Vessel

by Andrew J. Morgan

  The plane, which had been climbing, banked right and levelled out. They were flying East, towards the rising sun and into the new day. With the sun now dead ahead, Sally could slide her blind open again; she watched the criss-crossing grey lines down below give way to open wilderness, and her heart leapt knowing there was so much to explore in the world — and beyond. As she dozed, she hoped she would be getting a chance to discover a whole lot more very soon.

  A screech of rubber on tarmac shuddered through the plane, jolting Sally awake. Disorientated, she brushed her hair from her face — peeling away the strands that were sticky with drool — and stretched against the seat as she remembered where she was. She didn't recall falling asleep, let alone travelling nearly six-thousand miles; it only went to show just how sleep-deprived she was, working day and night without even realising it.

  The sky was bright but bleak, glowing like a fluorescent tube. As they taxied towards the main terminal building, they turned off the painted yellow line, peeling away from the rows of huge airliners and on to the smaller hangers at the opposite end of the airfield. The nose swivelled as they approached the second to last hanger, and the small plane entered and rolled to a stop. It was dim inside, and Sally struggled to make anything out through her small window. From what she could see, it was empty. The door swung down, and a man in a nondescript dark suit and sunglasses leaned in through the gap.

  'If you'd like to come this way, Miss Fisher,' he said, voice as stiff as his suit.

  Sally did as she was told. As she descended onto the tarmac, she looked around the hanger; it was indeed empty.

  'Please follow me,' the nondescript man said, and she did. He led her to the back of the hanger, opening a door for her. On the other side, out in the open, a black SUV with dark-tinted glass waited for them. As she approached, the back door opened. A man with white crew-cut hair stepped out and offered his hand to her.

  'Good afternoon, Miss Fisher,' he said as she took his hand and shook it, 'welcome to Russia. I'm John Bales, and I'd like to thank you for joining us out here on such short notice.'

  'That's okay,' Sally said.

  The nondescript man entered the front passenger side of the vehicle, and Bales gestured to Sally to climb aboard too. She froze, her nerves taut with a sudden panic, but as quick as the feeling had come, it went, and she stepped into the SUV and slid herself along the rear bench. Her constant struggle with strange people and situations wasn't going to get in her way today.

  'I'm sorry for all this secrecy and haste,' Bales said, getting into the car and shutting the door behind him, 'but we want to keep what we know and what they know entirely separate.'

  The car pulled away, accelerating at an uncomfortable pace past the rear of the hangers.

  'Who are they?' Sally asked.

  The car slowed, reaching a chain-link gate that started retracting straight away. Outside, a group of people clutching big cameras with fat lenses and tall flash guns pushed their way in through the growing gap. They crowded the car, thrusting their cameras up against the windows, blasting flash after flash through the glass. Sally recoiled, shielding her eyes from the relentless onslaught.

  'Don't worry, they can't see you. You're quite safe in here,' Bales reassured her.

  The driver leaned on the horn, edging the car forward through the small crowd. It didn't take long until they were free, and soon they were travelling along a lightly trafficked highway, overtaking everything else on it.

  'I take it there's more to this than a simple malfunction on the International Space Station?' Sally said, watching the traffic flying backwards on the dull, grey infrastructure.

  'Yes, there is,' Bales said.

  'And I don't think you need me just because I'm good with light, either,' Sally continued, eyes jumping from tree to tree as they took over from the bricks-and-mortar landscape. A field rushed by, its crop trimmed to the ground, stumps yellow and withered.

  'No,' Bales said.

  Sally looked at him; he was studying her. His tanned face was doing well to hide it, but his searching eyes betrayed his curiosity. Sally was used to it. Her reputation often preceded her, and it was one of the reasons she had shied away from the lecture halls and seminars, retiring to the seclusion of SETI research. Ever since she was young, she had been under constant scrutiny.

  'What have you found?' Sally asked, breaking eye contact with Bales to hide the excitement crackling inside her belly.

  'Well, you could say that it found us.'

  Sally looked back at him, her eyes tracing his features to see if he was mocking her. He wasn't. 'So it's true.'

  'What's true?'

  'Well, it was just a rumour,' she said, playing with her fingers, 'but word is that the ISS had made contact with an entity … not of this world.'

  The rumour wasn't true at all, but Sally thought she might be able to squeeze more truth out of the man if he believed his information had already been compromised. She knew how these things worked: information was dished out on a need-to-know basis, and no one ever needed to know — especially not her. She was a component in a machine, a piece in a puzzle.

  They considered each other, and she worried for a fleeting moment that he had seen straight through her ruse. He broke his gaze with her and looked out the window as concrete expanse began to consume nature once again, not saying anything. Sally took this as a cue to drop the conversation — at least for now.

  The car slowed as it threaded its way through the tightening asphalt canyons between the tall industrial structures of West Korolyov. It came to a stop outside a dominating yellow brick building whose tall, cuboid structure seemed to have far too few windows for its size, almost like a prison. The barrier opened as they pulled up to it, and closed behind them again right away.

  'Please put this on,' the nondescript man said, handing her a lanyard with a plastic card dangling from the end. Although she understood the languages of the cosmos unlike anyone else, she struggled with the languages of other countries, and the Russian text on the card meant nothing to her. She slipped it over her head.

  They parked up and climbed out the SUV, and Bales alone led her into the building. They followed corridor after corridor, taking left turn after right turn, burrowing deeper and deeper into the maze until they reached a room whose Russian signage actually meant something to her. Not because she could read it, but because she recognised the pattern of shapes from documentation she had seen before: Mission Control.

  She showed her pass to the security officer stationed outside and followed Bales in through the double doors. The room inside was dim, which, as her eyes adjusted, disguised its cavernous space. The walls curved around the perimeter, and row upon row of desks filled the width. At the front of the room were three huge screens relaying information about the ISS, and she stopped to take it all in, drinking in the moment. Her involvement in science had never put her on the front line, but here she was and she was overwhelmed with awe.

  'It's quite something,' Bales said. 'If you'd like to follow me, we need to get down to business as soon as we can. I'm sorry for the haste, but time is of the essence.'

  Sally nodded understanding, and they walked around the room until Bales stopped at a row of desks, guiding her in to an empty seat next to a man who was adjusting his headset.

  'If you'd like to take a seat next to our CAPCOM Mr Dezhurov here. He'll be able to fill you in with the details. Mr Dezhurov, Miss Fisher; Miss Fisher, Mr Dezhurov.'

  Mr Dezhurov stood and shook her hand. He looked tired — very tired.

  'Pleased to meet you,' he said, his English dripping with heavy Russian intonation. 'You can call me Aleks.'

  'And I'm Sally.'

  They sat down.

  'Very briefly,' Aleks began, 'a few weeks ago, the crew of the ISS discovered a unidentified object.'

  He continued to describe what had happened, telling Sally about the difficulty in establishing visual contact with the vessel and their failure to communicate with i
t. He told her about Mikhail's hallucinogenic experiences and, making Sally's skin prickle, the harrowing two-word message that had been their last.

  'That transmission was recorded four days ago and was the last time we had contact with anyone on board the ISS,' Aleks concluded.

  'Oh my god,' Sally whispered, looking between the solemn faces of Aleks and Bales. 'But I'm afraid even with all my knowledge of long-range communication, we won't be able to penetrate the barrier of radiation from the solar storm to make contact with the crew. It's just not possible …'

  Aleks' face fell a little, and he looked at his desk.

  'I'm sorry you've brought me all this way to hear that, but there's nothing I can do to help you. You'll have to wait for the storm to die down.'

  'That's the problem,' Bales said. Sally looked at him; his narrow eyes were fixed on hers. 'The storm ended more than two days ago. We've had a clear window of communication for over twenty-four hours and there hasn't been a single response to any of our broadcasts.'

  Chapter 5

  Sally blinked, hearing but not understanding. 'I don't … I don't know what you mean,' she said. 'I mean, I do know what you mean, but I don't know what you need me for?'

  That churning, nauseating anxiousness began tumbling inside her again, and she held the desk to steady herself.

  'Are you okay?' Aleks asked.

  Sally nodded. 'I'll be fine,' she said, not feeling fine at all.

  Bales placed his hand on her shoulder.

  'We wanted you as an advisor to the ISS crew, to help them figure out how to make contact with UV One, but it's clear that's not going to happen now.' He paused, as if letting his words sink in. 'Sally, we need you to go to the station with one of our astronauts and resume the research yourself.'

  'But,' Sally whispered, her throat tightening, 'can't I do that from here?'

  'The station is in the best location, has the best equipment and offers you the best chance of making contact with UV One,' Bales said. 'I've been told there isn't anyone better suited to this job than you, and right now we can't do with anything less than that. This is a matter of global security. We can't cut corners.'

  He lifted his hand from her shoulder and clasped it together with his other. Aleks' eyes flitted backwards and forwards between them.

  'Take some time to think about it,' Bales said, his tanned face breaking into a reassuring smile that his stern eyes did not mirror.

  On the plane, Sally had hoped beyond hope that something like this would happen. She had done for a long time before, too. But now it was here, real, it was the last thing she wanted. Sitting in the corner of the canteen, clutching a tepid cup of coffee, she stared through the wall and way into the distance. The people around her came and went, some on their own, some in groups talking among themselves, but they registered only as a blur. She had hoped to find solace on her own in the canteen — it was how she worked best, how she cleared her mind. Solitude was who she was and she sought it out, embraced it even. But this — this was on another level. She felt more than alone: she felt lonely. She was already far away from home, from the comfort of familiarity, and they wanted to send her even further away. She didn't cry — she never was one for crying — she just felt lost, confused, and desperate to be back where she belonged.

  The sound of chair legs dragging against the floor made her jump, and she looked up. It was Aleks, who placed a steaming cup on the table in front of her.

  'I brought you fresh coffee,' he said.

  'Did John send you here to try and convince me to go?' Sally asked, staring at the old cup pressed between her palms.

  Aleks sat down next to her. 'No, not at all, nothing like that.'

  He took a deep breath as though he was going to continue talking, but instead he just sighed a long, loud sigh.

  'He's my friend you know,' he said after a while. 'Mikhail, that is. Has been for a very long time.'

  'You don't think he's coming back?' Sally asked.

  Aleks shrugged. 'I don't know. I haven't known what to think since — since it showed up.' He looked around the deserted canteen, his face anxious. 'I just want to know what's going on,' he said. 'I want to get some answers. Find out what happened to Mikhail and the others. For all I know this thing could kill us all tomorrow, and I don't want to go without knowing why.' He took a sip of his coffee. 'That's the reason why we — why you — are here isn't it? To ask why?'

  Sally gave an inward nod, but outside said and did nothing.

  'I don't trust Bales,' Aleks continued, 'and I don't like him either, but for now at least we're on the same team. I do trust you, though. I think you could be exactly what we need to sort this whole mess out and find some answers.'

  He put his cup down on the table and heaved himself to his feet. 'Do whatever you think's right, okay?'

  Sally nodded. 'I will.'

  Aleks nodded himself and wandered away, leaving Sally alone with her thoughts.

  The next day, with a clear mind, Sally was able to see things afresh, and her decision was made. It came easier than expected, and when she told Bales, she felt a sense of relief. Before she knew it, she was riding in a helicopter bound for Star City. Also known as Zvyozdny, Shchyolkovo Fourteen and Closed Military Townlet Number One, Star City was home to the secret cosmonaut training centre, Military Unit 26266, established during the 1960s space race between Soviet Russia and the US Now called the Gagarin Cosmonaut Training Centre — after the cosmonaut that made Soviet Russia the first power on Earth to put a man in space — and under civil command, it was a thriving town with its own school, shops, post office, cinema, railway station and even museum. Between the old Star City and the new, one thing still remained: its sole reason for existence was to train cosmonauts to cope with the rigours of space. Sally had dreamed of coming to this place since she was a little girl; for her, it was a Mecca of extra-terrestrial exploration and a doorway to the heavens.

  The beating blades of the helicopter thumped through her headphones, and Bales gave her a reassuring nod from the opposite seat. She watched through the glass bubble as the patchwork quilt of green fields slid beneath them, her heart pounding with each revolution of the blades. Clinging on to the dangling handhold, she tried to concentrate her mind on the beauty of the view rather than what was waiting for her at the end of it.

  'Not long now,' Bales' voice came, muted and muffled, over her headset. He tapped his watch to reiterate what he was saying in case it had been lost over the noise. And he was right: a mere minute or so later and the helicopter was descending down among a network of peeling grey buildings stretched out in uniform rows. The immediate skyline was punctured with other, more unusual buildings; in the fleeting moments of the descent, Sally noticed cylinders and domes dotted around the Eastern Bloc monotony.

  The pilot laid the skids on the concrete and gave Bales a thumbs up. Bales slid open the cabin door and jumped down, waving Sally to follow. She clambered out, letting him push her head down as they both ducked underneath the thundering blades. As soon as they cleared the helicopter's footprint, the pilot wound the engine up to full speed, sucking the metal and glass bird into the sky. Bales led the way. They turned onto what seemed to be the main boulevard, a wide strip lined with trees and tall concrete buildings whose patchy surfaces were weatherworn from many decades of harsh winters. The morning cloud had begun to break, letting in a stream of sunlight that glowed on Sally's back. The warmth made her feel at home, like it was an early Spring morning in California, and she shut her eyes for a few seconds to let the soothing reassurance calm her nerves. Just for a moment all was well as she stepped off the mental rollercoaster that had thrown her here and there ever since the call from NASA.

  They walked up to what looked like an apartment block, and Bales held the door open for her. Inside it was no different to any of the cheap motels Sally had stayed at during her student days: dirty, flaking paint, cheap fixtures, long corridors and a funny — but not unpleasant — smell.

 
'Let me show you to your room,' Bales said. He stopped at room twenty-four and opened the door. 'Lunch is at midday in the cafeteria building opposite. Training begins straight after. We've got a window of three weeks before the earliest launch date, and you've got six months of training to get through. It's going to be tough.'

  Sally walked into the sparse room and sat on the firm, narrow bed.

  'Good luck,' Bales said. 'You'll do just fine.'

  And then he was gone. The one window in the room was open, and a gentle breath of air flowed through, carrying with it the mysterious silence of the centre.

  * * *

  Over two thousand miles due South-East, in a remote patch in the middle of the hot, acrid desert of rural Baikonur, Kazakhstan, a flurry of activity was taking place under the watchful eye of the Cosmodrome Director. Although the parched landscape stretched out for many hundreds of miles in every direction, visible from space as a muted brown wasteland, the few square miles of his jurisdiction was the unlikely home of the space vehicle Soyuz.

  Fifty metres tall, ten metres wide and three hundred tonnes, the gargantuan evolution of 1960s rocket design was not where it should have been. The Director's schedule dictated that transport to the pad should have started four hours ago, yet the cylindrical craft remained prone in its folded gantry inside the MIK preparation building. Many anxious-faced engineers and scientists swarmed around it, working at a furious pace.

  Watching as the fragile, insect-like cargo was removed from its metal cocoon, it struck the Director — as it did every time he saw it — how incredible it was that such a tiny and delicate object required over one hundred and fifty tonnes of fuel to lift it just two hundred and fifty miles upwards. In the dust-free workshop, its shrink-wrapped foil carcass exposed, it seemed defenceless and frail against an atmosphere it wasn't designed for, a silvery fish rendered useless on dry land. Excess was not a word used in the design of these modules; anything that could be pared back was, leaving only a delicate skeleton behind.