Transition of Order

by P. R. Adams

  Rimes walked over to the portside hatch and locked it down. He did the same to the starboard hatch, then he scanned the hold one last time. Nothing obvious jumped out to him.

  He sealed the forward hold.

  Andrea took his hand. “Why would you say we’re being used?”

  Rimes stared at her hand for a moment before responding. “When you stole the Erikson, what were you after?”

  “It’s a large vessel and it was heavily stocked with supplies. Why wouldn’t we take it?”

  Rimes locked eyes with her. “How did you even know about it? It’s not the sort of thing ADMP would advertise.”

  “Many of us were created by ADMP. We’re not ignorant of its inner workings. The Erikson had a big enough budget to catch our attention years ago, when we were planning our escape.”

  Rimes thought for a moment; her explanation made perfect sense. “All right. So you stole it for your own use. Why bring it all the way out here, though? Why not take it and go?”

  “We needed to stop your hunt.” Her voice was flat, her features almost frozen. “Drawing you here in ambush seemed ideal.”

  For the first time, Rimes felt he was seeing an attempt at deception. He smiled. “I don’t think so. Here’s what I think: I think you stumbled upon the ship’s mission and you couldn’t help wondering why ADMP would send a ship like this out to a barren world that, by all accounts, held negligible value. I think you couldn’t figure out what they were after before we arrived and you were caught between abandoning this little mystery or trying to lure us into a trap. At the end of the day, curiosity and greed got the best of you and you decided to go with the trap.”

  Andrea’s features once again became unreadable. “You sound like you’ve figured everything out. Now all you need is to find your missing people.”

  “Curiosity and greed are very human traits, don’t you think?” Rimes pressed closer to her, and she didn’t pull away.

  His earpiece chimed.

  He stepped back and glanced at the communications readout. It was Meyers. “What’s up?”

  “Captain?” Meyers attempted to open a shared workspace.

  Rimes accepted. “Find something?”

  “Answers. I think.”

  A video began playing in the workspace. It showed the ship interior, the galley. Several people—a combination of men and women, young and middle-aged, various races and mixes—sat around a table. They were raising glasses to toast something. They wore coveralls with ADMP logos. Some wore ship jackets with Tesla patches on the left breast. Audio accompanying the playback was choppy, almost incoherent. The recording jumped, with seconds missing at a time.

  Rimes caught the recording metadata: 19 July 2167, 0733, Galley Security Camera, Tesla.

  “That’s your crew.” Meyers sounded disappointed.

  The video froze and a circle wrapped each person’s head with a line connecting the circle to a callout with an official identification display. Rimes examined each one—Vaneet Khan, pilot; Cindy Lu, co-pilot; Warren Rayfield, mission commander; Tom Palmer and Rebekah Ortiz, security experts; Charles Andruszko, Natalie Dougherty, Pamela Eggart, Richard Howell, Paola Trinca, and Georg Wirth, scientists.

  Rimes wished he had access to the Grid. “Where’d you find this?”

  “Lieutenant Watanabe thought of checking the security archive. I guess someone tried to delete everything, but they used a simple aging out process rather than a full scrub. We’re recovering what we can. You’re looking at one of the better pieces. Give it an hour or so; we’ll have more. But check the next one.”

  Another video played. Rimes scanned the metadata: 22 July 2167, 2308, Cargo Bay Security Camera, Tesla.

  The crew was gathered throughout the hold. Andruszko and Eggart were working with the security team to set a large, heavy case down near the open airlock door. Palmer had bundles of rope bunched on the back of his harness. Howell and Rayfield stood close to each other next to the central shaft, talking.

  Rimes noticed that Ortiz had mods to her eyes—probably infrared enhancements. After a quick scan of the others, Rimes guessed half the crew were modified in one way or another. Jimmies. Genetic modifications of some sort were all but required to get on with the metacorporations. At a minimum, cerebral enhancements—faster mental processing, greater memory, sometimes even limited telepathy—were necessary to pass grueling hiring examinations.

  Snippets of audio filled Rimes’s ear, and he tried to make sense of them. Audible over the banging of gear and other background noise, he heard mention of “the structure” and “descent”. A one-minute gap in the metadata and half of the Tesla crew was gone. The other half wrestled the large container and a smaller one out of the airlock as dark gray sand blew into the bay beneath their feet. Khan and Lu watched from the middle of the cargo bay.

  The video froze.

  “They were on-planet by 22 July,” Meyers said. “I’d guess earlier, but that’s your timeframe.”

  Rimes muted his microphone and looked at Andrea. “The Tesla landed somewhere around 22 July. Eleven person crew, including six scientists.” As she considered that, Rimes came off mute. “I saw ropes and heard one of them say descent and a couple mentions about a structure. I’m thinking they went into that crater? What structure are they referring to?”

  “Yeah, that’s my guess too. I haven’t found anything else mentioning a structure yet. Give me time.”

  “They left the pilots behind. Any idea what happened to them?” As Rimes talked, he turned to examine the cargo bay, finally figuring out where the camera would have to be based on the recording’s angle. He walked back into the bay and spotted the camera emplacement.

  “We see you.” Meyers cleared his throat. “Um, you might want to wash your face. You’ve got…smudges around your lips.”

  Rimes lowered his head, embarrassed. He walked back toward the shaft, avoiding Munoz’s eyes. At the forward hold hatch, Rimes pulled his right glove off then detached his water container. He poured a little water into his hand and quickly washed his face. He was too ashamed to look back into the cargo bay. “Thanks.”

  “We haven’t gotten anything more on the pilots yet.” If Meyers was bothered by what he’d seen, he didn’t let on. “But look at the most recent recording we were able to recover. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

  Once again, video played in the workspace. Rimes saw a Commando, in full armor and environmental suit, standing over the spray of components, inspecting them. The Commando turned to look at the open airlock door then back toward the central shaft. Rimes captured the Commando’s image when a straight-on shot became available. The Commando’s helmet was open, but his face was draped in shadow. As the video continued, the Commando moved beneath the camera and out of sight. The file’s metadata showed 30 September.

  “A month ago.” Rimes began manipulating the snapshot image, enhancing the resolution, working on contrast and brightness. Finally, he had a good enough image to begin drilling down, but he already had a cold sense of certainty he knew who he was looking at.

  “What do you think about sending a scouting team out? See if we can figure out where they took those cases they had, maybe get a look into that crater? It’s always possible they’re still there, waiting at the edge, maybe living in a survival tent.”

  Rimes watched the Commando’s face resolve, filling the display. He closed his eyes and shook his head. It was Pasqual. He looked dazed, disoriented. Rick. No! “Uh, h-how would you figure out where they went?” Rimes tried to shake off a sense of doom. “Those sandstorms…there aren’t going to be any tracks.”

  “It’s just a few hundred meters.” Meyers sounded surprisingly confident given what they’d been facing. “Even if the wind kicks up again, we can make that in a round trip in an hour. If it’s clear, we can probably see any tents or other structures within a klick or two.”

  “Okay.” Okay? What am I thinking? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Andrea look up at him curiously. �
�Have Sung stay with Watanabe while the recovery runs on those files. Take Kershaw with you. To the crater edge and back. Nothing more.” This is insane. Why am I risking this? Because Rick might be out there? “Don’t take any chances. If you see a sandstorm kicking up, head straight back.” What am I doing?

  Rimes watched Andrea for a moment, hoping he might see in her reaction any hint his own confusion was justified. She blinked slowly, sleepily.

  Meyers closed the shared workspace. “Easy enough.”

  “Did you get through to the Valdez?” Why am I letting them go off? We need to stay together. “Meyers, I—”

  “Radio’s out. I’m guessing that’s why they ran the SOS from the shuttle. We can give the antenna a look on our way to the crater. Maybe we just need to replace that.”

  It’s not like Meyers to walk away from a technical problem. “Did you actually give the radio a look?”

  “Well…” Meyers’s voice faded. “Just now. Diagnostics says it’s okay. That definitely makes me think it’s an antenna problem.”

  It’s not like him. This isn’t like me. “Send me an image when you get a look at it. Maybe we can find a spare in the maintenance areas down here.”

  Meyers disconnected, leaving Rimes suddenly alone with his thoughts. It was irresponsible and wrong to let a single person head out into the area’s unpredictable environment. He was sending two. They would lose communications less than fifty meters out from the yacht.

  “You’re sending someone out?” Andrea looked surprised. She yawned. “Why?”

  “I…I wish I knew.”

  Rimes thought of calling Meyers back and canceling the expedition, but there was no going back now.

  Rimes shook his head. He wasn’t sure where all the confusion was coming from. He’d given his approval. The expedition made sense.

  And yet, Rimes was sure it was an idea he would normally be completely opposed to—high risk, low reward. Not being able to resolve that inconsistency worried him, although not nearly as much as the inexplicable apathy he was feeling about it.

  37

  30 October, 2167. Fourth planet of the COROT-7 system.

  * * *

  THE TESLA’S galley felt cool to Rimes’s freshly showered skin, the plastic bench of the table he sat at even cooler. After so many hours crammed into the same uniform and environmental suit, running through the desert, the scent of soap on his skin was a glorious change. He felt human again and greatly revitalized. Even the uncertainty about his decisions had started to fade a little.

  He took a sip from one of the ship’s mugs—white, plastic, clean. The coffee’s aroma was sharp, and it stayed with him along with the taste—pleasantly bitter and earthy. He ran a finger across his tender lips; they were healing. Slowly.

  Andrea stared at him over the rim of a perfect twin to his mug. She seemed the same as before: a predator watching her prey. Watanabe sat to Andrea’s left, Sung to Rimes’s right. They were focused on a display built into the tabletop, where the recovered security camera videos were playing.

  “So those were the…pilots?” Watanabe asked. “I cannot understand why they would have come all the way to the Tesla just to take the reactor apart.”

  Sung rubbed at his eyes, then he reversed the video until the pilots were visible again, standing in the cargo bay, reactor components in their hands. “I don’t think the question is why, it’s how.” Sung froze the video and framed the face of one of the pilots. The pilot’s eyes were glazed, unfocused. “See? They’re sleepwalking.”

  Watanabe restarted the video, watching it closely. “Drugs, perhaps? They seem organized in some ways. They are working in that same area. They are separating the components with care.”

  Andrea watched the video for a moment. Cleaned up, with most of her bruising healed, her exotic, almost alien beauty was magnetic. Her amber eyes reflected concern.

  Rimes wondered what could cause her such concern, then he recalled what they’d just talked about: it had been two hours and Meyers and Kershaw hadn’t returned.

  The video drew Rimes’s eyes, and he heard Sung repeat the word: sleepwalking.

  I let them go out there. Am I sleepwalking and I don’t even realize it?

  Sung drilled in closer on the pilots’ glazed eyes.

  Are we all sleepwalking?

  Sung reversed the video to the point where the pilots entered the cargo bay, slowing it when one of the pilots came into view carrying a fairly large and possibly shielded container. “What about the fuel?”

  Rimes shook off the strange malaise and ran the video backward and forward. There was a gap in the recording after the container showed up. When the video resumed, the container was nowhere to be seen.

  “We can organize a search.” Rimes knew they wouldn’t find the container. Images of the crater played through his mind. The fuel was in the crater, along with the Tesla’s crew and the Commandos. And the pilots. And Meyers and Kershaw. “When we searched the forward hold, we didn’t see anything but food, medicine, and spares, but we didn’t check every crate.”

  Sung looked at Watanabe. “We could check the quarters. Maybe Meyers overlooked it when he checked out the reactor? We could check there too. And Sheila can help Munoz and Theroux with the cargo hold.”

  Andrea’s eyes narrowed. “What about the two you sent out to the crater? You’re all acting like they don’t even exist anymore, like they didn’t go off alone.”

  Watanabe stared at the video, ashamed or hypnotized; it was impossible to tell. “Maybe—”

  Andrea glared at Watanabe. “You’ve seen the look in the pilots’ eyes. They weren’t like that in the earlier videos. Something changed them. And now something might be changing you.” She looked at Rimes again. “It might be affecting us. You said you were worried we were already influenced. Now you act like it was nothing?”

  Sung exchanged a nervous glance with Watanabe. “How do you mean?”

  Rimes chewed his bottom lip, wincing at the sharp pain when it cracked and salty blood trickled into his mouth. “She means I okayed Meyers and Kershaw going to the crater. I realized it was questionable at the time, but I approved it anyway. She’s right. It could be a sign of outside influence. Looking at the faces we’ve seen so far, we should be worried. We can’t just stay sealed up in the Tesla now. We don’t have a radio until we repair the antenna mast. How long before the genies find us? A day? Two? Let’s assume we get the radio operational. If Meyers and Kershaw don’t show up before the genies, we’ll be forced to seal them outside.”

  Sung blinked nervously. “So what are you proposing, Captain?”

  “We go looking for Meyers and Kershaw as a group. They’re out there, possibly down in the crater already. I told Meyers to go straight to the crater’s edge and back, but if there’s something affecting us, influencing our minds, he may not have realized he was disobeying orders.”

  They quietly sat for several uncomfortable seconds, eyes darting nervously. Watanabe looked at Sung for support. He gave a subtle nod and moved his right hand a few centimeters closer to hers. Andrea watched the interplay, eyebrows raised, apparently intrigued by the fragile and complex nature of human emotional dynamics.

  “Captain Rimes,” Watanabe finally managed, almost breathless. “Corporal Sung and I have noticed changes as well. In Meyers and Kershaw. After we came aboard, they both seemed distracted…undisciplined.”

  Sung let out a deep, gruff sound in agreement. “Impulsive, I think. I noticed it while Kershaw searched the quarters. He simply seemed to lose his edge. He had his weapon down, you know? And, well, it was like he didn’t think there was any sort of threat. It was really odd. I didn’t think much about it at the time. You know how a soldier can get, that sense of invincibility after surviving a deadly engagement and all.”

  Watanabe relaxed slightly. “Sergeant Meyers, when he was checking the systems out, he completely ignored several things. I had to remind him to contact the Valdez. When the call failed, he thought nothing of
it. I had to run the diagnostics when I heard him talking with you. It did not seem like him at all. Before, he was thorough.”

  Rimes clenched his hands into tight fists. “They’re in serious trouble. I know it. And it’s my fault. I think we’re all probably in trouble. Whatever it is that’s influencing us, it’s probably affecting each of us in different ways.”

  “But that means your decision to go looking for them…is that truly your decision?” Watanabe’s voice was subdued, but she locked eyes with Rimes. “How can we know it is you?”

  “I’m asking myself that same question.” Rimes opened his fists and relaxed his hands. “It would be my inclination to protect my team, so that seems consistent. I wouldn’t want us trapped in here with no way to contact the Valdez. That seems consistent too. But I’m having a hard time with how I got us to this point in the first place. So your concerns are well-founded.”

  Sung and Watanabe seemed satisfied. Their hands crept closer together. They leaned nearer to each other.

  Rimes pointed at the two of them. “I think I should point out, though, that you should be asking yourselves the same questions.”

  Andrea’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe I’ve been affected.”

  Sung and Watanabe, hands now clasped, nodded in enthusiastic support. “She’s right, Captain.” Sung spoke so quickly his words jumbled together. “I think some of us have been unaffected so far.”

  Rimes snorted, a soft sound that echoed in the galley. Sung was a small man, especially compared to the Commandos, and he wasn’t particularly good-looking: soft-featured, small-eyed, narrow-mouthed. He wasn’t good enough for Watanabe. He couldn’t protect her. He—

  Rimes shook his head until the thoughts that weren’t his were gone. “I guess it’s possible you haven’t been affected, but I want you to keep your minds open to the possibility you have been.” He pointed at Sung and Watanabe’s hands. “Would you normally be holding the lieutenant’s hand, Corporal? Lieutenant, would you normally be willing to make such an open display even if you had no concern for the implications of fraternization?”