Explorations: First Contact

by Isaac Hooke

  Cdr. Edmunds looked at her Captain as she watched the screen beside him. “Bouchard’s heart rate is fast. She’s scared.”

  Daniels was leaning forward at his station, arms crossed, fingers and toes tapping.

  The buzzing from Laurentides’ radio relays sounded loud on the bridge of the Halifax. The sound was joined by more ratcheting, clicks and pops as the aliens drew themselves up from the blindingly bright circular entrance to the sphere. The buzzing intensified.

  Daniels watched the screen. “They’re big. Probably originated in low-gravity. I don’t think those limbs could support them on Earth. I wish we had better lights on them.”

  They waited and watched.

  ***

  Begin VR Playback, Laurentides : 2179-03-15 11:23:41

  “Incroyable!” Dr. Poitras exclaimed. The buzzing in their ears was now joined by rapid clicking and rasping sounds, like a fingernail being drawn over the tines of a comb. She laughed, hands clasped in front of her. “Hello! Hello, my friends!”

  The first of the aliens reached down and took the communications box from Bouchard’s shaking hands, held it up in its spikey forehands so it could grip it with the smaller, more capable manipulator hands near its head. It turned the box around, studying it, supporting it with one of its larger arms. Bouchard cowered in front of the massive creature, a tiny ball on the surface compared to the looming alien.

  Poitras stepped closer. “It’s okay, Annick,” she said. “They want to see…” The second alien scudded towards her and shot an arm forward like a spear, puncturing Poitras’ chest. The long sharp fingers extending out the back of her suit as her voice stopped short and wet.

  Gasps on the headsets were joined by a loud screech from one of the aliens.

  The second alien’s arm retracted and Doctor Poitras fell to the ground, a cloud of air crystallizing around her from her ruptured suit. The lead alien took a step back and the buzzing sounds changed pitch. A scramble of voices in their headsets from Halifax yelling to get out of there, asking what was happening. The other two aliens stepped forward and picked Bouchard up under her arms, carrying her towards the entrance. Still more of the aliens were waiting for them, ready to emerge from the swirling shadows. “T-Taggert!”

  “Annick!” the tactical officer yelled after her, but was blocked by the lead alien holding her communications device. It watched him for a moment, free arm dangling in front of it between them, pointing at him, a ratcheting noise grating across his headset. Then it backed up, long segmented legs moving like an ant’s or spider’s, before it turned around and descended into the opening after its companions.

  Taggert turned and ran back into the shuttle.

  ***

  “Upon further reflection and analysis, it became clear that the noise we’d chosen – the ratchet sound – was not, strictly speaking, a greeting. And I have had a long time to think about that now. I’ve replayed the footage – pored over that first encounter in close detail – and it seems clear now.

  “These aliens… Centaurids, I suppose – they’re in constant communication with one another. The humming sound we picked up on our instruments is a kind of carrier signal. It is the baseline of their communications. The clicks and buzzes are from the individuals negotiating transfer into the communication stream. We were approaching these noises as if they were language, but in effect, it’s more of a protocol. A rigid system of negotiating on and off this central hive stream that they use. It’s as if they are sharing a single mind, each one of them a node, the buzzing a stream of consciousness.”

  A man in uniform leaned on the table. “Are these the people who created the Dyson sphere?”

  “In a way, yes. I believe they are the worker class for some other entity or group. Their behavior and hive-mind is simple. Primitive, in a way. I’m not sure the individuals of this species are capable of independent thought, and unless they have a higher caste, wouldn’t be capable of conceiving of and executing a project as vast as the Dyson sphere, let alone developing the means of interstellar travel required for such a project.”

  [Pause]

  “I believe they are organic in nature, wearing suits as we do in vacuum. Perhaps they are permanently affixed to their suits. It may be that their suits provide the link between them all. But they behave like machines. They are effectively drones.”

  [Machine readouts indicate diagnostics results spewing onto the displays. A self-initiated repair system patching a section of memory returning error codes, bad sectors walled off. Restricted access.]

  “I—I should have known. I should have been able to decode their protocol correctly. When our crew played the ‘greeting’ sound and incorrectly inserted themselves into the hum, the away team effectively broke protocol. They were invaders in the hive mind. An error.

  “I don’t know why they took Sub-Lieutenant Bouchard. Perhaps they decided to bring her inside to study her. Perhaps they recognized the machine she carried as a communications device. They may have seen her as an asset. Or…”

  [Pause]

  “I am so sorry.”

  ***

  Begin VR Playback, Bridge 2179-03-15 11:41:57

  “Franklin, as soon as the Laurentides is onboard, I want you to jump to our fallback position. Be ready.” Captain Macdonald was planted on the deck of the bridge, staring at the monitors. The four graphs from the away team contained one flat-line, one signal error and two erratic, pounding heartbeats, one in excess of one hundred and sixty beats per minute. Taggert’s.

  The small encounter module lifted off the surface of the sphere, CP021 watching from above before the signal blinked out.

  Commander Edmunds shot a look over at the science and navigation station. “Daniels, get us eyes on that pod. What happened to the probe?”

  Lt. Daniels, eyes red, looked back at his Commander with an expression of raw hatred and sorrow. “They took her! Why did you have to send her? Annick…”

  Edmunds snapped to Acting Sub-Lieutenant Tess Domi, “Domi, take over. Lieutenant Daniels, you are relieved.”

  Daniels stood up and turned on Commander Edmunds. “She was pregnant! We…we were…” He broke down.

  Edmunds turned to the doors and waved for security to remove him.

  The Captain watched as Daniels was escorted off the deck. He took his seat, deep consternation on his face, eyes returning to the screens. He made a fist, willing the unseen encounter module to get back to their ship. “Find out what happened to that probe. Get me my ship back.”

  Domi seated herself at the science station and situated herself in virtual space. She pulled in a replacement for CP021 and a new feed appeared from CP037 on the main display. “I have a fix.” The image wobbled, stars drifting as the drone oriented itself onto the tiny fleeing dot of Laurentides.

  “Halifax, we are en route. Repeat, we are en route. ETA…” Sub-Commander Haché was cut off as a flash appeared on screen.

  “Displacement detected!” Domi announced, alarm in her voice as screens shuffled on the main display. CP011 showed a spheroid object in space.

  “Position?” Edmunds barked.

  “Nine thousand meters, forward.” Pierre read out the position, unable to contain what passed for excitement from a ship’s Advisor.

  Franklin turned around and looked at the Captain, hands on the displacement drive controls.

  “Where is Laurentides?” Captain Macdonald asked the acting science officer.

  She looked around, shaking her head.

  The Captain gripped the arms of his chair. “Helm, get us out of here. Now!”

  Franklin turned around. “Aye, sir.” He was mid-press on the control to displace the ship when a distant thump reverberated through the ship. “Not responsive.” Franklin’s board lit up in red, errors all over as the main screen outside showed glowing machinery drifting past the prow of the Halifax.

  More thumps and warning klaxons began blaring on the bridge, red lights flashing.

  “They’re displacin
g our engines!” Domi yelled as the screens began to flicker.

  The deck lurched underneath them as a loud explosion rocked through the ship.

  “Captai-ai-n. We nee- to `ooo aband’n shi-p,” Pierre said, voice strained and vocoded.

  “Yes.” The Captain lurched to his feet, punching the ship’s intercom, hanging onto a strap on the railings for balance in the careening bridge car. “All hands, this is your Captain. Abandon ship. Repeat, abandon ship. Evacuate now. We are jettisoning the passenger cars.”

  He turned, still hanging from the strap. “Tactical, begin the countdown. Give them sixty seconds.”

  Sub-Lieutenant Dallaire shook his head. “I have no controls, sir. We’ll have to eject manually.”

  Macdonald looked at his first mate, Commander Edmunds. “Go with him. Round up everybody you can and blow the ring. Go!”

  Edmunds shook her head. “Everyone off the deck! Round up the crew and get to the passenger cars. Eject when full. Go, go, go!”

  Another explosion rocked the ship as the crew wobbled and pulled themselves off the bridge in the flickering lights.

  Edmunds pulled herself hand-over-hand to the Captain along the railing. “We should get to the forward bridge, sir. We may have some emergency control left.”

  The Captain pulled his first mate close to him. For the first time in twenty-two years he held her. “I don’t think we have time for that.” Another explosion shook them, but he held her close.

  “Pierre. You have one last order. Can you still hear me?”

  “C-aaptaiiin. Yesss.”

  “Launch the comm-bomb. Get out of here. Tell them about us. Tell them what you’ve seen. You have to go, now!”

  “Ayy, sir. It has beeeenn… a pleeas-ure to seeerve…*”

  The lights flashed and another part of the ship displaced away. The core containing the ship’s computer jumped out of existence.

  The view of the bridge vanished.

  ***

  “I returned home on automatic. My limited power reserves did not allow me full control of my faculties. I spent much of the voyage in limited sleep mode. You might say I was dreaming.

  “I … did have some time to think about the events of that final day, March 15th, 2179. The ship that displaced in was spherical, but I don’t think it was the same as the Sphere ship that came here to Earth. It had an altogether different signature. The reflective properties were closer to that of the Dyson sphere around Tabby’s Star. Black body. No albedo.

  “Whoever or whatever was operating that device had a much greater control of displacement technology than we do. They seemed able to direct it. Focus it outside their vessel on the components of our ship in a highly accurate manner. They knew exactly which components to displace to disable us immediately.”

  The man in the uniform—the Admiral—asked, “Did they scan us?”

  “I had no impression of that, no. I believe… they’d been on our ship for months.”

  The Admiral looked at the assembled captains, senior officials and scientists around the table. Expressions of alarm and raised eyebrows.

  “The changes in the crew were…an attempt at communication, I think. Or maybe manipulation. Somehow, these aliens—and I don’t think they were the same as the aliens encountered on the surface of Tabby’s Sphere—I think they were modifying the endocrine systems of the crew. It’s the only explanation for the changes in behavior and physical condition I witnessed.”

  [Pause]

  “Admiral?”

  “Yes, Pierre?”

  “I seem to be missing… records. Chunks of my memory are … gone.”

  Another voice. One of the computer specialists. “You were damaged in the escape.”

  “I see.” [Pause] “May I ask another question?”

  “You may.”

  “What… year is it? I can’t seem to access any of the naval timeservers. Or… anything else.”

  “That will be all, Pierre.” The Admiral stood up first, and then his staff. “Dismissed.”

  The Admiral turned and left the sealed white room, one of his Captains following closely behind.

  The Captain: “What should we do with him?”

  “Shut him down.”

  Robert M. Campbell Bio

  Robert M. Campbell hails from the east coast of Canada, having recently returned to New Brunswick after extended stays in Toronto and Ottawa. An early love of astronomy and technology eventually led him to a career in software engineering. Robert studied Computer Science and Anthropology at Acadia University in Nova Scotia.

  After twenty years working in the aerospace, government and open source software sectors, he has written his first science fiction novels, Trajectory Book 1 and Book 2 – the first instalments of a projected six in the New Providence Series. Book 3 is slated for release in early 2017.

  Other interests include travel and photography, and Robert was fortunate to spend a good amount of time in Silicon Valley and environs, soaking up the experiences and mindset of the tech culture. He has traveled across western Europe, on driving tours through Southern France and Spain, and walking through sections of Paris and London. In 2013, he and his wife spent a month exploring and photographing South Africa in a Toyota Hilux which he misses greatly and would one day like to meet again.

  Robert and his wife recently completed renovations on their small hobby farm on the river where they focus on writing and art. They hope to fill it with dogs in the near future. At least two.

  Sign up for his mailing list: http://eepurl.com/cauWDz

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  Amazon Author Page

  Mercurial Rescue

  By Isaac Hooke

  Lieutenant Jenna Drake, chief scientist and commanding officer of the exploration vessel Thetis, bounded across the stark white dust of the moon. Each breath she took sounded loud, reflected as it was by the confines of her helmet. The faceplate fogged very slightly with every exhale, forming a misty sheen that quickly faded.

  The bulky spacesuit hardly affected her movements: the lower gravity of the moon easily countered the suit’s dead weight. Including the mass of her suit, and the thick suitcase of scientific instruments she carried, she weighed only forty-two pounds.

  She vaulted forward, each step the equivalent of two paces under ordinary Earth gravity. Clouds of moon dust enveloped her boots where they landed, the particles settling languorously, like the disturbed sediment at the bottom of a lake.

  She leaned her body in the direction she wanted to go, keeping her center of mass forward. Underneath her boots, the surface felt somewhat slippery, halfway between ice and finely polished rock. It was because of that thin layer of moon dust coating the hard surface underneath.

  Her helmet light cut through the murk before her. The cone had an oddly sharp quality: there was no diffusion—without an atmosphere, the light could not diffuse.

  “You think the batteries died?” Lieutenant (jg) Anderson asked over the communications band.

  Jenna glanced at her spacesuit-clad assistant. “I don’t know.”

  The ruins of the ancient civilization lay just ahead. Black, crumbling towers erupted from a dark torus embedded in the moon, like the fingers of a drowning man thrusting from the viscous liquid of a swamp. Above, interspersed among the infinite points of light in the sky, floated the ring-like cloud of ejecta that had been released by the dying star, forming the planetary nebula. It was lit by the rays of the white dwarf that remained in place of the original star. Though beautiful, those purple and red hues had a mournful quality.

  “Remind me again why we didn’t place the outpost closer to the ruins?” Anderson said.

  “First Contact Federation protocols,” Jenna said.

  “Ah. Those again. Gotta love the FCF program.”

  “Don’t be bitter,” Jenna replied. “It’s what brought us here in the first place.”

>   “And so it is,” Anderson said. He sounded even more bitter with those words.

  “Someday you’ll look back on all of this,” Jenna said, “and realize what a great gift it is that we were able to come here on an exploration mandate.”

  “Maybe,” Anderson said. “But not today. I’m telling you, we should really recall the robots to check this out for us.”

  “And wait the two weeks for them to return from Cygnus 5?” Jenna told him. “I don’t think so.” Cygnus 5 was the nearby dwarf planet that contained the secondary alien ruin site. “Besides, they have work to do. I can’t recall them for every tiny incident we have.”

  “Well, you should have left a few of them behind,” Anderson said. “I’m surprised FCF protocol didn’t demand it.”

  “We deemed the site safe,” Jenna said. “You agreed with my decision. As did Grange.”

  “And so we did...”

  “If you start another sentence with ‘and so,’ I’m going to lose it,” Jenna said.

  “And so you will.”

  “Grrr.”

  As the pair neared the base of the ruined torus, the light from their headlamps illuminated the resinous surface. Because it was partially translucent, the corridors on the other side looked almost like they were patterns embedded within that resin. Scans had hinted at a biomimetic source, though it was also possible that the material had been created by the bodies of the extinct inhabitants themselves, perhaps emitted by some sort of duct organs, as found in Terran larvae. Still, the massive size of the ruins ruled out that possibility for the most part, unless the aliens had been giants.

  A small opening allowed them to enter a circular tunnel. The surfaces of the walls, floor and ceiling were mostly smooth, except for the ringlike ribs that interrupted at regular intervals—it was as if the tunnel had been created by the transversal muscles of some worm that had crawled through the resin by alternately compressing and expanding its body. The bottom portion was covered in the same moon dust as the plains outside, implying the incredible age of the place.