by Marc Everitt
The thrill of a new assignment had soon given way to the far stronger desire not to be on a cramped shuttle with a considerable amount of tourists on board. Taylor had spent most of the journey leafing through a small paperback book with remarkable disinterest, while his companion used the time to good effect to attempt to ignore the stewardess who, even now, appeared to have forgotten his earlier request to be left alone.
“What do you think’s going on?” asked Eli.
Taylor looked up from his book and frowned. “What?”
“Well, on Graves’ World. What do you think we have to go out there for?” Eli persisted stubbornly.
Taylor looked just as baffled as before and replied, “I would imagine they need engineers for their reactor.”
Eli thought to himself that this was impossible, but tried again in any case, “Then why did Arlen try to get me to keep you out of trouble? He seemed quite nervous on the vid-com.”
“Really? Who would’ve thought,” interrupted Taylor with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Eli rolled his eyes and tried again, “OK, more than usual then. I’m sure you know what I mean. You know something about this place don’t you?”
“It’s a shuttle.”
“Tay, this is wearing a little thin. You know what I mean. Put the book down and tell me what you know.
“Are you going to leave me alone if I do?” “For a while.”
This answer seemed enough for Taylor as he smiled and put his book down, “What do you want to know?”
“Well, what do you know about where we’re going?”
“Do you remember Hanley from the institute?” Eli nodded. Taylor smiled even further when he told Eli the news of Hanleys death, before going on to relate the rumours of the involvement of a possible alien species. West then asked Eli if he had ever heard anything of Graves’ World prior to their assignment.
“No, well not much really and certainly not anything that I would have thought you would find interesting.”
“Let’s just say there is more of a mystery on Graves’ World then the death of a pig headed engineer, even if a non- human was involved. Graves’ World has been the subject of our friend Gardner’s research for some time.”
This was a statement which surprised Eli greatly because it did not strike him that the distant colony would be of interest to a man who spent most of his free time (of which there seemed to be an awful lot) looking for evidence of extra-terrestrial visitations. Taylor had introduced Eli to Gardner, he did not know his christian name, and felt that was probably for the best, during the business of the suicidal director in Wisconsin. He was a man who lived purely for the opportunity to discover evidence that Earth had once been colonised by aliens, or another such ‘find’.
Obsessed to the point of paranoia with aliens and extra-terrestrial life, Gardner often struck people as odd: but that was all right as far as he was concerned as he usually suspected them of being either controlled by aliens or genetically derived from aliens. Parties at Gardner’s house were rare and curious affairs with the guests nervously watching their backs and sniffing for alien DNA in their rum punch. Taylor thought the man was diverting company and often far nearer the truth with many of his less outlandish theories then many people would have thought. Eli merely thought the man was not operating with a full deck, but was wise enough to realise that Taylor’s character judgement was often better then his own.
The fact that Gardner’s name had been mentioned in the same context as the world they were heading for did not bode well for a quiet, uneventful stay.
“Gardner has researched Graves’ World? I suppose he thinks it is a government cover up or something. Possibly a gigantic hangar in which the heads of state hide all their secret UFO documents?”
The sarcasm of Eli’s comment seemed to be lost on Taylor, who had picked up his book again and did not appreciate being distracted from being bored by it. He stopped his literary perusal just long enough to mumble, “Oh no, Gardner is much more interested in the geology of the planet then anything we humans could have done there.”
Then he was absorbed in the book, which he did not enjoy, and Eli was left on his own, wondering where geology came into the matter. Eli had just enough time to wonder what Gardner himself was up to at that moment when he was once more engaged in fending off the painfully polite offerings of stale food and tasteless drink from the stewardess who had clearly left them in peace long enough.
New Jersey, USA Earth
At that very point, Gardner was feeling very pleased with himself. He had just eluded an alien agent intent on implanting a variety of tracking and control devices into him orally so ‘they’ could watch him at all times. He smiled, thinking that they would have to get up pretty early in the morning to catch him. Outside his bedroom his mum shook her head ruefully as she walked back downstairs. She had no idea how she was going to get him to eat his tea, and was worried he was going to starve to death.
Scientific Research Station Graves’ World
The small teleprinter hummed away to itself in the corner of the operations room. The small human compliment on the planet were all either engaged with their duties or else were asleep in their quarters. Paper began to spill forth from the printers as news of the earthquake reached the colony. Were there any people in the Op’s room to read the quake warning they would not have been surprised, there were increasingly frequent shifts in the structure of the planet; much to the annoyance of the many geologists who had studied the world, as they could find no reason for them. A light winked on the front of the teleprinter as the message ended and the operations room was silent once again.
Twenty meters down the corridor from the Op’s room, a man was just waking from his fitful sleep, rubbing his eyes and getting slowly to his feet. Will Shanks was about average height and build, perhaps contributing to the fact he never wanted to do anything to distinguish himself from the other people on the research team. In fact, Will Shanks never wanted to do anything at all. If left to his own devices he would spend his entire time sleeping or watching old re-runs on his antique DVD player. He had gotten where he was today by doing nothing more than he needed to, and he certainly wasn’t going to start changing now.
The Shanks family had a motto…. which he couldn’t be bothered to remember. Despite only having reached the age of 26, he was a man who had lost all his drive and had no real desire to find it again. Sleepily, he dressed himself and headed towards the canteen, breakfast bound.
As he rounded the corner into the canteen, he was stopped in his tracks by a booming voice behind him, “What do you think you are wearing?”
Shanks turned to the owner of the voice, although he knew full well whose it was, and attempted to produce a smile. “Major Hastings, how delightful to see you on this fine morning, can I get you a cup of coffee? Black, with no sugar isn’t it?” Shanks went to enter the canteen but his not entirely subtle attempt at distraction did not cause the Major’s attention to waver from the crumpled trainers he wore on his feet.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to report for your work duty dressed like a space bum? Regulations, Shanks, that is what you need to abide by. Would it hurt you to be like me? Prim, proper and punctual.” The tirade which Shanks knew was imminent never arrived, as seconds later a shockwave hit the research station and alarms began to ring out all over the complex.
Then the Major was gone, presented with a problem more immediately pressing then the clothing debate. All of which suited Shanks, who was getting used to the unstable nature of the planet and he thought to himself that breakfast seemed to be a very good idea, then proceeded to acquire some.
Moon Relay Four
As Eli walked off the moon shuttle and into the relay station he looked around him in wonder. The stark lines of the décor surprised him, an uncomfortable surprise after he had been expecting the warm pastel shade he had encountered on his previous two visits to the relay station. The whole area around them seemed fo
reign and uninviting and this disappointed the big man who had been looking forward to the atmosphere of the station after the dull, tedium of the shuttle journey and the constant annoyance of the stewardess. This was not turning out to be a day that he thought he was going to enjoy very much. Taylor, on the other hand, seemed to love the new look that the station had suddenly acquired. “Great what they have done with this place, don’t you think?” he said as he studied a particularly complex communications panel on the wall to their left.
Eli saw no trace of sarcasm on his friend’s face and was not terribly surprised by that; in his experience Taylor West was very rarely diverted by the appearance which a thing had, he was far more concerned with the ways in which an object (or, indeed, person) worked. It wasn’t that he was dull, far from it- he was frequently asked to the best social occasions, partly for his varied and unusual experiences, partly for his reputation as a figure of some social renown, but mostly for the fact that he was vastly entertaining in his understated way.
“I mean, look at that,” said Taylor with what nearly amounted to excitement, “That’s amazing.”
Eli looked at the structure that towered over them and noticed how the recent refurbishment had removed several of the aesthetic points he has found rather attractive and had been let stark and a little unusually altered in styling. Eli turned to his friend with a look of astonishment, “They have completely ruined it, how can you like what they have done to it?”
“Well yes, I suppose that its looks have suffered as a result of the changes, but can’t you see the advantages of the new design?”
“Probably keeps the crowds down by driving people away I suppose,” Eli retorted. Taylor was becoming uncertain as to his friend’s attitude towards what he himself saw as a marvelous piece of engineering. Oh well, he thought, I may as well spell it out for him.
“Look carefully at the changes in the substructure, they are designed to allow the rapid processing of all the energy given off by the ships as they dock. Now that is what I call ingenuity,” and with that West turned and strode off purposefully towards the reception lounge, with Eli standing bewildered as to how he could have missed the purpose of the design changes. He started after Taylor, anxious that he should not appear as stupid as he felt.
“Of course I noticed that,” he lied, “It’s just that they could have made it a nicer colour.”
Standing in the reception area was the Company legislator that Executive Arlen had told them to meet. The legislator was a big man, almost the same height as Eli, but nowhere near the same build. Fat rippled around his midriff like a tide lapping at the coast and the hand he held out to West was, like the rest of him, perspiring freely even in the cool temperature of the reception lounge. The hand contained a small file, which Taylor took without opening.
Eli introduced himself, but the legislator waved him away brusquely and then made his unerring way towards the canteen. When the man was gone, Eli laughed to himself and muttered, “What did you make of him?”
Taylor looked over and smiled, “He looked as if he could do with more in the way of manners and less in the way of dinner,” he opened the folder the big man had given him to study the itinerary and briefing that lied therein, “We catch the transport ship in just over ten minutes. Come on, let’s try to find a drinks machine before then.”
Research Station Graves’ World
“What is it?” cried the Major in a panic that his colleagues found constantly amusing. The Operations room was a hive of activity as the assorted scientists and engineers attempted to find the cause of the tremor that had just hit the research station.
“Again, we can find nothing, tectonically, which could have caused it,” came the calm voice of Alan Johnson, the resident tectonic expert on the station.
The research facility had a full compliment of seven personnel: the Major (who looked after the security of the station and was supposed to have authority over the scientists stationed there), Alan Johnson, Will Shanks and Sara Crick (both research engineers), Chris and Lana Maxwell (2nd class engineer and Biologist respectively), and the late lamented Jeff Hanley.
Of course, with the demise of the dearly despised Hanley, there were currently only six souls on the whole of Graves’ World. With the frequent shockwaves hitting the station with increasing and alarming regularity, there was little time to mourn the death of a man no-one had admitted to liking much anyway. The furore which had surrounded Hanley in the days leading up to the accident did not help to endear him to the fellow humans on the station and was a constant in the minds of more than one of the persons present in the Op’s room.
“Perhaps it’s all a big company joke?” said Shanks, not for the first time.
The woman sat to his left shook her head impatiently, “How many times are you going to say that?”
Alan Johnson wasn’t listening, he had heard it all before and was far more interested in the print out spilling out of the computer in front of him. There seemed to be no logic in the earthquakes which kept hitting them and had been hitting Graves’ World for a little over seventeen years. Johnson was an amiable, friendly man who had tried his best to make friends on the station, with varied results. When he had arrived at the station a couple of months before he had been greeted with pomp and circumstance from the Major, but little else. Chris Maxwell had instantly taken a dislike to Johnson for purely racist reasons. Johnson’s dark skin had made him a marked man as far as Maxwell was concerned and rarely a day went by when the poor, pleasant tectonic specialist did not suffer some form of racial abuse from the snarling engineer.
Johnson had found that Lana Maxwell had been far more friendly then her husband, too friendly as it happened. She had tried several times to develop the relationship between them into something which neither Johnson or Chris Maxwell would have approved of. Johnson soon learned to give both the Maxwell’s a wide berth, for opposite reasons and frequently had reason to thank his lucky stars that he had done so as soon as he did. The Major, Johnson realised early on was a pleasant enough fellow when you wore the right uniform and were punctual and polite (as Johnson always was) but was as shallow and soulless a man as he had ever met.
Will Shankswas a constant source of amusement to Johnson, his laid back attitude and lifestylesometimes fascinating him and sometimes disgusting him, but never repelling him. Johnson had never been too close to Hanley, but had tried to be amenable to him as much as he could in any case. The last member of the research team who Johnson had met was the quiet middle aged scientist that was Sara Crick. Alan had found her to be the best hope for intelligent conversation and had enjoyed the discourses they had shared, and still did.
Crick stood up and stretched her back to try and iron out the creases that had appeared on her spotless uniform. Alan Johnson thought her to be aged about thirty-five or so, but was embued with a face and figure that, while it was not stunning, was certainly pleasant. She had mousy hair which would have fallen just below her shoulders were it not constantly tied close to her head in a severe fashion.
“I just don’t understand it,” she moaned to no one in particular. The Major grunted his agreement, as if it were needed and left the Operations room, intent on his own business. Hardly a second had passed after the Major had left the room when Chris Maxwell whirled round to Johnson and snarled,
“Not much of a tectonic specialist are you. Perhaps we should have asked the company to send a white man to do the job if you’re not up to it?” This comment made Maxwell laugh and Johnson sigh.
“Oh, give it a rest Chris would you,” muttered Sara in a tone which she hoped showed just how exasperated she was with the pointlessness of the abuse which Johnson was continually forced to accept. This comment brought a response from Lana Maxwell,
“Why don’t you keep your nose out of what’s not your affair, and go back to your books.” Lana smiled at Sara with a look that was anything but friendly. The two women had never got on particularly well as they were far from comp
atible. Sara, with her reserved looks and austere personality, was a far cry from the extrovert personality shown all the time by Lana Maxwell. Lana was around the same height as the other woman but that was where the similarities ended. Lana was very striking facially, even though her features sometimes appeared a little cruel due to the angular nature of her face. Her figure was full and she knew it; nearly always wearing her uniform unzipped to show off her bountiful cleavage to the men who were around her. She was not faithful to her husband and suspicion of this was a main factor in the twisted personality of Chris Maxwell.
Expressive and tactile, Lana had no time for Sara, who she saw as a threat to her divine right to have all the men to herself. Many who knew her saw her as a kind of predator, tracking her prey silently before moving in for the kill. The women who knew her simply thought she was a tart who delighted in causing trouble. Both opinions were probably true of Lana Maxwell. Sara raised her eyes at the attempted put down from Lana and tried to concentrate on her work.
***
If Eli was disappointed with the recent refurbishment of the moon station then he was pleasantly surprised by the attractiveness of the transport ship Illiana which he was now getting comfortable in. Not least of all the features he was pleased with was a woman sat a few rows in front of him. She had n ordinary face but it was framed with long rivulets of blond hair and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her; a fact that was not lost on Taylor West.
“I see you’ve spotted her,” West smiled over his hot drink.
“What do you think she does?” asked Eli curiously. Taylor knew this game well enough and appraised the woman himself. His attention was distracted from the woman by a small dog running down the aisle of the transport ship, barking in a deranged fashion. The owner of the animal soon came marching after it, yelling and trying to reclaim the canine cacophony and return it to it’s basket. West’s attention returned to the woman sat several rows ahead of them and ventured a guess.
