by P. R. Adams
Watanabe looked down at her hand, suddenly surprised. She pulled it away from Sung’s hand and examined it with detached curiosity. For his part, Sung closed his own hand. His eyes filled with pain at Watanabe’s rejection.
“What makes you think I’ve changed?” Andrea demanded. “I was the one who saw the changes in you first.”
“You were. And you turned those changes—or the belief in those changes—into a weapon.” And I’m not even going to mention the forward hold. What were your creators thinking when they crafted you? Hunter? Some sort of pleasure provider? Maybe both? “You never spoke to the others before we came to this ship. Now you’ve taken the opportunity to plant the seeds of doubt not just in my mind but in theirs.”
Andrea leaned forward, her lips pulled back slightly. “It isn’t planting the seeds of doubt. You’ve made questionable decisions. You’re in command. Everything you do impacts everyone else, even me. You have a responsibility.”
“No denying that. And every time someone has a reason to question my decisions, you wear down our effectiveness as a unit. Maybe I did the wrong thing letting Meyers and Kershaw go, maybe I didn’t. I can’t honestly say right now. But you have to admit, getting the others to doubt my ability to command has advantages for you. When the genies arrive—and we know they will—if we’re riddled with doubt and at odds with each other, isn’t it obvious who benefits?”
Fury leapt into Andrea’s eyes, then was gone. She leaned back in her chair. “You certainly haven’t lost your ability to strategize.”
“Okay, I think we can agree this is affecting us all to some degree.” Rimes saw the acceptance on their faces. “So, we’re up against time. We need to find Meyers and Kershaw and either get them back to the ship or figure a way to escape the genies and this…” He rubbed at his forehead, frustrated. “Influence.” Whatever it is, it’s not doing just one thing. It’s wearing down inhibitions, clouding judgment, and weakening confidence. Mental acuity, discipline.
Andrea bit her lip. “You have a plan?”
I just told her. Or did I? “We head for the crater. If we find Meyers and Kershaw, we collect them and circle the crater to the opposite side and go until we’re out of this dead zone. Let’s assume the crater is the center. We should be out of the worst of it in a day. Once we’re able to use our BASes again, we circle back to 332 and wait for the Valdez.”
“What if the crater is not the center?” Watanabe blinked uncertainly.
“We’re fully replenished and fairly well-rested. We can go a long time if we don’t have to push ourselves too hard. If I’m wrong, and this dead zone stretches on for hundreds of kilometers…“ Rimes winced. “Well, I’ll be spared a court martial, at least.”
Sung, looked up from his hand. “Why do you think the crater is the center, Captain?”
“A hunch, I guess.” The way everything ripples out from there, the sense of desolation radiating. Radiating. “It looks like some sort of weapons impact, doesn’t it? The crater, the ripples in the ground, the way systems have become more unreliable the closer we’ve gotten to it. The only way we’ll actually know, though, is to get beyond it.”
Sung wiped his hand on his chest. It didn’t take the pain from his eyes. “What about the genies? You think they will pursue us?”
“Yes. So we have to be quick about it.” Rimes only wished he could quiet the nagging sense that the genies weren't the real threat.
38
30 October, 2167. Fourth planet of the COROT-7 system.
* * *
BY SOME MIRACLE, the winds were relatively calm the entirety of the short trek to the crater’s edge; visibility stretched out several hundred meters. Rimes was thankful for that, because other than for tracking time and a few minimal overlays, the BAS systems were useless. Communication beyond twenty-five meters was impossible. Within twenty-five meters, it was manageable, improving with proximity.
After the comfort of the ship, the planet was gritty and dry and hot, and the familiar sulfuric stench was stronger than ever. Sand settled into every crease and orifice and sought access into the depths of Rimes’s suit.
In the light of the sinking sun, Kershaw and Meyers’s bootprints were still barely visible in the sand. They ran in a relatively straight line from the Tesla to the crater, then disappeared at a piton. A bright red rope swayed gently from the piton, a red coil resting on a ledge thirty meters below.
Five meters from the piton stood a ramp constructed from sheets of lightweight composites. An array of thin struts supported two narrow rails. At the ramp head, the rails had a gear and lock system that gave the ramp a fifteen to sixty degree inclination range. The forward and rear struts ended in elbows, with the resulting bases glued to the rocks. Empty carrying cases were haphazardly piled nearby.
They were the cases from the Tesla videos.
Rimes squatted to examine the ramp, wiping at black residue. Sung hovered close by. “What is it, Captain?”
“Exhaust. I’d imagine it was a rocket of some sort.” Rimes wiped the residue on his suit legs. “They launched something into the crater. Maybe that big case they were carrying. Maybe everything. They probably used parachutes. Beats hauling it down by hand.”
Without another word, Rimes walked to the piton and gathered up the rope. He tested rope and piton, looked at the others, then descended carefully to the ledge below. While Watanabe descended, Rimes examined the ledge, stomping and jumping to test it. It was nearly as wide as he was tall, with a moderate downward slope. It descended most of the crater’s depth, widening where it switched back on itself several times. The ledge ended abruptly at another piton and red rope that dropped the last twenty or so meters.
Where the crater walls were relatively smooth, as if cut from the planet surface by a gigantic laser, the ramps seemed extruded. Their color was similar to the stone of the crater walls, but upon closer inspection, it became obvious they were comprised of something clear, and the coloring came from sand mixed in the material. Rimes had the impression the ramps might have been produced through some chemical or manufacturing process.
He ran his gloved hand over the ledge’s abrupt beginning; the rock was comparatively rough. Deep in the crater’s depths, he spied a sand-covered rock pile that might very well have been the span of ledge that once ran up to the crater edge above.
Once the rest of the team had joined him and Watanabe on the ramp, Rimes descended.
The descent was surprisingly easy, or at least that was what his mind registered. He was past the point of questioning even trivial sensory input. If his mind was being influenced, nothing he saw, heard, touched, smelled, or tasted could be relied upon. Either he accepted his perceptions, or he surrendered to whatever illusion was playing through his mind.
Halfway into the descent, Rimes spotted what he assumed was the structure. Sandstorms and shadows obscured it for the most part, but a few hundred meters up, he could make out enough to estimate its size and shape. It was surprisingly simple in design, a perfect hexagon no more than three meters tall and fifteen meters on each side.
At the base of the crater wall, a tuft of material flapping in the breeze drew Rimes’s attention. He pulled at it, revealing a parachute. It was stuffed beneath a section of the fallen ledge.
“There’s your answer.” Sung looked around. “Maybe the rocket’s nearby.”
Rimes shrugged unenthusiastically. The rocket would do them no good.
He searched the ground nearby, finally spotting faint bootprints in the shallow layer of shifting gray sand. Rock poked through the sand here and there. It was similar to that of the crater walls, unnaturally smooth, almost glassy. The prints were too obscured by the wind to give him any confidence, but they seemed to have the same patterns as his own.
He turned to tell the others, but the words died unspoken in his throat as Fontana went limp and lost her grip on the rope eight meters above the crater floor. “Fontana!”
Munoz ran to catch her, but he was a moment t
oo late, managing only to grab one of her arms. They went to the ground in a heap.
Rimes reached Munoz’s side a second before Sung. The giant was blubbering furiously. Rimes gave a reassuring pat on the back.
Munoz shrugged it off, distraught. “Leave me alone!”
Rimes let it go.
Sung tried to shove past Munoz but merely bounced off. It took Sung a moment, but he regained his composure, then quickly slipped around Munoz’s huge shoulders and began inspecting Fontana.
Munoz stepped away, clapping his hands and wiping his armor. He shouted obscenities at himself for his failure.
While Sung tended to Fontana, Rimes stepped closer to the rope. Andrea’s gaze burned into his back, laser-like.
Theroux dropped to the ground, shaking his head, irritated. “Already a mess, Captain.”
Rimes ignored the comment; there was no value in engaging Theroux at the moment. Instead, Rimes focused on the rope and wall. There was nothing wrong with the rope, and there were no obvious signs of something on the wall that could have interfered with Fontana’s descent.
Minutes after her fall, Fontana came around. She groaned weakly as Rimes took a knee beside her. “What happened?”
Sung gave a thumbs-up; she was going to be okay.
“I don’t recall.” Fontana rolled the shoulder that had hit the ground and winced. “I was climbing down, then…“ She shook her head.
“Can you walk?” Nice bedside manner.
“It’s just my shoulder and this pounding headache, but that’s been building for some time.” She stared into the distance, as if she might see the structure through the sandstorm currently obscuring it.
Rimes gently helped her to her feet, then turned to look at the others. “Okay, folks. Numbers count. Time counts. Everyone stay close and be alert. Let’s go.”
He set a meters-consuming pace, always careful to watch for whatever tracks remained. When he spotted them, they were always headed in the same direction: toward the structure.
The closer they got to the structure, the more its odd appearance stood out: a squat, muted black-gray slab of stone swathed in gray sand that jabbed angrily up from the crater’s dark stone floor.
After signaling Munoz and Theroux to watch the approach point, Rimes led the rest in a cautious clockwise circuit around the structure. They stayed wide of the remaining bootprint fragments, following them as best they could. Based off what little he could take from the prints, Rimes assumed Meyers and Kershaw had circled the structure once, close enough to touch the wall.
There were no doors along the entire structure face. Each wall was smooth, unbroken, uniform in shape and appearance. Rimes tried to explain to his own mind the puzzle such a structure presented: it was a marker, a tombstone, a communications system, a laboratory. The more he looked at the walls, the less he felt they were even stone. Flat black, with an almost speckled texture that disappeared when examined at the proper angle—he wasn’t even confident he could describe the material as something that could be fabricated based on his limited materials knowledge.
By the time they returned to Munoz and Theroux, Fontana was having trouble standing. Sung and Watanabe helped Fontana to the ground. Rimes watched her until he was sure she was okay, then pulled Andrea aside.
“What do you think?” His eyes slowly looped from her face to the structure.
Andrea shivered as she looked at the speckled black-gray walls. “I don’t care for it. Your people are nowhere to be seen. Doesn’t that disturb you?”
Rimes laughed grimly. “Disturb doesn’t go far enough. Their prints end after circling it once. No entries, no obvious function. I don’t even know what to make of the walls. And then there’s what’s happening with her.” He jerked his head to indicate Fontana, who was now slowly rubbing at her forehead.
“Maybe this thing is the source of the trouble. Do you feel it? In your head?”
“Yeah. And did you notice its location?”
Andrea looked from their position to the surrounding crater walls, slowly spinning. “The center.”
“Dead center, I bet.” He smiled wistfully. “If I’d noticed that before, it might have been enough to keep me from coming down here. It’s the sort of thing I’d like to think I’d normally identify early on. What about the crater walls? You notice anything special about them?”
Andrea carefully scanned the walls and shook her head. “Just their smoothness. They aren’t naturally formed.”
“No, they aren’t. Neither were the ramps we took down, and there’s only that one set of ramps. That means we can’t simply exit the opposite side of the crater. If we don’t find Meyers, Kershaw, and the fuel quickly, we’re going to have your people on us before we can get any distance from this place.”
Andrea smiled mischievously. “The offer still stands. Both of them.”
“Thanks.” Rimes turned as Theroux approached.
Theroux’s eyes lingered on Andrea for a moment, then he gave a dismissive sneer and looked at Rimes. “Captain Rimes, I think we’ve wasted enough time on this endeavor. Your men are, unfortunately, lost. We need to move on now. There’s only one way into this crater, and that means there’s only one way out. If we hurry, we can get out and still likely maintain some sort of lead on the genies. We can come back later, when we have adequate firepower.”
“I agree.” Rimes took a slight bit of satisfaction from Theroux’s look of surprise. “Let’s give Miss Fontana a moment to get her wits about her and—”
“Captain! Captain Rimes!” Munoz lurched toward the structure, right arm stabbing into the swirling sand. “Look!”
Rimes followed Munoz’s outthrust arm. The wall they’d first approached was gone; there was only an opening. It was almost impossible to see at first, as beyond it was a near absolute darkness. The light filling the crater barely penetrated beyond the black walls.
Rimes held a hand up. “Hold positions.” He advanced slowly, with his carbine raised and ready. He quickly glanced at Fontana for any reaction.
Her condition had worsened.
Sung seemed transfixed by the scene. “The light doesn’t even seem to be penetrating.” His words ran together in excitement. “I didn’t even hear anything.”
Light from Rimes’s helmet lamp punched into the darkness beyond the opening. At first, the light seemed inadequate, barely driving back the impenetrable cloak enough to reveal the floor beyond the entry. A few seconds with his eyes closed, and he could make out more.
It wasn’t the darkness absorbing the light. The interior was covered in some sort of black, glistening substance.
Squatting, he tentatively reached forward, expecting at any moment the wall would reappear or would slam shut on his arm. But the wall was gone, and it didn’t slam shut on him. He ran his hand lightly over the glistening substance. When he pulled his hand back, he could see moisture on his gloves. He held his hand up for the others to see.
“Water.” His voice cracked. “I think it’s water.”
Munoz eyed Rimes skeptically; Munoz’s face was twisted by an angry sneer. Theroux blinked impassively. Andrea stood on the balls of her feet, leaning forward slightly, ready to charge or flee. Sung and Watanabe wrapped Fontana’s rocking form in their arms. They seemed near shock.
Rimes drew his gloved hand closer to his face and stared at it. There were small, green flecks floating in the moisture. They were so dark they could have been black. He sniffed at the substance. It smelled almost sweet. He swallowed then put the tip of his tongue to his glove, ready to spit at the slightest odd taste or sensation.
It was water. Pure, sweet, refreshing.
He waited a moment.
Nothing happened. No heat, no swelling, no stinging. If it was a toxin, it was slow acting.
He spat to clear the water from his tongue, then he crept forward. The light played across the floor. There were impressions—bootprints—in the substance. Some were barely noticeable, slowly being reclaimed by the growth, others
were deep, fresh. Rimes examined the closest of the new prints and saw that it had ground through the dark substance to the floor below, exposing the same strange, black material as the exterior walls. He played his light a few meters forward, stopping at a mound of blockish shapes.
“There’s something in here,” he shouted over his shoulder. It was a struggle to keep his voice even. Calm. Now more than ever, stay calm. In the dark recesses of his mind, Kwon seemed to recoil at the thought of being trapped in such a tight enclosure.
Watanabe scooted forward, pulling Fontana with her. They were both trembling, as was Sung. Watanabe’s eyes were wide in awe. “What is it? Is it…them?”
The shapes slowly resolved in Rimes’s lamplight. “I think it’s the cases from the Tesla. Cases of some sort. They’re symmetrical and large. I see prints, fresh ones, but no sign of Meyers or Kershaw. They entered here. Everything inside’s covered with some sort of growth. Lichen, maybe?”
“Not lichens.” Sung seemed hypnotized by the structure. His voice was quiet, his speech slow. “It’s too dark. Lichens are symbiotic—fungus and a photosynthetic partner. No sunlight, no photosynthesis, no lichens.”
“Okay.” Rimes rubbed his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. “A fungus? A mold?”
“Molds are fungi.” Sung slowly turned to look at Watanabe. “What would a fungus survive off of?” He turned back to look at Rimes again. “You said it’s covering everything?”
“Yeah.” Rimes played his light across the ceiling. “The floor, the walls, even the ceiling. The cases are coated with it too. I’m going in. I need to see where their prints lead to.”
Andrea edged forward. “You can’t go in there alone.”
Rimes considered ignoring her for a moment, then waved her forward. He couldn’t see any sign of a triggering mechanism or any hint that something happened to those who’d entered previously. There were no bodies or bones lying around. But they’re nowhere to be seen. If they aren’t here…
