Wherever Seeds May Fall (First Contact)

by Peter Cawdron

  With her chest above the opening, Kath grabs Nikki with both hands. She spreads her legs spread wide, holding herself within the hatch. Weightlessness is supposed to be easy, but all her muscles are aching. She’s breathing hard.

  Kath pulls Nikki in beside her as her waist clears the hatch. She keeps her legs inside the Orion. What seemed simple for Nolan looks impossible to her. Perhaps it’s all in her mind, but the other spacecraft appears to be drifting away. She needs leverage if she’s going to make the jump. She needs something to push off to cross the distance between the two spacecraft.

  Nikki’s limp body bumps against the outside of the Orion as Kath positions herself. She makes sure she’s got a good handhold on her friend. Kath grabs the thin canvas strap extending between Nikki’s waist and the rim of her helmet. That strap is designed to keep the collar of her helmet from drifting up. It makes for a great handhold.

  Letting go of the Orion is hard. Nolan made it look easy. He just pushed off and drifted across the void. To her, it looks as though the gap is widening. Perhaps it is. Whoever’s remotely guiding the other vessel is riding a fine line between getting close and not colliding with the Orion.

  Kath talks to herself.

  “On three,” she says, steeling her mind.

  Kath has a good handhold by the hatch. She bends her knees, ready to spring out, but, damn, there’s a whole lot of nothing out there. What if she misses? What if she collides with the other craft, coming in too hard and can’t get a grip? What if she bounces away from both spacecraft? Damn it.

  From the shadows, Nolan beckons for her, holding out a gloved hand, reaching for her.

  “One. Two.”

  She rocks back and forth, trying to summon strength in her thighs.

  “Three.”

  With that, Kath launches across the gap. She twists out of control. By dragging Nikki along with her, Kath’s center of gravity is skewed. Physics demands equilibrium and she tumbles. Earth flashes by. Shadows move within her helmet. Darkness falls only to be washed away by the brilliance of the nearby star. Without a blue sky, it’s impossible to think of it as the Sun. Somewhere out there is another spaceship. It was just there, right in front of her. Now there’s just flashes of blue, black, and a blazing star that seems too damn close.

  Kath’s backpack collides with the military spacecraft. She bounces, rebounding out into space. As she turns, the gloved fingers on her left-hand brush against one of the cargo doors.

  She needs both hands.

  If Kath lets go of Nikki, she’ll die, if she’s not already dead. Even if Nikki is alive, who’s to say she or any of them will survive reentry. They could run out of oxygen before the craft makes it back to Earth. Kath knows she should let go of Nikki. It’s the only option that makes any sense, but she can’t. The fingers of her left glove glide across the aluminum panel making up the cargo door. So close and yet she can’t bring herself to let go of her friend. The fingers on her right glove tighten around Nikki’s strap. Either they both make it or they both die. Fuck.

  Kath’s efforts are counterproductive. By trying to grab one of the support struts, all she succeeds in doing is pushing herself away from the spacecraft. Her fingers slip and she’s left clutching at the vacuum, mere inches from the open cargo hold. As she’s rebounding away from the vessel, those two inches might as well be two hundred thousand miles.

  The distance increases but she refuses to let go of Nikki. Together, they spin out of control, spiraling away from the X-37.

  Nolan hangs half out of the equipment bay, reaching out into space, grabbing at Nikki’s backpack. He grabs one of the straps and yanks the two of them back toward the cargo hold.

  This craft is carrying a rail gun. Its ammunition is spent. Even so, there’s not much room within the cargo bay. Nolan’s up near the front. He drags Nikki in as Kath gets a firm grip on part of the exotic gun. The cargo doors begin closing, catching her boots. She draws them in, squeezing beside some rigid mechanical device. Cables snake along the wall. Darkness closes over her.

  There’s no roar from the rocket engines.

  The craft accelerates smoothly.

  For Kath, the bay is claustrophobic. She feels entombed. Her helmet presses against the closed doors. She’s jammed hard up against the rail gun. Kath can only move one hand. She’d like to turn on her helmet spotlights and look at her oxygen meter. How much time has she got left? How long will it take to get down? It’s difficult for her to shake the feeling she’s trapped in a coffin, running out of air. It’s the darkness. She’s alone with nothing beyond the sound of her own manic breathing. Easy, Kath. Slow things down.

  After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes, the engines cut out. Once again, she’s weightless, shifting slightly in the cramped confines of the cargo bay. Waiting. If anything, having hope is cruel. When she thought she was going to die, she accepted her fate. Now, she desperately wants to live, but there’s nothing she can do locked in the darkness.

  Seconds stretch into eternity. Her mind is running at a million miles an hour.

  Mentally, Kath’s reviewing everything that could go wrong. The most obvious point is the X-37 wasn’t designed for conducting an orbital rescue. Even simple things, like the weight distribution of the astronauts, could be enough to tilt the vehicle. Enter on the wrong angle and they’re a fireball in the night. The flight controllers back in Houston have no idea where the three of them are within the cargo bay. In a small vehicle like this, the extra weight would change the handling of the craft. At best, they’ll land off-course or have to correct in the lower atmosphere. At worst, they’ll burn up. Great. Just great.

  Although she’s never gone through reentry, Kath knows it when it finally happens. The craft turns. Engines fire in short bursts. The vehicle changes its angle. Slowly, a sense of weight returns. She can feel it—the pull of an entire planet bringing her home. Heat builds, radiating through the metal. Her helmet is jammed in place against the cargo door. Kath keeps telling herself she’s going to make it.

  Outside, temperatures reach in excess of four thousand degrees. A flicker of light appears along the seams of the cargo bay doors, bathing the astronauts in an incandescent orange glow. Kath hates herself. For once, she wishes she didn’t know. In this case, ignorance would be bliss. Beyond the thin skin of the X-37, temperatures are approaching those within the Sun. The heat shield is so damn hot that, if it was dipped in a raging volcano, molten lava would cool rather than heat the thin fiberglass honeycomb.

  The craft shakes, being buffeted as it enters the atmosphere. Kath can feel the computerized flight controls making tiny adjustments. After a month in space, it feels as though someone’s pushing on her, kneeing her in the small of her back. What was one person becomes two, three, and then four invisible people piled on top of her as the g-forces increase. The vehicle shakes, screaming into the atmosphere. It’s disconcerting to hear the howl of a banshee inches from her head, just beyond the thin metal. Then, as suddenly as it began, it’s gone, replaced by the sound of the wind whipping by. The orange glow is now a pale blue.

  The craft turns, only this time, it’s different. Kath’s become accustomed to rockets pushing her. Now, though, she can feel the wings twisting, turning, riding the air currents. Her heart races.

  Where’s the goddamn ground? Rather than gliding, it feels as though the craft is falling, plummeting to Earth. There’s control but no thrust. For someone that hates looking out the windows of an airplane, she’d sure love to see the ground right now. For that matter, a pilot would be nice, or a steward talking calmly over the intercom.

  Wheels are lowered. She can feel them descending beneath her, catching the wind.

  The craft banks hard, swinging wildly to one side, turning sharply as it drops like a stone. Kath’s heart is in her mouth as the craft levels out and finally pitches up. Seconds later, she feels the thud of wheels touching down. The craft bounces. After what feels like an age, the nose cone lowers, touching what has t
o be the roughest runway she’s ever landed on. From the cargo bay, Kath can feel every bump thundering through the airframe, but she’s down. She’s home. She’s made it. She’s alive.

  When the vehicle finally rolls to a stop, the silence is refreshing. Kath doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Sirens sound in the distance. Helicopters fly low overhead. For the first time since reentry began, she relaxes, feeling her muscles melt. Kath lies there, breathing deeply. There’s yelling outside, thumping on the thin skin of the craft. The cargo bay doors open, revealing the most beautiful blue sky in all of creation. No clouds in sight.

  A face appears above her, wrapped in white protective clothing and a clear visor. He’s talking, but Kath is beyond hearing. Words drift by. An arm is offered. A boot steps into the narrow gap beside her. An engineer clad in white lifts her out of the belly of the miniature shuttle. Someone rolls a staircase up to the craft, but it’s designed for an actual airplane. It reaches well beyond the cargo bay. Hands grab at her. Two more ghostly white assistants reach for her from the stairs.

  The sun beats down on the desert. Distant mountains surround a salt flat. A helicopter lands roughly a hundred yards away, kicking up dust.

  No sooner have her two assistants got her down from the spacecraft than they haul her into the desert. They drape her arms over their shoulders and run, surprising her. Kath tries to move her legs. She wants to help, but her boots scrape along the ground, bouncing against the rocks. Once she’s well clear of the spacecraft, they lower her to the dirt. Medics rush in from a nearby ambulance. Kath reaches up and releases the locking ring on her helmet. She twists the helmet sideways and pushes it up, gasping for air. Someone signals, ‘No,’ but she has to breathe fresh air. The smell of gritty salt, dirt, dust, and sweat was never so sweet.

  A medic shoves a plastic mask over her face and opens the valve on a green oxygen cylinder. Elastic bands hold the mask in place, despite her protests. Kath wants real air. Nothing processed. But the young woman in front of her insists. Medics and soldiers gather around. They’re blocking the view. Kath wants to see the others.

  “Where’s Nolan? Nikki?”

  “They’re fine. They’re going to be fine. You’re all going to be okay.”

  Kath knows when she’s being lied to. She squirms, wanting to see through the sea of legs. The spacecraft sits out on the makeshift runway. Another ambulance has pulled up closer. They’re lowering someone onto a gurney. That has to be Nikki, as Kath can see Nolan being led to yet another ambulance. Like her, his legs drag behind him as two medics carry him on.

  “I need to check your extremities,” a medic says. Unusual term, but okay. Kath doesn’t think anything of it until they remove her gloves. Her fingers are as black as coal.

  Truth

  Four weeks and eleven surgeries later, the three astronauts are on stage in the ceremonial East Room of the White House. Nikki lost both of her feet to frostbite but she’s learning to walk on prosthetics. Kath and Nolan both lost fingers and toes. Microsurgery allowed them to retain their thumbs and a couple of fingers. It’s been a long, slow, painful month of rehab.

  After presenting them with the Presidential Medal of Freedom, President Elizabeth Aston gives each of them a few minutes to speak. Dozens of television cameras transmit their words across the country and around the world. Nikki talks about her gratitude for the US Space Force conducting an orbital rescue. She thanks the medical teams for the support the three of them received while in hospital. Nolan tries to remain stoic, but cries when he mentions his wife. He speaks at length about the mission. With the damage the Orion sustained, he accepted a slow, cold death. He thought he was dreaming when the X-37 arrived.

  Kath’s turn comes too soon. She’s not prepared. She hobbles up to the lectern. Kath’s still learning to walk without most of her toes. President Aston holds out her hand, helping her.

  Standing there, looking out over a sea of heads, she admires the ornate chandeliers. The 18th-century cornice running around the ceiling leaves her feeling as though she’s been transported back in time. Life-size paintings in gilded frames adorn the walls. Kath is out of place. She grips the lectern, looking down at the stubs where her fingers once were. Her right hand has been reduced to a thumb and index finger. Her left hand has a thumb and a few stubs reaching to the second knuckle.

  “This isn’t the end,” she says. “Those fuckers will be back.”

  Smiles evaporate around the room.

  Yeah, Kath never was one to stay on message. What’s anyone going to do about it? Is the President going to wrestle the mic away from her? Perhaps a few of the Secret Service agents are thinking about escorting her off stage. She can’t give the usual platitudes.

  “We thought we were going to die up there. We accepted that if it meant you guys down here had a chance.”

  Her eyes settle on Andy, the vlogger that helped them get the word out about An̆duru. Nolan invited him. Kath asked Nolan why. It wasn’t that she disagreed with his choice. She was curious about his motivation. Nolan said anyone that wants it deserves a second chance. She liked that. They too have been given a second chance, albeit minus a few fingers and toes.

  Andy’s seated at the end of the third row by the fire exit. His head drops. He’s ashamed. He shouldn’t be. He’s changed. Perhaps he feels he still has a way to go. As raw as that feeling may be, it’s a start. Social media hasn’t been kind to Andy. In his absence, others have sought to become merchants of lies. Keep your head up, Andy. Yeah, she’s going to take her speech way off-script!

  Kath clears her throat. “We get back down here and—fuck!”

  Her swear words flowing a little too easily. If anything, they’re a symptom of the hurt she feels. All the trimmings and trappings of prestige are stripped away. Kath is raw with emotion. A horrified President fidgets behind her. Kath doesn’t care. She looks down the barrel of the main camera as though it were a gun.

  “Conspiracy theories abound. Apparently, we never launched. Oh, the rocket went up, but we were on a sound stage in Hollywood—the same one used to fake the Apollo landings.”

  She holds up her disfigured hands.

  “Even this is fake. There was an accident, or so the story goes, an explosion on set. Convenient, huh?”

  Kath leans forward on the lectern, resting her weight on it to relieve the pain in her hip.

  “I—I just don’t know what to tell you. I can’t believe the toxic comments I’m seeing on social media. I did a lot of reading while I was in the hospital. A lot. And it ain’t just about us here and now. We’ve got serious problems, people. Our culture is delirious with conspiracy theories. We’re running a fever.

  “Did you know roughly half the Russians think we faked the moon landings? Yeah, fake history isn’t a uniquely American problem. But half? Oh, and get this, when it comes to us, roughly one in four Americans have their doubts about Neil and Buzz.”

  She shrugs her shoulders.

  “How did we get to this point? How did we become so damn vulnerable? When did we stop thinking for ourselves? We’re being manipulated. The trolls are laughing at us, but even they don’t get it. These are self-inflicted wounds. We’re doing this to ourselves.

  “When so many people think we faked five separate lunar landings over four years. When they think we faked eight hundred pounds’ worth of moon rocks. You’ve got to ask yourself, what the hell is wrong with us? What is it that makes us so damned suspicious on the one hand and yet so utterly gullible on the other?

  “How did half of us get duped into believing historical events like 9/11 were staged? And by our own damn government? Oh, we’ve got our reasoning. Well, we think it’s ours, but it’s not. Someone planted the idea. Someone sowed doubt. Someone lied.”

  McGuire is in the front row. He’s doing everything he can to get her to stop without actually making any overt motion. His eyebrows are raised. His cheeks are puffed. Furrows line his brow as he seeks eye contact with her. Oh, Kath can see him just fine. Se
ems he’s desperate to avoid a train wreck. If he could get away with it without a camera turning on him, she’s sure he’d raise a finger to his throat. Cut, cut, cut! No doubt, President Aston is thinking the same thing, although from behind a frozen half-smile.

  “I don’t think we’re stupid. That’s not it,” Kath says. “If anything, we’re too damn smart for our own good. Oh, the irony. We know we’re not dumb. The problem is, that attitude makes us overconfident. Arrogant. Leaving us easily fooled.

  “We’re eager. We want explanations—answers. And when we get one we like, we don’t question it. We hold onto it like a dog with a bone. God forbid anyone tells us we’re wrong.”

  She picks up a glass of water hidden out of sight beneath the lectern, lifting it to her lips. The glass trembles in her hands. Water sloshes around, betraying how fragile she is. Kath doesn’t care.

  “So this is what happened out there at the Lagrange point. Are you ready? Because this is the truth. Whether you like it or not. Whether it fits in with your goddamn ideology or not. Whether you want to believe it or not.

  “We came face to face with a species that consumes entire worlds. Like us, they’re an apex predator. Like us, nothing stands in their way. They transform planets the way we conquered entire continents. In the same way we backed even the most ferocious tiger into the darkest depths of the jungle, they’re unstoppable. They consume everything in their path.”

  She laughs, shaking her head as she adds, “We’re not all that different.”

  The silence that follows is painful, but Kath doesn’t care. She hopes her words make people uncomfortable.

  “Life spreads. Life is aggressive. Life dominates. That behavior is hardcoded into the DNA of every living organism.

  “All living things have lifecycles. They start as eggs and move through adolescence into adulthood only to repeat that cycle. Without something to impede them, all life grows at an exponential rate. Here on Earth, species keep each other in check. Disease, limited food and predation keep populations stable. Not so among the stars.