Orb

by Gary Tarulli

  “There is,” Diana said, “something encouraging to be said for that.”

  “Maybe they’re trying to get accustomed to us,” Kelly said. “Imagine how unusual we must appear.”

  “That would be especially true for Kyle,” Thompson remarked.

  “Larry, I assume you weren’t able…” Paul’s voice trailed off. He reflected, then began again more carefully: “The modified spectroscopy array has yet to obtain a reading on the objects?”

  “No.”

  Melhaus, normally taciturn, had grown even more uncommunicative; engaging in only the most cursory conversation and rendering an opinion only when queried.

  “Explain yourself,” Thompson insisted.

  “The objects’ present size and distance hampers focusing. You people have to realize I can’t work miracles.”

  “Can we be of any assistance with targeting the array?” asked Paul.

  “Absolutely not.” Melhaus responded. “I’d advise no meddling with the system.” Then, almost as a painful afterthought, “Thanks.”

  The rest of the evening I hurried through my usual chores while the scientists, with one eye always toward the ocean, collected and evaluated information obtained from the various experiments they had under way.

  Melhaus consumed a few hours developing an idea put forth by Thompson: He patched together a light and various spare electronic components to construct a device that flashed sequentially timed pulses in the vicinity of the objects. They remained oblivious to the effort.

  Sometime late in the evening, as the rest of us were preparing to call it a day, Thompson exited Desio with a large bundle: His bedroll and some miscellaneous possessions.

  “Hope you have the weather right this evening,” I heard him say to Paul.

  Thompson then told us, that with the weather being so pleasant, he preferred sleeping under the stars. Moreover, he’d be the first to let us know if the objects did anything noteworthy. Or sought out Diana by name.

  Spheres

  I WAS STANDING on an island of ice in the middle of a boundless ocean. In the absence of a setting sun, darkness had replaced light. Raising my head, expecting to see stars, I was confounded by utter blackness. Staring outward to where the horizon had been, I found only a dark and formless void. Looking down to where my feet should be, I made a frightening discovery: My vision could not penetrate the darkness! With no point of reference, was I looking down? Were my feet, devoid of sensation from numbing ice, actually there? A surge of panic swept over me as I contemplated my dreadful situation. In a last act born from that panic I began frantically waving my formless hands in front of my face and an inescapable truth was revealed: All my senses had abandoned me! Nothing existed but eternal darkness! Oblivion! I started to scream.

  An endless, soundless, confirmatory scream.

  Darkness became daylight. I was no longer alone. Beside me was the tangible presence of something or someone I desired to see and to touch, but was prevented from doing so.

  What?

  I felt a push and I heard a voice.

  “The objects, they’ve moved closer! Kyle, wake up, Thompson is yelling for us.”

  I understood now. The objects. I was sleeping, or attempting to, in Kelly’s cabin. She was nudging me.

  “Morning … but get up!” In her excitement she forgot she was still prodding me. I began to hear Thompson’s voice in the distance, calling to us from somewhere outside.

  “Can’t be dreaming,” I said, still groggy. “I won’t allow Thompson to enter my dreams.”

  “Who’s Munch?”

  “What? Why…?”

  “Don’t remember? I woke you from a bad dream. Before you drifted back to sleep you mumbled something about a munch?”

  I hurriedly explained as we dressed. As we were about to exit Desio via the narrow portal, Diana appeared from nowhere. Issuing a quick, “brains and beauty first,” she pushed me aside and scampered through.

  “My guess is you no longer want to relocate to another island to conduct research,” I heard Thompson say to her as we joined him at the shoreline.

  The reason behind Thompson’s early-morning wake-up call was readily apparent: The twelve distant objects, likely the same ones sighted the prior evening, had moved to within one hundred meters of shore. In doing so, they proved to be larger than previously surmised (unless they grew overnight) with the largest being an impressive three meters in diameter—nearly three times the size of the smallest. I use the term diameter most specifically here, for all were floating, or more accurately hovering, with just one tiny section of their spherical mass contacting the undisturbed ocean surface.

  They also were no longer glowing, having resumed their blue-gray color from the day before. Their polished surface had a lustrous, nearly opaque quality, like that of a cultured pearl, but with slightly greater translucence, a milky opalescence which had us wondering if we could look beyond into the object’s very center. All remained nearly motionless, almost as if they were studying us as much as we were them. Motionless, that is, until Angie barked out a brief greeting and, coincidence or not, several shifted closer toward shore. In what manner this was accomplished was impossible to determine, for nothing was emitted, nor did they rotate, spin, or extend an appendage of any kind to facilitate propulsion.

  We passed several seconds in silence, as if anything we did or said would result in the objects making a hasty retreat. At the periphery of our group I noticed Melhaus, appearing agitated, pointing, adjusting, and repointing a hand-held laser micrometer at the spheres. What I could recall of the device was that it was extremely efficient at measuring an object’s exact size and shape.

  “Incomprehensible,” he said, talking more to himself than to us. “The internal test verifies the instrument is functioning properly.”

  “What’s the problem?” Diana asked, shaken from her silence. “Something about the instrument or the spheres?”

  “Spheres…” Melhaus responded, mumbling to himself, refusing to look up from the measuring device he squeezed tightly in his trembling hand.

  “Larry…” Diana began again, her patience wearing thin.

  Thompson gently put his hand over the body of the instrument the physicist was pointing, forcing him to look up and take notice of us for the first time.

  “Oh. Yes,” Melhaus said. “Spheres.”

  Somewhere in his own little world, Melhaus believed he had provided an answer.

  “Explain yourself,” Thompson said. “You can spare us the part about a sphere being round.”

  “You don’t comprehend,” Melhaus responded, looking at and through us, irritated that we didn’t understand. “That is the crux of the matter. We have in front of us objects so perfectly round they exceed the capabilities of this instrument to measure. Orders of magnitude rounder than anything found in nature. Surpassing laboratory-engineered spheres of monoisotopic silicon crystal. Shall I put it in perspective? If any of those objects somehow expanded to the size of the planet we’re standing on, all of its diameter measurements would correspond to within one meter and its greatly increased surface area would remain as smooth as polished glass.”

  A long, low whistle of appreciation came from Paul.

  “Tell me, how’s that possible?” asked Kelly. “They’re living organisms. Aren’t they?”

  “If they are, and I for one still believe they are,” Diana asserted, “we may have to come up with a different definition of living.”

  I flashed back to a recent description of the planet’s shape.

  “Larry, didn’t you say P5 was extraordinarily round?”

  “Are you trying to make a connection?” he challenged.

  “Is there one?”

  “No.”

  “Kyle’s floating trial balloons,” Thompson stated, “and I’m glad he’s doing so. The worst possible mistake we could make would be to assume a square peg won’t fit in a round hole.”

  I glanced at Thompson. He shrugged. “Thought you
’d appreciate that.” Then, in the same breath, “Larry, the minute you obtain results from the spectroscopy array, let me know. I’ll hold off till then.”

  “What are you planning?” Diana asked. “Just in case I have to be somewhere else.”

  “How would you and Kyle like to go for a swim?”

  Two hours elapsed before Melhaus came back with his initial findings.

  “What do you have for us?” Thompson asked.

  “I can’t wait to hear,” added Diana. “Eternity really flew by.”

  We had gathered at the outside table. Melhaus, as always, was sitting at the far end, studying chemical compounds on his AID. Scrutinizing his emotionless face, I had no idea what to expect.

  “I will have to disappoint,” he said impassively. “At least to the extent of definitively resolving the question at hand: Are the spheres living organisms?”

  “The modified array functioned properly?” inquired Thompson.

  “Within its limitations,” Melhaus remarked. “I have a list of elements and compounds.”

  “I don’t see the data on my AID,” Diana observed.

  Melhaus, choosing not to use its eye motion and voice recognition capabilities, tapped on his device. “Here,” he replied. “Sending. For you to peruse at leisure.”

  Diana glanced over the information. “Did you send me the correct file?” she asked, obviously puzzled.

  “You think I’m incapable of send—”

  “No,” Diana quickly interrupted, “maybe I accessed the wrong file.” She hesitated. “No, I have the correct one. Help me out here. I thought I accessed the work in progress on the chemical composition of the water. The reports look nearly identical.”

  “Yes,” Melhaus volunteered, “there is a striking similarity. Marginally higher concentrations of certain metalloids and oxygen in the spheres, marginally lower concentrations of other compounds.”

  “And, like the water analysis you performed,” Thompson reflected, “compounds never seen before. Any closer to understanding them?”

  “Are you any closer to understanding the geological forces forming the spires?” Melhaus shot back, realizing full well that particular problem was continuing to vex Thompson.

  A light danced in Thompson’s eyes. “Point taken,” he said, refusing to take the bait.

  “I’m working on what created the spires,” I volunteered.

  “Still no planet name?” Thompson countered.

  “Almost there,” I responded. “I promise one by this evening.”

  “You and Diana get ready. The three of us are going for a little swim.”

  The purpose of the swim, a close-up look at the spheres, was obvious. The particulars—well, that had me wondering. I noticed Diana fidgeting. She was probably experiencing the same rush of adrenalin.

  “Here’s the plan,” Thompson said, focusing on Diana and me, but submitted for everyone’s consumption. “The three of us will swim out, slowly, in a loose ‘V’ formation. Naturally, I’ll take the lead. My intention is to carefully approach a sphere and conduct a visual examination. There’s a good chance it will retreat and the experiment will be over as soon as we get our feet wet.”

  “And if it does retreat?” Diana asked.

  “We’ll have a little more information than we do now. With any luck the sphere will remain passive and stationary, at which point I intend to touch its surface. If I get no reaction, or a benign one, the experiment slowly continues. The operative word is slowly.”

  “And Kyle and me?” Diana inquired. “What do we do?”

  “When I say it’s safe, swim up to the nearest sphere. Then use your imagination. Try not to do anything too overt. A small application of pressure to determine if the sphere will respond. Perhaps we’ll learn how they move. It’ll be tough to accomplish much more while we’re treading water.”

  “A low-tech approach?” Paul commented.

  “Purposefully.”

  “You’re passing up a chance to get more information,” Melhaus asserted. “Why not take the portable densitometer and a diamond knife for taking a sample? The knife is waterproof; the meter can easily be made so.”

  “Sorry, Larry,” Thompson responded. “We are dealing with too many unknowns.”

  “Exactly my point,” Melhaus responded, “Far too many—”

  “Listen,” Thompson said, cutting him off. “The greater risk is proceeding too fast and having the spheres vanish as quickly as they appeared. Everything indicates they, whatever ‘they’ are, come and go at will.”

  “You’re wrong in this,” Melhaus said, “and I’d like the ship’s log to reflect my recommendation as being ignored.”

  “No, not ignored,” Thompson said. “The log will reflect your recommendation as being duly considered and deemed not appropriate for the current circumstances. Now let’s move on. What I’d like you and Kelly to do is observe what transpires from an elevated shoreline position. Use the height advantage to alert us of problems we are unable to see.”

  “Why not send one person out there?” asked Kelly.

  “There are twelve spheres. I’d rather we not be perceived, if we are perceived at all, as being too tentative. If something goes wrong, one person can assist another. This brings me to the next point, Diana. You, too, Kyle. If I say we end our little experiment, we end it.”

  “How can I assist?” Paul asked.

  “You’ll be manning the holo camera.”

  The previous evening a holographic camera had been set up near the shore to obtain a comprehensive visual record of the spheres. So far the spheres had stayed in relatively the same position, like tethered balloons bobbing in a light breeze. The camera might need repositioning and refocusing depending on the reaction to our approach.

  I considered Thompson’s plan to be a bit unorthodox, but the spheres weren’t coming closer. If they disappeared over the horizon, as happened yesterday, we’d have lost a valuable opportunity. As we were about to get wet, Thompson addressed Melhaus, Paul, and Kelly to clarify one more point.

  “We should be safe enough, but if a circumstance arises that prevents my input, don’t place yourselves in undue jeopardy. I expect the three of you to evaluate the situation and reach a consensus as to how to act accordingly.”

  Thompson, I reflected, had chosen his words carefully. Melhaus was next in line for command—not reassuring given the questionable state of his mental health. What Thompson diplomatically accomplished (Melhaus’s blank expression did not reveal he objected) was to assure that decisions would be strongly influenced, or made, by Paul and Kelly.

  “Everybody ready?” Thompson asked, preparing to enter the water, with Diana and I to immediately follow. I squatted down to pet Angie, who sensed something was going to happen. Kelly stood over us, unable to disguise the look of concern shadowing her face.

  “You’ll keep track of Angie while I go for a swim?” I wasn’t being melodramatic—just prudent.

  “Of course. You’ll be careful?”

  I showed her a confident smile. “Look at it this way,” I said, gesturing to the featureless spheres, “they can’t bite.”

  Almost immediately upon entering the water—Thompson was up to his knees—the spheres reacted: Their subtle and seemingly random motion immediately ceased, only for a few seconds, then resumed exactly as before.

  “Incredible,” Diana said. “They somehow sensed us in the water.”

  “Want to stop?” Thompson said.

  “Not on your life…” Diana caught herself. “Sorry.”

  Thompson laughed. “Let’s swim out. Follow my lead.”

  The three of us were accomplished swimmers: Thompson and I from our hobbies in, and on, the water, Diana from her “hands-on” approach in the field of marine biology. The chances Thompson had overlooked this fact were slim to none.

  The twelve spheres were dispersed over an area of less than half a football field. Within a few strokes of the nearest, a rather large one at that, Thompson began tread
ing water so as to reassess the situation. Seeing the sphere at close range gave my heart, already pounding from the swim, a few added beats. I was using a lot of energy just to keep my head above water, gazing at an object too massive to fit through a double doorway. Yet it was effortlessly resting on a patch of water smaller than a lily pad.

  “Everybody fine?” Thompson inquired. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “No sweat,” Diana replied.

  “One oversized beach ball,” I said in between breaths.

  Nearly motionless, the sphere seemed perfectly content to stay exactly where it was. Even so (and even after confirming that there were no marks, seams, or openings of any type marring its pristine surface) I began to feel this entity (if I dare call it such) was, in some inexplicable way, closely scrutinizing me.

  “This one is too big to mess with,” Thompson decided. A short distance away floated a sphere of more manageable size. Thompson pointed. “Let’s head for baby brother.”

  The smaller, less intimidating sphere, by way of comparison, was just shy of Diana’s height. Thompson swam to within arm’s reach, then glanced back to assure himself that Diana and I, as instructed, were trailing an appropriate distance behind.

  “Here goes.” Thompson was doing an admirable job of maintaining outward composure, but an off note in his voice gave him away. He had every right to be excited: He was about to be the first person in history to reach out beyond the confines of Earth and touch something that conceivably, and in who knows what manner, decide to touch back.

  But to actually contact the curved surface of the sphere, Thompson first needed to maneuver himself into very close proximity and simultaneously reach up with his arm. As he strove to do so, Kelly suddenly shouted “look there!” I could see her gesturing wildly and pointing. Diana and I, startled, looked past Thompson. Barreling toward him like a huge curling stone across a patch of slick ice was the largest of the twelve spheres.

  We froze. I heard Angie barking. I heard Kelly and Paul shouting, “Bruce, look out!”