Alpha Centauri: Sawyer's World (T-Space: Alpha Centauri Book 2)

by Alastair Mayer

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  A half-hour later the magnetotelluric sensors were set up and plugged into the data recorder. Finley was right, given their distance from the Anderson, and the intervening terrain, they couldn’t get a reliable radio signal, so they were recording the data for later analysis.

  The tent setup went quickly. Not as fast as the compact emergency tent in the survival gear could set itself up, they had brought one of the larger, more comfortable ones with them. It was two by three meters, and tall enough to stand at its center. They’d also brought more appealing food than the emergency rations Tyrell and Klaar had complained about on Kakuloa.

  “So what do you think, can we make it to your pyramid and back before dark?” Maclaren asked.

  Finley eyed the position of the sun, Alpha Centauri A, which was about forty-five degrees above the western horizon, or rather where he guessed the horizon to be behind the forest at the far side of the clearing. “Looks like about three and a half hours until that sets.” He looked east, to where Alpha Centauri B was rising above the treeline. It was too distant to show a disk, but still bright enough to be uncomfortable to look at for long. At night it illuminated the ground far better than a full moon on Earth.

  “It’s five kilometers in a straight line back to the pyramid, ten kilometers round trip. No problem over clear ground, but through the underbrush in that forest? Centauri A will be setting before we get back.”

  “You don’t think we can do three kilometers an hour? That’s a slow walk.”

  “Unknown terrain. But Centauri B will give us light, and the moon will be rising soon, it’s near full. But I don’t know how dark it will be in the forest. Maybe we should wait until morning.”

  “If not all the way, we’ll be most of the way back before sunset. It’s early yet, I don’t want to hang around in this field doing nothing.”

  Finley considered this. Maclaren was right, ten kilometers wasn’t that far, even through the woods. “Are you getting a signal from your homing beacon?”

  Maclaren checked her omni. “Yep.” She pointed eastward. “That-a-way.”

  “What about coming back? Does the beacon show angle?”

  “Nah, not that clever. I’ll set up a beacon here, too. And we can mark a trail. Tell you what, we’ll go for an hour, hour-and-a-half. If the going’s too slow we turn around and come back, try again tomorrow.”

  “That sounds reasonable. Let’s take flashlights anyway, we don’t want to run out of power on our omnis. Water and snacks of course. And my pack and hammer.”

  “Right. Let’s get geared up then, we’re wasting daylight.”

  “You’re okay with leaving the plane?”

  “Didn’t see any animals big enough to bother it, but I’ll set a proximity alarm. That should scare anything off.”

  “Okay.” Finley gathered his own gear together while Maclaren went off to do that and get whatever she planned to bring. He heaved a small pack onto his back, his sample bag hanging at his side. He picked up his rock hammer, gave it a short toss and watched it flip around, then caught it and strapped it into the holster on his belt.

  A minute later Maclaren came back with her own pack, and something that looked like a cross between a spear-gun and a blunderbuss slung over her shoulder. “Alarm and beacon are set. You ready to go?”

  “What in the world is that?” Finley said, gesturing at the apparent weapon.

  “Ah, defensive measure, just in case. Modified shoots modified taser darts, with a couple of other options. Been working on it for a while.”

  “So it’s a prototype?”

  “I guess you could say that. I’ve tested it, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just don’t expect to go hunting girannos with it.”

  “I just hope there’s no reason to use it.” He checked the time on his omni. “Okay, let’s get going.”

  They set of at a brisk pace. The trees in the forest were far enough apart that the going was easier than Finley had expected, although the undergrowth of saplings, ferns, low bushes and flowers that looked like mutant trilliums, pale pink three-petaled things, occasionally slowed them enough that they swerved to go around them. Maclaren kept them on overall track, following the homing beacon at the pyramid, and Finley would, every ten or so meters, use the pointed end of his rock hammer to gouge a trail marker on a tree trunk.

  They hiked for an hour, maintaining a pace not as good as Finley would have liked, but better than he had expected. He called a halt when the timer on his omni chirped.

  “Okay, Naomi, it’s been an hour. What’s our progress?”

  “Sorry mate, I have a directional beacon, not a GPS. But from the relative signal strength, we should be getting pretty close. Go for another fifteen minutes and see if we see it through the trees?”

  “All right. Fifteen minutes.”

  It was only another ten when the character of the forest seemed to change. The trees were perhaps further apart, and somewhat shorter.

  “Do you reckon the pyramid casts a shadow here in the morning?” asked Maclaren.

  “We’re getting close if it does. It could also be a change in the soil, which may or may not be related to the, whatever it is.” Finley had decided that he’d really prefer it to be a natural formation than a constructed pyramid. “Let’s keep going.”

  A hundred meters further on it was obvious they were approaching something. The ground began to slope upward, and through gaps between the trees it looked like a hill rose before them.

  And then they were there.

  Chapter 27: Making Plans

  Camp Anderson

  When Klaar and Tyrell returned from their hike, they went to find Sawyer. She was in the ship, working at something on the computer.

  “Captain, a word?” Tyrell said.

  Sawyer looked up, a little surprised to seek them back so early. There were still a few hours of light left. “Sure. What’s on your mind?” She gestured for them to sit. “Find something interesting?”

  “Well, yes, but that’s not why we’re here. You’re the closest thing we have to a civil authority and you are a ship’s captain....” Tyrell said.

  “We want you to perform the ceremony,” Klaar finished.

  “You want a wedding ceremony?” Sawyer asked, surprised. She should have known this was coming. Where do these things keep coming from?

  “Yes, it’s symbolic. Not a religious ceremony, of course, but something more than us just signing a mutual pledge to each other.”

  That stepped right into something that Sawyer had been hoping to avoid. How should she bring it up without getting half the team pissed off at her? Well, they were scientists, supposedly logical and rational. “About that. I’m honored and happy to perform a ceremony, of course, but there’s something we—not just you and I but the whole team, at some point—need to discuss.”

  Klaar and Tyrell looked at each other quizzically. Klaar shrugged. “And what is that?”

  “We need to decide if we’re going to treat this like a castaway situation and keep expecting rescue, or assume that for whatever reason, nobody is coming to get us and we need to think about colonizing.”

  “Colonizing!” Tyrell said.

  “Do you want your son or daughter to be the last one alive on this planet when the rest of us old farts have died off?”

  Klaar and Tyrell both sat back sharply, shocked expressions on their faces. “What?”

  “Think about it. If yours is the only child here she’ll be thirty years younger than everyone else. Odds are we’ll all die before her—or him. Do you want that for him? Growing up with no peer group?”

  “But why would he? What if other couples have kids?”

  “Then sooner or later we’ll have too many people to rescue if rescue does come. Of course those born here may not want to leave, that would be a scary pros
pect for them.”

  “Okay, so we assume a colony. So what?” asked Tyrell.

  Klaar sat very still, very quiet. “Minimum viable population,” she said in a small voice. She looked at Sawyer. “That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. We have too few people for a minimum viable population. A few generations down the road the population will be so inbred that it will be horribly afflicted with genetic diseases. It—we—will die out. And that’s if we’re lucky enough that accidents or disease don’t kill us before then.”

  “But we can screen for genetic diseases, correct them,” Tyrell protested.

  “On Earth, yes. We don’t have the technology here.”

  “It may not be that bad,” Klaar said. “We all had screening as part of the selection process for the mission. Besides, there have been small isolated populations on Earth that managed. The island of Tristan da Cuhna started with a population of only fifteen, and are still going 250 years later. I looked it up.”

  Tyrell turned to look directly at Klaar, frowning. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

  Sawyer wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but it was beside the point. “That’s still twice the population we have.”

  “There’s, well, not a solution,” Klaar began hesitantly, “but a mitigation.”

  “There is,” said Sawyer.

  Tyrell looked at her, then back at Klaar. His eyes widened. He looked back at Sawyer. “You don’t mean....”

  “Not the way you might think,” Sawyer said hastily. “There’s no need for spouse swapping, or communal marriages. Although that might simplify things.” She held up a placating hand at Tyrell’s glare. “But artificial insemination will mix the gene pool quite well too. I don’t like the idea either, since logically I should do my part. I’m not quite too old yet. But we’re getting into an area where emotions often override logic, so I want to tread softly.”

  “Then is it going to be a woman’s duty to have as many children by as many different fathers as possible?” Klaar said, her voice rising.

  “I’d rather it wasn’t, but you’re the biologist. You tell me.”

  Klaar glared back without saying anything.

  Sawyer continued. “But the tradeoff is against the resources of the colony. If everyone is looking after kids we’ll have trouble providing enough food and maintaining what civilization we have. On the other hand, we’re far too small a group to maintain much of a civilization as it is. I’m already starting to worry about losing our technology. If we can hang on until we’re re-contacted from Earth, then we should be all right.”

  “What do you suppose happened?” Klaar said.

  “I hope nothing. The news the others took home would have been a shock to the collective system that could have set back any re-contact mission for a few years. Two years, typically, going on past history like the Apollo and Shuttle accidents, but could be thirty to fifty years looking at the first Antarctic or Lunar explorations. Barring accident or unforeseen problems, we first-landers should still be around even in thirty to fifty years, if a bit long in the tooth. Much beyond that, it’ll be our native-born descendants only.”

  “You don’t sugar coat much, do you?” said Tyrell.

  “I hope I have a team where I don’t need to.” Sawyer looked pointedly at Tyrell, then at Klaar. “Do I have that?”

  Tyrell glanced at Klaar, who nodded. “We’re good,” he said, speaking for both of them. “It may be for a bit longer, but it’s certainly more comfortable here than being lost out in the wilds of Kakuloa.”

  “We were never lost,” objected Klaar.

  “No, just tired, miserable and rained-on.”

  “Anyway,” said Sawyer, bringing the conversation back around, “that’s something we need to have a team-wide discussion about. My own inclination is to plan for the long-haul and count ourselves lucky if it doesn’t come to that. We may still have a few wishful-thinkers who think we might still hear from a return team tomorrow. If we’re going to assume a permanent colony, I’d rather be as close to unanimous on it as we can get. Can I ask you two to get a feeling for what others are thinking about this? You two are in a prime position given Klaar’s, ah, delicate condition.”

  “You don’t mean spying, do you?”

  “No, no.” Sawyer might resort to that if she had to, but not yet. “Just a general feel, maybe plant a few seeds. You don’t need to give me names.”

  “Okay.”

  “Great. Oh, and as I said earlier, I’d be happy to perform some kind of ceremony. Was there a date you had in mind?”

  “Maybe a month from now,” Tyrell said. “I’d like to get a log cabin finished in time for our”—he turned to Klaar and winked—“honeymoon.” Then he spoiled it by adding: “And before she gets too big for whatever wedding outfit she has in mind.”

  Klaar cuffed him on the shoulder.

  Chapter 28: Pete’s Peak

  At the base of the pyramid

  “Well,” Maclaren said, “it’s certainly covered with vegetation.”

  It was. The ground, or the side of the feature, whatever it was, sloped up at a steep angle, perhaps forty-five or even fifty degrees. The actual surface was hidden by a layer of short scrubby vegetation similar to the undergrowth in the forest, mixed with other plants that tolerated direct sunlight better. Although there were short trees growing here and there on the side, they were far enough apart to not offer much shade. Exposed roots suggested the soil layer was not very thick over the underlying rock.

  “I’m a little surprised the soil hasn’t just eroded away down to the bare rock,” Finley said. “The vegetation would help, but....”

  “Maybe it used to be thicker.”

  “Maybe, but then I’d expect to see more rain gulleys and the like. The pyramids in the Yucatan are stepped, so there are places for soil to build up. If this were like an Egyptian pyramid, or a volcanic neck, not so much.”

  “Egypt’s dry, and Shiprock is in a desert too.”

  “Yeah, and Devils Tower is almost vertical once you’re past the talus slope. Okay, I’m not ruling anything out. Are you up for a climb?”

  Maclaren eyed the slope. “That’s pretty steep. If we can find a way up holding on to tree roots and such, I’m game. I don’t think the small stuff will hold.”

  “All right, let’s walk around it and see if there’s a better way up.”

  “The base perimeter is going to be a half kilometer or better around. What’s our time like?”

  Finely considered that. Maclaren had a good point, if they took too long to find a route, and then however long it took to climb and descend, they’d run out of daylight before getting back to camp. On the other hand, the hike here hadn’t been too bad and although they’d seen a few small animals, there had been no sign of anything that seemed particularly hazardous. And it wouldn’t get that dark.

  “We’re cutting it close, but we should make it back with some twilight left. We’re here now.”

  “Okay then. Which way, left or right?”

  “Clockwise, we go left. Let me mark this spot so we know when we get back here.”

  “It’s only got four corners, mate. We can count.”

  Finley felt a bit sheepish. She was right, he’d been thinking of circling the structure. “Yeah, but if we’re in the middle of a side, we don’t want to overshoot.” Well, he thought, that almost sounded convincing. He gouged scratches in a pair of tree trunks, and then took a few steps up the rising ground to where the slope became clearly defined and dug a bit with his pick.

  “Anything?” Maclaren asked.

  Finely looked at the trench he’d scraped out, about as deep as his hammer was long. There was nothing but dirt and roots.

  “No. The soil would be thicker at the base anyway. Let’s find a place to climb and I’ll try agai
n.” He came back to where Maclaren stood waiting, and together they headed north, following the edge of the slope.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Thirty meters after they had turned the first corner, now on the north side of the structure, they found a spot where the trees grew a little closer together, and there were enough roots visible on the surface.

  “What do you think?” Finley said, looking up the slope.

  “Well, it’s a bit of a climb, but let’s give it a go.”

  “Okay. Try to keep a tree not far behind you, so you don’t have far to slide if you lose traction.”

  “Not the first climbing I’ve done, mate. Although this is a bit different.” With that, Maclaren started up the slope, deftly using tree roots and clumps of sturdy-looking bushes as hand and footholds, moving slightly leftward to the uphill side of the next tree.

  “Slow down,” Finley called, following her. “It’s not a race!”

  She looked back at him and grinned. “Come on, try to keep up!” But she did slow her progress.

  The climb was tough. It wasn’t so much the steepness, but it would have been far easier with stairs. The problem was the angle their feet had to make with the surface, not a natural position for humans. To top that off, the surface, where it wasn’t plant covered, was soil that didn’t provide much traction, and minor slips were frequent. Where there were roots to place hands or feet, it went much quicker. By the time they were nearly level with the surrounding forest treetops, they were both breathing heavily with exertion.

  “A quarter of the way up,” Finley estimated. “This thing is a beast, whatever it is.”

  “Yeah, a rope or some crampons would be nice.”

  “Crampons? It’s not that slick.” But as he said that, the tree sapling he was holding onto for balance pulled loose from the thin soil, and he found himself suddenly falling backwards.

  “Shit!” he yelled, twisting to fall to the side rather than straight back. He flung his arms out in a desperate attempt to not start rolling, vainly grabbing for a handhold as he slid on his belly down the hill, the sparse vegetation pulling out as he clutched at it. Then with a thump he slid into a tree trunk, about five meters downslope from where he’d been standing. “Oof!”