphere (AA, or the “dubbay,” as the crew called it) surrounding the ship to prevent us all from frying. The energy came out in bursts, making all of the reading equipment on the bridge go nuts – it was quite fun to watch. When we weren’t spending quality time in his room, Ezekiel and I liked to watch the sensors light up in exciting colors and spin wildly, whirring and beeping. There were quite a few planets – seven, I think – but we didn’t bother investigating them, as everyone agreed that there could be no life on a planet orbiting a pulsar. It seemed to me as if Korzos wanted to inspect it further (who knows why?), but he gave in to the crew’s wishes.
It was going to be a week and a half to the next star on our list, Baltia. It was actually the fourth most distant star from Earth physically, but the third fastest to get to through the Ethyr. It was five days into this journey that I discovered that the normally locked and sealed door to the scientist’s chambers was slightly open. Ezekiel was helping Joseph make a feast for Mathers’ birthday – much to the mate’s objections, I had gathered – and I had been told most politely that I would just get in the way if I hung around in the kitchen. At that, I had saluted and left, then spent my free time wandering about, peering through the viewports and talking to the occasional crewmember who passed by. I learned the hard way that it is a bad idea to look out of the ports when one is in the Ethyr. It’s impossible for me to describe what I saw, but it hurt my eyes. A lot.
I’m not sure what drew me to the scientist’s area, but I found myself there, in front of the door. It was open just enough for me to be able to slip my hand through the crack and push it open the rest of the way – if I wanted to. I took a step towards it, then stopped. What if they had put some sort of defense system in there, like a series of lasers that would incinerate me the moment I stepped inside?
I sighed. My curiosity always won in these situations, so I saw no need to argue with myself when I already knew what the outcome would be. I finished walking to the door, slid my hand through the crack, and pushed the door open – just enough for me to fit through. I slid it back to where it had been before, when I was on the other side.
I found myself in a white hallway. The walls in most of the ship (save the gray cargo holds) were white, but the walls here, I felt, deserved an even whiter word. They were flawlessly, immaculately, and perfectly white. The floor and ceiling were as well. I felt like I was defiling a holy place just by walking across the floor. It looked like the highly polished floor would squeak when walked upon, but it didn’t. I still walked carefully, heel to toe, being very careful not to make a sound. It had been made clear to me several times that I was not allowed back here.
The corridor was rather long, and it turned a lot. I stopped at every corner and peered around it quickly, to make sure I didn’t run into anyone going the other way. I listened carefully, too – a skill I had honed in the streets. I didn’t hear any footsteps. When I finally reached the end, I found the door wide open. I froze. Had anyone seen me? There was no one visible in the room, so I assumed that I was safe. I slowly walked forward (I still don’t know what I was thinking), and listened for any noises. I heard the gentle buzz of machinery, but nothing else. After standing still for several minutes, I finally stepped into the room, figuring that I would have heard voices if there was anyone in there.
There was no one in there – at least, no one still among the living. The stench of rotting flesh assaulted my nostrils, and I quickly covered them with my hand. I cautiously continued to advance. The room was almost the size of the bridge, but seemed much smaller, as it was crammed with computers, lab desks, microscopes, chemicals and screens. The machines were all running, but the screens were blank.
There was a body in front of one of the microscopes. I walked over to it, and came to the conclusion that the buzzing came more from the flies around the body than the machinery. Having seen bodies in the street all the time since I was a child, I wasn’t particularly shocked at the sight of this one. I just started thinking about how on earth the flies could have gotten on board the ship.
I crouched down next to the body, making sure to keep my nose covered. The man was lying on his back. A pair of broken glasses lay next his outstretched hand. He was wearing what I think was once a white lab coat, but it was stained red with blood. A bronze plate on the left side of it read “Dr. Uriel Anakos.” The biologist. Looking closer at his chest, I saw a large stab wound, mostly hidden by the black shirt he wore underneath his coat. The blood stained the shirt an even deeper shade of black. I stood, shaking. There had been a murder on board this ship.
I searched the lab for the other scientist, Abdul, the chemist. I found him less than a minute later on the opposite side of the room. He had a gun in his hand. I picked it up and found that it was not loaded. The case of bullets was about a meter away. I suppose he dropped them when he was attacked. I knelt beside this body, too, and read the bloodstained nameplate. “Dr. Abdul al-Jamullah.” I stood again. There would be no biological or chemical analyses of any more of the planets we visited.
A large device at the far side of the room caught my eye. I walked over to it, stopping when I was two meters away. It had six large screens, and three different keypads. A label at the top said “ISWSD.” Below that, in smaller l
etters, the words “Interstellar Wave Sensing Device” were written. Scientists really needed to come up with better names for their tools.
I realized then that I was looking at the device that the entire expedition had been depending on, that was telling us where the signals were coming from. Did I mention earlier that the keyboards were slashed and the bottom of the machine gutted? I don’t think so. Well, they were.
A chill went down my body. Someone was sabotaging the mission. I swallowed and ran out of the room. I didn’t want to be caught in here. On the way out of the area, I made sure to close the door behind me. All the way.
7
“What madness is it that would inspire anyone to go on such a journey? As far as humanity has progressed, we have never overcome ethnic and nationalistic boundaries – the ship will be, excuse the comparison, a powder keg. The lightest misstep will set the whole thing ablaze, and the ship will go up in proverbial smoke as the crew finds itself at each other’s throats.”