by Amy Cross
Once I've cut the comm-link, I continue to stare into the depths of the cave for a moment, before taking one final look at the damage on the side of the control unit. I know Sutter dismissed the idea out of hand, but I can't stop thinking that this was a deliberate act, that something or someone has been down here. Still, on this matter at least, I don't see why Sutter would lie, and I also know that the chances of there being anything alive down on the surface of the planet are pretty much zero. It's a dead world, and previous survey teams checked the place out to a depth of five hundred meters. Some kind of freak event obviously caused the scratches, and just because we don't have an answer, it's not time to start assuming the worst. Not yet, anyway.
Figuring that there's definitely nothing else for me to do here, I turn and head out of the cave. The walk back to the lander is going to take twenty minutes or so, and there's a part of me that just wants to enjoy the rare sensation of walking across an alien world. Still, I can't help glancing over my shoulder a couple of times, just to make sure that there's nothing behind me.
Chapter Five
Sutter
Once the modeling is complete, I bring up the holographic representation of the pipes. I've already introduced the results of the scans Crizz performed on the surface, so I'm able to see a precise image of the marks she found, and as I enlarge the hologram, I realize that she was right about one thing.
They do look like scratches.
Turning the hologram around, I try to examine the damage from every angle. After a moment, I add an image of the control unit's internal systems, hoping to find that I can explain the surge readings. Sure enough, it quickly becomes apparent that even minor damage to the casing of the control unit could have buckled the internal wall just enough to knock a sensor loose. It's an unlikely scenario, but not impossible, and it explains the readings. I'd much rather believe an unlikely scenario than one that's flat-out impossible. Fixing the problem would be easy enough, but the impact is so minimal, I'm not even sure that I'll bother.
The problem, though, is that I can't explain the scratches.
Enlarging the relevant section, I peer more closely at the image. Crizz was right: it does look as if some kind of animal has been trying to break into the unit, but such a scenario simply isn't possible. Io-5, like every world humanity has visited, was extensively scanned and mapped by a survey team, and nothing more complex than basic microbial life was detected. The idea that there could be something large enough to do this kind of damage, and that our teams somehow missed it, is simply impossible to believe. Sure, it's a tempting idea, but I'm not the kind of person who latches onto fantasies and ignores the evidence.
I'm willing to believe that there might be non-human life somewhere in the vastness of the galaxy, but I'm not willing to believe that this is how it's going to present itself to us.
Turning to look out the window, I spot a tiny object rising from the surface of the planet. Crizz is on her way back, and this time the lander's flight computer won't give her any problems. I have no idea what to expect when she arrives, but from our radio communication it sounds as if she still doesn't remember much about her earlier life. I'd expected better results, but perhaps I was a little over-optimistic. She won't recover overnight, but I'm confident that I'll get results if I keep pushing. I don't care what they did to her: I'm going to find a way to undo it and get her old memories back.
As I take one more look at the hologram, I realize that there aren't going to be any easy answers. I hate not knowing what's happening, but I don't have time to go down to the surface and check for myself. There are too many important things to be doing up here on the station, and ultimately a damaged piece of surface equipment doesn't really matter. There are much bigger things are stake.
Chapter Six
Crizz
As the station comes closer and the lander maneuvers for the docking procedure, I can't help but glance over the back of my seat and stare down at the planet.
When I was standing in the cave, I was convinced that there was something watching me. Before I came to Io-5, I studied all the survey reports extensively, and I know that there's no life down there. Still, the sensation was extremely powerful and I can't help but wonder if something might have been missed.
Sighing, I realize that I'm falling into a familiar trap.
At the academy, they call it Hidden Eye Syndrome. Specialists estimate that roughly one in every ten thousand deep space operatives develops the syndrome, which eventually leads to a kind of paranoid mania. When psychologists carried out an in-depth study of affected patients, they found that certain types of people are simply unable to comprehend that the universe could really be so empty. Some of them turn to religion, which is frowned upon but generally accepted, while others start to lose their minds and imagine subtle hints of life in the void. I can't help worrying that maybe my experience on the surface of Io-5 today was a hint of mental illness, and I figure that I need to nip these thoughts in the bud as soon as possible.
Besides, although I've never admitted it to anyone, I've found in recent years that I take comfort from the idea that there might be some kind of higher power out there, some kind of life that is so vast and all-seeing, we can't even recognize it. Turning to watch as the lander gets closer and closer to the station, I realize that this posting isn't going to be easy. Sutter's abrasive and secretive, and my natural suspicions have already been aroused.
Looking beyond the station, I stare at the stars for a moment. Deep down, I know that there has to be something out there. Humanity can't be alone. One day, we'll find someone else.
Chapter Seven
Sutter
"But don't you think it's weird?" she asks as she climbs down into the main control room. "Don't you think we should have found something by now?"
"It's certainly a chilling prospect," I mutter, trying to focus on a simulation I'm running that - hopefully - should explain the damage to the equipment down on the surface.
"Think about it," she continues as she takes a swig of water. "It's been nearly six hundred years since humanity started to spread out across the galaxy. The establishment of the first base on Mars, the first manned journey beyond Earth's solar system, the development of the first mining bases... When you think about it, we've moved incredibly fast, and we're really starting to get to know our corner of the galaxy. We've covered thousands of lights years, but..."
I stare at the screen for a moment, before turning to her. "But what?" I ask.
"But... there's nothing." She pauses. "Do you really think it's possible that humanity is completely alone out here?"
"You think we should have run into some bug-eyed monsters by now?" I ask.
"I think it's odd that we haven't found anything," she continues. "How many planets have we mapped now? Close to two thousand, right? Some of them even have pretty decent conditions for life, and yet we've found nothing. Not even any hints of previous civilizations, not signs of other ships. I mean, we're going around claiming pretty much every planet we find, mining them for all they're worth before abandoning them. We're making a lot of noise, Sutter, but no-one seems to be noticing us. It's almost as if we really are the only life forms."
"And that bothers you?"
"It's kind of chilling," she replies. "I mean, I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but I totally understand why some people think something's not right."
"And which particular conspiracy theories do you favor?" I ask. "The ones that suggest aliens are hiding from us, or the ones that suggest central command has been systematically covering up any evidence that might have been uncovered?" I wait for her to answer, but it's clear that she's not quite sure what to say. "The former is highly entertaining but improbable," I continue, "and the latter credits central command with far too much capability. Do you seriously think they could keep first contact a secret? Even if they discovered ruins, word would get out. Trust me, I monitor chatter on the crazier sub-net bands and apart from the usual lunatics, there's nothing to su
ggest that any grand conspiracies are being organized."
"Apart from the Nebulan incident," she points out.
"The grandest of all the conspiracy theories," I continue. "The Nebulan incident has been debunked over and over again. It was a combination of bad luck with a faulty ion engine, and sunspots affecting a long-range scanner. The only people who believe the Nebulan cruiser was attacked are -"
"Swivel-eyed loons and psychotics?" she asks.
"Well, you said it..."
"I just think it's a horrible thought," she replies. "The idea that in all of the galaxy, maybe even all of the universe, intelligent life developed only on Earth. There's so much emptiness out here, so much space for other life to have developed, but there's nothing."
"Careful," I mutter, turning back to the screen and watching as the simulation continues to compile. "Next, you'll be telling me you've joined the God squad."
She sighs.
"What?" I ask, amused by her lack of amusement. "You know what they're like. They see a vast, empty, cold stretch of the galaxy and they try to warm it up by believing in divine powers. It's completely childish, except for the fact that they usually end up trying to kill people who don't agree with them."
"Not all religion is like that," she points out.
"That's a sentence I never thought I'd hear coming from your mouth."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks.
"Nothing," I reply, figuring that I've already said too much. "You don't really believe in all that stuff, though, do you? Didn't they drum all that bullshit out of your head at the academy?"
Without replying, she comes over and starts watching the screen. The computer is extrapolating possible causes for the scratches on the side of the equipment, and although this is something of a last-ditch attempt to come up with an answer, I'm convinced that we're going to get some answers eventually. The truth is, I hate mysteries, and I can understand why Crizz might be starting to think about the crazier ideas.
"Do you know how many planets I've been to?" I ask after a moment.
"How many?"
"Nineteen," I reply, turning to her. "That's quite a lot, right? And every single one of them has been dead. Sure, there's microbial life pretty much everywhere we go, but it's basically the same as anything you'd find back on Earth." I pause for a moment. "What I'm trying to say is that I've seen with my own eyes that there's nothing out here. If anything existed, or even had existed at any point in history, we'd have found some trace of them. Almost by definition, intelligent life leaves traces of its existence. We'd have found structures, or ships, or we'd have made contact. Why would they hide from us? Surely they'd at least want to come and check us out?"
"So you believe humanity is alone?" she asks.
"There's still a lot of space to explore," I reply. "We could still find something if we keep going far enough." As the computer lets out a beep to indicate that the simulation has finished processing, I turn to see that the most likely scenario appears to be a dust storm. Unfortunately, having monitored the weather conditions on the planet with relentless monotony over the past few weeks, I'm pretty certain that there have been no dust storms, and I'm also finding it hard to believe that the damage would be so specific. I cycle through the alternative options, but after a couple of minutes I start to realize that Crizz is still watching over my shoulder.
"Anything?" she asks eventually.
"No," I reply. "I guess that confirms it, then. The only possible explanation is that little green men showed up, scratched one of the control units, and then left again, all without being detected." Turning to her, I can see that she's unimpressed by my sarcasm. "Just because we don't know what happened -"
"I know," she says, taking a step back. "You don't have to keep saying it. It's like I'm desperate for alien life to show up. I was just talking about the possibility, that's all. We have to keep an open mind, don't we?"
"Not too open," I reply. "That's how the crazy gets in."
Sighing, she turns and heads over to the access hatch that leads to the engine room.
"Where are you going?" I ask, realizing that I might have gone a little too far.
"You said I should familiarize myself with the place," she replies as she climbs through. "Unless you need me for anything else, I'll be taking a look at the core." She pauses, before turning back to me. "Can I just say one thing? If we're going to spend years and years together here, just the two of us, I think we need to find a way to get along without all this friction. I don't want to be dealing with drama all day, every day, and so far you seem to be looking for ways to pick fights."
"I'm sorry it seems that way," I tell her.
"At the academy," she continues, "they taught us to confront personnel issues head on. I hope we can get off to a better start tomorrow."
Once she's headed through to the engine room, I lean back in my seat and try to work out what to do next. It's clear that my initial plan to shock her out of her current daze isn't working. I don't know exactly what methods they used to suppress her old personality and build this new one, but it's clear that they did a damn good job and her true mind is buried deep. Still, I don't think that antagonizing her is going to be a very useful approach, so I need to find some other way to coax her out of her shell. The problem is, I don't have enough time to be patient. If results don't come soon, I'll be under pressure, and the last thing I need is for company to show up at the door.
Switching off the simulation, I glance out the window and watch as Io-5 continues to revolve slowly beneath the station. Despite everything I said to Crizz today, I can't help wondering if those scratches are a warning of things to come.
Chapter Eight
Crizz
Staring down at my plate, I'm struck by the thought that I have to eat basically the same food for the next five or six years. The same three portions of starch, protein and nutrient base. It's not exactly appetizing.
Hearing a banging sound elsewhere in the station, I turn to look over at the door. Sutter is clearly up to something, but I don't really feel the need to go and look for him. The station's so small, we're bound to run into one another sooner or later, and I'd like to get a few moments alone. Back at the academy, I lived in a mess hall with ninety-nine other cadets, but in a strange way it never felt crowded. I had friends, and every day was different. Here, on this tiny metal sphere, racing around a dead world hundreds of light years from home, I feel as if my entire life has somehow come to a stop.
For the first time, I feel lonely.
"I'm going to do some maintenance on the main grid!" Sutter shouts at the top of his voice from the other end of the station. "The lights might flicker for a moment, but it's nothing to worry about!"
Sighing, I glance up at the nearest light.
"Crizz!" Sutter shouts. "Did you hear me?"
"Yes!" I shout back at him, before sighing as the lights flicker for a couple of seconds. I have no idea what he's up to, but he seems like one of those people who can't keep still. Ever since I arrived, he's been constantly fidgeting with the equipment, and I can't help but wonder if he's gone a little crazy. After all, he was alone here for four weeks after his previous colleague's accident, and I wouldn't be surprised if the solitude affected him in some way.
"Done!" he shouts.
"Great," I mutter.
"Did you hear me?" he shouts.
"Yes!" I yell. "It's fine! You don't need to keep telling me everything you're doing!"
I wait for him to reply, but he seems to have fallen silent. Instead, a kind of dour, sulking atmosphere has suddenly fallen into place, and I realize that I'm probably going to have to apologize to him for being so bad-tempered. It's been barely a day since I arrived at the station, and already I feel as if I'm on the verge of losing my mind. I don't know who ran the numbers and decided that Sutter and I would make a good team, but they must have made a mistake. It's early days, and I feel bad for forming an opinion so quickly, but right now I'm not sure how
I'm going to survive five years trapped in this tiny space with a guy who acts like an asshole.
Taking a deep breath, I place a forkful of starch powder in my mouth and give it a cursory chew before swallowing; it's not exactly the finest thing I've ever eaten, but at least I know it's good for me.
Finally, figuring that I've got nothing to lose, I check over my shoulder before looking down at my plate and using my fork to mix the three portions together. This is strictly against regulations, and there's no way I want to give Sutter the satisfaction of seeing that I took his advice, but I figure I'm going to go crazy if I have to eat this foul-tasting food for the next few years. Once the portions have been mixed into a kind of paste, I eat a forkful, and this time the experience is much better. Sutter was right when he said that, even though it's against regulations, this approach tastes much better.
I guess, in this small, private way, I'm a bit of a rebel after all.
Chapter Eight
Sutter
After carefully placing the thin metal thread in the machine, I load up the virtual player and wait for it to sync with the file format. It's a big ask, expecting the station's systems to be able to decrypt something a file type that hasn't been in general use for more than a decade, but the whole idea was that we needed to make sure that random sweeps wouldn't recognize the data we were trying to hide.
Checking over my shoulder, I listen for a moment, to make absolutely certain that there's no sign of Crizz. Fortunately, she seems to have gone to bed, and I'm hoping she'll be far too tired to wake up until her alarm goes off in the morning. Still, just to be safe, I grab the monitor and turn it around so that even if she happens to come to the door, there's no way she'll be able to see what I'm watching.
"File system decoded," the computer says after a moment.
"Play first file," I reply.
