First Person

by Eddie McGarrity

I took a deep breath and could smell the decay of rotting plant mulch. These weren’t spacesuits we were wearing; the air was safe to breathe. Iris handed me my case again and I pulled the strap over my shoulder and we hiked up the hill. Thankfully, some durathene steps had been put in at this point because water just poured down that hill making any cleared path swim in water.

  Our final destination was a small dome, a single habitation unit set up for our experiments. George got us inside the airlock. White brightness made me wince in contrast to the dull greenness under the jungle canopy. We took turns standing under the dryer before stepping out of our Raincoats and into rubber soled shoes. I was grateful to get the headphones out my ears and hear properly. They told us the noise-cancellation didn’t damage our ears, but how could it not? We opened the cases in the airlock and took out our tablet computers and brought them with us into the dome. We didn’t speak at all.

  With routine efficiency we docked our tablets and set up. I had brought my coffee flask, George brought some food, and Iris only ever brought fruit. It would be a long shift and I needed the caffeine. I punched up the main screen and logged into the orbiting platform server. Far above us, our colleagues in the dryness of space were readying themselves for today’s experiment.

  I leaned over towards my tablet. “Platform One, this is Dome Two. Do you copy?”

  There was a pause, a time delay, then the slightly muffled transmission back. “Copy Dome Two. This is Platform One. We are at altitude and go for launch.”

  “Copy Platform One.” I looked over at Iris and George. They sat poised over their tablets and each gave me quick indication they were ready. “Dome Two is go for launch.”

  “Stand by Dome Two.”

  We waited. Iris relaxed her shoulders and let her head fall back and her mouth open. “I hate this bit. Launch already.”

  George chuckled and I couldn’t help but smile. We went through this exact routine every day.

  The tablet speaker crackled. “Dome Two. This is Platform One. Launching in three, two, one, mark.”

  “Let’s do this,” said George baring his teeth. I poured a coffee.

  From four-hundred kilometres up, Platform One dropped the package. As it hit the atmosphere, we began to receive the data packets, both from the probe itself and via Platform One. On the main screen a computerised image of the jungle bowl appeared; transmission from the orbiter. Overlays of blue, green and white showed the greatest concentrations of precipitation. I spoke into my tablet. “Signal acquired, Platform One. We are green on all channels.”

  “Roger, Dome One. Mesosphere in three, two, one, mark.”

  I looked up at Iris. “Verified,” she said, meaning her data also showed the package reaching that slice of this world’s atmosphere. “ELVES sighted.”

  I glanced at the screen but didn’t see any red-hued flashes of the kind of aurora Iris had mentioned. ELVES: Emissions of light at very low frequency. I smile all the same; glad she had seen something like that. I still haven’t. “You okay George?” I asked him, thinking him quiet. I took another sip of my coffee which was already cooling.

  “Affirmative,” said George. “Device arming.” He swept his screen and a small read-out tile appeared on the main screen. It counted down to detonation.

  “We on target, Iris?” I asked.

  “Roger, Team Leader,” she replied. “Troposphere on target.”

  “Platform One, this is Dome Two. We are go for detonation.”

  A slight pause. “Roger, Dome Two. Standing by. All systems green.”

  We waited. I watched my team, quiet concentration on their young faces. Iris glanced at me and smiled at her screen. George put a pencil across his lips and nodded along to some tune in his head. We all knew what was at stake and what the risks were. We had hauled ourselves out here to this slightly elevated position, right under the detonation field. If the package failed to detonate, it soon would when it hit us. That’s why the main hab-dome was so far away.

  As a boy back home, I would lie in the sand and watch the blue sky, imagining clouds scudding overhead the way they did in books. Sitting in this dome was experimental meteorology for sure but it didn’t beat real weather. I told myself that when I was outdoors in my Raincoat. As such, I always tried to imagine the device dropping through the sky. Watching the countdown I did my job but still pictured lying on those dunes back home.

  “Dome Two, this is Platform One. Detonation, in three, two, one, mark.”

  And far above us, in the troposphere, where the clouds reached up to space, the package detonated. Triggered by an electronic command the exothermic reaction blew a bubble of heat out, evaporating the moisture and opening a window to the blue sky. Clouds parted, burned away in the explosion. I’ve never seen it for real, only the computer models but it must have been spectacular. For a precious few moments, the rain stopped and hot sun poured onto the jungle. Blue sky would be seen from the surface of this incredible planet for the first time in the longest time. We must have been changing the evolutionary path of the fauna in this circle, exposing a rainforest to sunshine, but that was for Cynthia and her team. We were the primary mission: the weather.

  I remembered myself. “We getting all this?”

  “Affirmative,” said George. “Everything is five by five.”

  “The event is closing,” said Iris. “Data package is secure.”

  “Well done, both of you.” I poured myself another coffe and watched the main screen. A round blank space was being filled in by blues and greens while far above us the clouds closed in, shutting off the jungle once more from sunshine and blue sky.

  The rest of the shift went okay. We had buggied about in the rain, picking up data from the remote sensors unable to transmit to us because of line of sight issues. Back at the hab dome, we had our evening meal in the canteen. I was thirsty and took a long drink of water. When I do that, I think about our families and friends, back home and far away from here. Rationing was hard for them, as it had been for us, before we travelled to this planet.

  “Perhaps it will end soon,” said Iris. She poked a fork into her dinner and stirred it around. She indicated my glass of water. “The rationing will end someday.”

  “You reading my mind?” I smiled. She smiled back.

  George shifted in his seat. “Do you think we’ll be successful, Professor?”

  He was being serious. I looked around the room as if for an answer. Cynthia’s crew were at a round table at the far end of the room, beyond the serving counter. They had one of the native plants in a little pot on the table between them. Poking and discussing it, they were lost to everything else. The plant was clearly dying though. No amount of watering indoors could ever keep it alive. It looked like a sort of fern but its feathered leaves had turned brown.

  “We have to, George,” I told him. “We need to find a way to interrupt the climate back home and set the weather on a new path. Either that or we just move here.”

  George opened his palms to me. “Are we thirsty enough for that?”

  Iris sighed. “We’ll never get the seasons back. It’s wishful thinking.”

  Across at the botanists’ table, one of them gently shook the pot and fern leaves fell onto the table without any grace. They all laughed, brushing the plant pot to the side of the table. Their casualness towards the plant appalled me. All I had to do was step outside and find a million others like it, but that they’d brought this one inside, killed it, and then found it amusing, demonstrated how little regard they had for the whole planet. I thought it was a good thing to have seen with my own eyes, leaves falling from a plant.

  Once the botanists left for the evening, I rescued the plant from removal by the cleaning team and brought it back to my pod. In the shower room, I set it down in the cubical and just turned the water on. After a little while I found a temperature I thought it might like and left it there while I made up my bed with fresh sheets. I had a look at it once more before shutting off the light and closing t
he door.

  I lay down in a cool bed, imagining it was dry leaves, and listened to the white sound of water pouring into the shower. I thought of a bright forest tunnel, with darkness at either end, entrance and exit unknown whilst the interior brims over with light. Vivid colours filled my head; reds, browns, yellows. As I breathed out, my eyes got heavy and I sunk into the pillow. From long ago, I can still smell a hollowed-out turnip, eyes and mouth cut out, and a candle placed inside to make a lantern. Its warmth filled the air back then and its memory helps me slip into sleep.

  Autumn once again surrounds me. My hands are open and leaves flutter through my fingers. And I fall and fall and fall.

  The Spark

  To: Elizabeth

  From: Daniel

  Sent: Wednesday 27 April 2074

  Subject: The Spark

  Attachment: Manifesto.pdf

  Hi Elza

  Did you see it, I wonder? It would have been like a new star, rivalling Venus at sunset. Only it would have been briefer and lasted only as long as the fuel took to burn. I know it would have been seen from Earth, we planned it that way, and it was calculated that Europe was facing us at the time. I’m sorry, Elza. You’ll be reading this when I am dead. But please know this: I leave with my head held high. I’m proud of what I’m about to achieve today. I write to you just before I leave to do it.

  The work was pretty much as I expected. The journey less so. This vessel is like a comfortable hotel, or a cruise ship. Only, instead of being on the ocean, we’re travelling across space. The elevator from Sri Lanka to the departure platform was actually the best part. It was just like we saw on TV. Whisked up into the sky, leaving your stomach behind, you get a good look as the ground gets smaller and the horizon curves until it becomes the whole world. Seeing Earth from this high up was pretty breathtaking. We moved from pressurised room to pressurised room. Back in Baikinour we’d had the spacesuit training but there was no need for it on the platform. It was just like the departure lounge at St Pancras. Whilst we waited, you sort of forgot you were standing on a tin can perched on top of a massive cable which led back down to Earth. The engineering know-how of these aliens is extraordinary. Of course, that’s part of the problem.

  We were strapped in for the initial acceleration but really you don’t even feel it. You get pushed back in the chair a bit, like that time on the train to Paris after I got laid-off. But that was it really. It only takes three days out and three days back, with the tour in between. I reckon they could do it quicker. I mean, they made it through so-called interstellar space. Surely if it takes three days to reach the asteroid belt then it would take hundreds of years to reach Earth.

  This is the whole point of what I’m saying about these creatures. Apart from some flickering pictures of them when they arrived we don’t hear from them let alone see them. All we’ve got are ‘assurances’ from New York that they mean us no harm. But I was right there when Dale was literally wiped away by that buckling crane. It could have been me. And Dale wasn’t even the first. What is the point of what we’re doing out here? All we get are some lousy jobs, an elevator in Sri Lanka, some upgrades on our phones, and that fucking spaceship you can see in the sky even during the day. It’s not even like seeing the moon during the day. Not even a little bit.

  They try and make out it’s like Hollywood always warned us, but better! As if an alien race parking their ship above our planet was a good thing. Just because they need human workers to assist them, doesn’t mean they aren’t here to just take what they want. They want to strip mine our solar system until there is nothing left for us. And it’s us doing the digging. That’s what we’re doing out here. There’s stuff out here you wouldn’t believe. The asteroid belt was formed at the same time as our own planet but unlike the Earth, the rocks never held together to form a planet. It’s just this massive jumble of rocks which float around our sun like Saturn has her rings. Every mineral we’re running out of on Earth is here – nickel, copper, gold even. You name it, it’s here. That’s what we’re digging out of the asteroids. And their fuel of course.

  Because that’s what we’re really here for, their fuel. They’ve crossed light years and basically just need a refill. What do you think will happen when they’ve filled their tank? They’ll clear off out of it and leave us with a creaky old elevator to space that’s not any use anymore. The next solar system will even get the jobs.

  I’m typing this up in my bunk of the cabin I shared with Dale. Apparently they upload the internet (!) and download what we send, every hour, even out here. How is that even possible? Well, it lets me send you this anyway. I thought I’d be on my own but this guy Rahjeev is rotating back early so caught the transport. He’s good company, better than Dale if I’m being honest. He likes my tea. Unlike you! Rahjeev’s the sort of guy who thinks this whole thing is great for us. His old man worked on the later stages of the Mangalyaan – remember the first Indian mission to Mars? Well, Rahjeev is out here because he’s a thermodynamics specialist. According to him, the Mangalyaan gave a generation of Indians the training, experience, and motivation to seize an opportunity like this. He’s grateful for Christ’s sake. Me? I’m here for the money as you know.

  I finally decided not to be grateful, for either the job or the money, when Dale got killed. It was a stupid wasteful accident. We were on the rock, not one of the big ones you can find online, one of the smaller ones we extract their fuel from. In full spacesuits we stood on the surface. Dale pointed to this biggish looking star which is our Sun and claimed he could make out the Earth. His voice came through the comm, a narrow sound like he was on the phone. “Wave Daniel. Elza can see you.” I laughed at him. Behind him the crane swung out of the light for a second. Then it came tumbling down. I can still see his smiling face through the visor, his hand waving as the crane’s metal arm swept silently in front of me and then Dale was gone. There wasn’t even a crackle on the comm.

  It took me a moment to realise what had happened. Saliva flecked the inside of my visor when I called out his name. Whilst I waited on the shuttle I saw again that biggish looking star and thought for a moment I really could see the Earth. Far to my left another two-man crew grappled with a drill bit, completely unaware of what happened to their colleague. Behind me, and unseen on the other side of this asteroid, sat the alien transport ship. Inside it’s tumbler like shape sits one of them. The human crew are only the chefs and the cleaners and the grunts like me. But the pilot is one of them; the Xalq. I won’t call them Residents as you know. I’ll only call them aliens. Or worse!

  Elza, we’re risking our lives out here for these visitors who just want our cheap labour to do their dirty work. Here is what we know. They arrived twenty-five years ago. One day there were no aliens, the next there was a giant cylinder in the sky. I can’t even remember when they weren’t here. All we’ve seen of them is when they arrived in New York and the UN gave them the keys to our planet. There were three of them. Telling us they were few, they offered us the chance to go to the stars because they needed our help. They would open the Solar System up to us if we assisted them in gathering their fuel. All those years of probes, moon-shots, and rovers on Mars a total waste. We should have waited until they arrived and spent NASA’s money on donuts. Since then, we’ve seen nothing. We only hear about them via that creep Mikkelsen.

  Here are the three conclusions I’ve made. You can read more about them in my Manifesto which is attached.

  There are only three of them. Despite the size of their ship – and it’s massive, I saw it from the departure platform – there are only three of them

  This is our asteroid belt. It’s our Solar System. They came from outside our Solar System. This asteroid belt, and all its resources are ours – it belongs to humans

  It’s time for them to leave. We need to hit them hard and make it less prosperous for them. They’ve got enough from our little arrangement and it’s time for them to move on

  Which leads me onto my final act. It wo
n’t be difficult. The hardest thing will be getting into the cargo area where those precious minerals and all their fuel is. However, I’m on duty there in half an hour. I’m supposed to be there. I’m expected. Passing security will be what they expect me to do.

  The group I’m involved with have shown me what to do and where to do it. In the end it will be easy. All I have to do is push a button.

  My worst fear is that people think it’s another awful accident, like what happened to Dale. His death was pointless, whereas mine will mean something. I hope people will see it as a kind act, one which sets us free. I’m not supposed to be telling you about this. The group I’m with have their own agenda but I have mine. Please see to it that the press receive my Manifesto – it’s attached at the top. You can decide whether or not they should see this message.

  Finally, Elza – please know that I love you and that I want you to be happy. Go on without me. Gather up our life together and place it in a box where you can look at it from time to time. Carry it to different places, but go to those places. Leave the memory of me behind so you can build a new life. If I’m lucky you’ll be looking up to the early morning sky right now as I type. This ship won’t be visible to the naked eye at first. But it will once I’ve pushed the button. No amount of advanced alien technology will be able to stop the cascade of reactions and this ship will shine like a new star in the sky before fading away. Then we’ll see a spark which lights up the whole solar system and they’ll remember it was me who did it.

  Goodbye my love

  Daniel

  Cutters