by S. J. Madill
“Uh, well, I’m not really good at some things, so I need some advice.”
“No problem,” said the Chief. “I’m awesome at that, too.”
Atwell forced a thin smile, reaching out to pick up the glass the Chief had poured for her. “You were saying, the other day, how you know about all the relationships on the ship.”
Black nodded. “I do. But I couldn’t give you any details. Wouldn’t be right.”
“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve got feelings for someone as well, but it would be a problem. It would completely go against my faith.”
“Really? I thought you were Catholic. I don’t see—”
“It’s a woman.”
“Oh,” said the Chief. “They’re not keen on that.”
“They’re not,” said Atwell. “My family wouldn’t be, either. They’re all very traditional. They want me to leave the service, go home, stay close, marry a nice man, have a ton of kids, you know…”
The Chief nodded. “They’re wanting you to go all twentieth-century with your life. But your heart’s got other ideas.”
“Yeah. That.”
“And it’s the conflict between head and heart that drives people to drink, Atwell.” The Chief gestured at the officer’s glass. “Bottoms up.”
“It’s just…,” said Atwell pleadingly, “I’m not sure what to do.”
“Look,” said the Chief. “As for your family, if they love you, they’ll want you to be happy. They might get a bit out of shape at first, but if they’re good people they’ll love you wherever you wind up. As for yourself? Ask the woman in the mirror if she wants you to be happy.”
Atwell downed her glass, putting it back empty on the table. “But don’t you think… but what about what I’m supposed to do?”
“Supposed to do?” asked the Chief. “Who decides that? As far as your faith is concerned, and what your god wants you to do, I can’t really help you. I’m not religious at all. I’d say talk to the Tassali. She’s taking her new chaplain job seriously. She’s been reading everything there is to know about Earth religions. She could help you with that.”
The Lieutenant nodded slowly. “I guess I will. I’m just feeling like I should be ashamed or something.”
The Chief emptied her own glass, putting it down on the table next to Atwell’s with a thud. “Ashamed for trying to find happiness? To hell with that. I say, go for it. We don’t even know if we’re going to get home again. Do you want your last days to be spent alone and miserable, when you could be happy and hot and sweaty with someone?”
Atwell blushed a deep crimson. “I don’t—”
“Sure you do. Who is the lucky young girl, anyway?”
“I’d rather not—”
The Chief held up her hands. “Okay, no problem. Mysteries are fun. It’s not as if I won’t find out.” Black laughed, running one hand through her dark blue hair. “Good for you, Lieutenant. Now take your turn and finish beating the pants off me at this damn game.”
36
Dillon reminded himself to slow down, walking onto the bridge with a deliberate calmness that hid his excitement.
“Captain on the bridge,” said the Chief. “Sir, the ship is at action stations. All departments report ready. We are less than five minutes away from Planet Seven.”
“Excellent, Chief. Thank you.”
The Captain hopped into his chair, tapping at the console to activate his displays. A graphic of the Borealis appeared, all its different sections coloured green. A separate display showed sensor data from the new planetary system they were rapidly approaching.
They'd visited six planets so far. By studying the light from the planets as they approached, they knew all of them had once been garden worlds lush with life. All of them had, seven hundred years ago, been left dead and barren by some as-yet-unknown attacker. On each dead world, identical structures had been found, housing a visual rendering of the planet’s fate, and an ark containing DNA samples of millions of species of the doomed planets’ native life forms.
This seventh planet was different. They were now less than five light years away, and the light from this world still showed all the signs of vibrant life. Whatever had happened to the other worlds seven hundred years ago had apparently not happened here. It was possible that they would be able to find food, or at least biomass that could be converted into food.
Dillon pulled his favourite pen from his pocket, jamming it into his mouth. He began to chew at it as he tapped at his console.
“Sensors,” he said without looking up.
The crewman at the sensors console half turned in his seat, facing the Captain. “Yes, sir?”
“Have you seen anything about this world that makes it different from the other ones? Backwards DNA, or cyanide-based organic chemistry, or something like that?”
“No sir,” answered the technician, shaking his head. “This one’s the most Earth-like. Nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, lots of moisture, some CO2. Sun’s a bit more blue. Maybe a bit warmer and wetter than Earth. Can’t tell much about the DNA from this range, sir.”
“Thank you,” said Dillon. He poked a finger at the communications console over his head.
“Engineering,” said Saparun’s voice from the speaker.
“Sap, is the hangar bay still leaking into the ship? Will we be able to seal it?”
“Yes, Captain. I believe the most recent repairs have been successful. We can now isolate the hangar.”
“Good, thank you. If we send people down to bring back biomass, we’ll have to quarantine them until Singh has scanned them.”
“Agreed, Captain. I have taken the liberty of having food and bunks placed in the hangar. May I ask who will be leading the mission down to the planet?”
“It’s Cho’s turn, he’ll be headed down. Want to go?”
“I would decline, Captain. Sending two species would double the biologic risks. I would not wish to make Singh’s task any more difficult.”
“Okay, good thinking Sap, thank you.”
Chief Black looked over from where she stood at her console. “Captain, ten seconds to Planet Seven.”
Dillon nodded. “Thank you, Chief. Helm, carry on.”
Seaman Pakinova glanced up from her console, her delicate fingers lightly tapping at the helm controls. “Disengaging FTL engines now, sir.”
Without a sound, the view out the bridge windows abruptly changed. Off to the right of the ship, a moon leapt into view, with its parent planet beyond. The two globes slid toward the centre of the view as the ship turned toward them.
“Nice,” said Black.
Behind the pockmarked brown moon, Planet Seven was a ball of blue, delicately frosted with swirls of white clouds which matched the planet’s brilliant white polar regions. The light from the system’s star reflected off of a vast dark ocean, making the planet look like a polished blue ball.
“Planet is alive and well, sir,” said the sensors technician. “Plant life is very thick: appears black, so it’s highly efficient. No signs of civilisation of any kind. A lot of flying creatures, maybe some large ground critters as well. Can’t see much under the forest canopy.
Dillon nodded, watching a graphic overlay on the bridge windows. He pointed at the planet’s north pole. “What about—”
“Sir, I see debris orbiting the planet. Metallic; strange alloys. Can only see this side of the planet, but looks like about a million tons. Some radioactivity, but nothing dangerous.”
Dillon stopped chewing his pen. “Oh? Helm, stay at this distance, and let’s do a nice slow lap around the planet. Let’s get a good look at all of this—”
“New contact!” interrupted the Chief. “Large contact, coming out from behind the planet… it’s one of those cylinder ships, sir. Forty metres in diameter, and two hundred metres long. Actually, a bit shorter.”
“Shit,” said the Captain. “Who invited those assholes? Helm, keep your distance, be ready to evade. “
“Aye aye, sir.”
> Dillon stared at the display as the ship turned slightly away from the blue planet, beginning a wide circle around the world. The bright red cross that marked the hostile contact began to creep across the face of the planet.
“Zoom in visual, please.”
A box appeared around the red cross, and as it expanded outward, the view was magnified. The familiar shape of the cylindrical ship grew larger. It was hanging in space slightly askew, very slowly rotating as it orbited the planet along with some scattered debris. The cylinder was battered and scarred, and one end was misshapen.
“I think,” said the Chief slowly, “it’s had the shit kicked out of it.”
“Huh,” agreed the Captain. “So probably not the one that was chasing us.”
“Agreed, sir. The debris… maybe that’s from whoever it was fighting?”
Dillon started chewing on his pen again. “Could be, which means the cylinders have enemies of their own. Maybe they’d have some answers, if we can meet them.”
“Whoever they are, sir, it looks like they came out on the losing end of this fight.”
“Hard to say, Chief. Maybe they won and went home.”
Black stood at her console, leaning forward against it. She watched the Captain chewing furiously at his pen, the fingers of his right hand drumming on the arm of his chair. Pushing off against the console, she stood up straight and walked over to stand next to the Captain. Seeing her crossing the bridge toward him, he smiled. “Am I being obvious again, Chief?” he asked quietly.
“Aye, sir. You’re clearly in the middle of hatching an idea I won't like.”
He nodded in agreement.
“In fact,” continued the Chief, “I rather expect the idea you’re hatching is going to drive me nuts.”
“Could be.”
The Chief turned to face the front of the bridge, watching the display along with Dillon. She looked at it silently for a while, her hands clasped behind her, her fingers twitching. “Care to share your idea, sir?”
“Well,” he said conspiratorially, “if that ship doesn’t do anything — if it’s completely dead — then I think we should see if we can board it.”
Black turned her head enough to glare at him with both eyes, the same death-filled stare that brought new recruits to the edge of tears.
Dillon held up one hand in surrender. “Whoa, easy Chief. Not me. I got that message already.”
-----
“Aye aye, skipper. Atwell out.”
The Lieutenant tapped the wrist console on her suit, taking a moment to check the pressure and air readings on the display. It was the tenth time she’d checked since the shuttle left the Borealis, but the thought of being out in the vacuum of space, with only an armoured suit to keep her alive… it made her a little nervous sometimes. Especially since some of the crew — including the Captain — had reported bad seals and malfunctioning heaters.
She put the thoughts out of her head. Obsessing over that sort of thing wasn’t going to make her any safer.
Atwell stood up inside the shuttle, reaching overhead to hold one of the grab bars. Turning to look at Lee and his team, she was met by five visored helmets looking back at her.
“Going to open the hatch. Everyone double-checked okay for exposure?”
Lee first, then the rest, raised their hands and gave her thumbs-up gestures.
“Okay”, she nodded. “Removing atmosphere now.”
Stepping next to the door, she pressed several buttons on a small panel. With a rapidly-fading hissing sound, the air was drawn out of the shuttle’s passenger compartment. When the inside of the shuttle was as airless as the space outside, a green light lit up next to the handle on the shuttle’s side door. The crewmembers all stood and grabbed the overhead bars; one of them stepped in front of Atwell, and put both his hands on the door handle.
“Open it,” she said.
Without any air, the opening door made no sound. There was only a slight vibration that they felt through the deck and the handrails they held.
Beyond the open door lay the contrasts of open space: the inky darkness of the heavens, lit from below by sunlight reflected off of Planet Seven. The shapes and lights outside the shuttle slowly moved, as the small vessel reoriented itself in space.
Directly in front of them, casting a long shadow over the shuttle, lay the vast, battered hulk of the cylinder ship. They were even with its mangled bottom end, and its full length stretched above them, far out of their field of view. The cylinder still held its swirled black gloss, but there was no movement in its surface, no shimmering. Dark black pockmarks, deep dents and gashes marred the otherwise smooth hull of the alien ship. The shape still held menace, and Atwell became aware of the loud, frequent breaths she was taking inside her suit.
Turning her helmeted head to look behind her, she saw that the other crewmembers, with the exception of Lee, were all similarly agape at the sight of the alien ship. No armour, no wall, not even air separated them from the massive vessel.
The pilot’s voice crackled in her earpiece. “Hawk to passengers: now matching the target’s rotation, over.”
One of the crewmembers spoke across the squad’s channel. “They’re calling themselves ‘Hawk’ now?”
“Last time it was ‘Falcon’,” said another.
“Shut it,” said Lee.
Atwell smiled, toggling the channel on her console. “Hawk, this is Economy Class. Go ahead and manoeuvre. Out.”
The shuttle trembled slightly, first from below and then from the left, as it began to adjust its orientation and movement to match that of the alien ship. As they rotated along with the massive cylinder, they came out of its shadow. The brilliant light from the star washed into the shuttle’s small cabin, flooding everything with a painful blue-white light and impossibly dark shadows. Six visors darkened simultaneously, shielding human eyes from the damaging bright light.
“Shiny,” said someone.
“Not telling you again,” said Lee.
Atwell poked again at her wrist console. A different channel indicator lit up, along with the ‘private’ indicator.
“Atwell, you good?” came the Captain’s voice. She knew he was trying to be calm, but could hear the barely-masked excitement in his voice.
“Aye, sir. Anything from our cylindrical friend here?”
“Not a peep. We’ve been in this system, watching it, for six hours now. Nothing. Dead as pork. You and your team still good?”
“Aye sir,” she replied. She tried to hide her nervousness. “Though I’d like it reflected in the ship’s log that this is officially the craziest thing I’ve ever volunteered for. I expect the squad agrees.”
Even through the tinny, distorted speakers in her helmet, she could still hear the smile in the Captain’s voice. “So noted. Proceed at your own pace, there’s no schedule. We’ve got your back.”
“Aye aye, sir. The Tassali gave me a quick blessing before I got on the shuttle, so between that and Borealis we’ve got all the backup we could ask for.”
“Understood. Vaya con Dios. Captain out.”
Poking at her console again, Atwell changed channels. “Economy Class to Hawk. Take us closer when you’re ready.”
“Roger that.”
The massive shape of the alien ship hung in space before them, against the backdrop of planet, moon, sun and stars that slowly rotated behind it. With the merest tremble in the deck below their feet, the shuttle began to slide gently sideways toward the bottom of the cylinder. It appeared to grow larger in their field of vision, expanding to fill their view and hide everything behind it.
As they got closer, the marks on its surface became clearer. Dents big enough for a person to climb into, ten-meter-long gouges scarred across the hull, their edges jagged with the ugly furrows of metal dug up from below.
Wherever the surface was intact, it had the same, glistening, oily-black sheen. And as they moved closer, they could see that even this clear surface was marred by hundreds of small
dents, scratches and marks, the story of centuries of collisions with smaller objects and debris sharing its orbit.
“Good god,” breathed one of the crewmembers. “How big is that thing?”
“Huge,” said Atwell. “About forty metres in diameter and two hundred high. Looks like it’s had a dozen metres knocked off its bottom end.”
She touched her wrist again, opening another private channel. “Hawk, this is Atwell.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If this thing wakes up, just go. Don’t wait for us, got it?”
“We’ve never left a passenger behind, sir. Not going to start today.”
She paused. “Thanks for that,” she said quietly. “But better some of us than none of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Lieutenant slid her thumb over her console again, closing the private channel.
The shuttle had moved sideways up to the side of the alien ship. The vast wall of oily black metal, covered in scars, stretched as far as they could see to the left and right and above them. Below, the wall ended abruptly at a jagged tear. The wall began to glide upwards past them, as the shuttle descended along the side of the cylinder, all the way to its bottom.
As the shuttle slid down past the bottom of the alien vessel, it slowed to a stop. Above them, they could see the jagged underside of the alien ship, a ceiling of ragged edges and tortured metal that receded into the distance. There was no sign of an interior; the alien ship appeared to be entirely solid, made of concentric layers of metre-thick metal, wrapped around each other like rings on a tree. The bottom had been sheared off by some unimaginably violent force, leaving concentric rings of torn metal, forming rows of jagged toothlike shards, all stretched, deformed and torn away from them.
“Hawk,” Atwell said as calmly as she could. “Let’s go underneath, nice and slow. Toward the centre.”
“Hawk here; understood.”
She glanced at the crewmembers around her. They all stared out the open door of the shuttle, each with one or both hands on grab rails above their heads, their weapons slung across their backs. Whenever the shuttle rotated into shadow, their visors de-tinted, revealing the grim looks on their faces.
