by Aaron Dennis
****
Day had taken the helm, guiding the ship towards Eon. She slowly penetrated the atmosphere as Roberts, a young, black woman, gave out readings, regarding angle of descent and deceleration speeds.
“Estimated time of landing, three minutes,” Roberts stated.
“Acknowledged. Adjusting for wind speeds. Decelerating,” Day replied.
****
Beyond the atmosphere’s periphery, the AMS recalibrated for excessive wind speeds. By the end of the third minute, the Phoenix extended eight, hydraulic stands to evenly distribute its weight over brownish soil. The ship’s hull was reminiscent of a red and silver bird. Its paint job made it look like a phoenix, a scaly phoenix, due to innumerable, tiny plates fashioned to allow for structural changes resulting from various, atmospheric pressures; it was a special vessel designed specifically to land on other planets, bodies exhibiting radically dissimilar environments.
****
“We’re here,” Roberts cheered.
The surrounding crewmembers applauded the successful first landing ever, a feat no less amazing than the first moon landing. At the other end of the ship, O’Hara and company exited conference room B, entered the service elevator, went down to the loading zone and waited for the all clear. While O’Hara was in charge of Phoenix Crew, Admiral Lay, who was stationed back on colony Alpha-6, managed O’Hara, and the Phoenix itself. From the colony, the admiral maintained command and gave all orders to the spec ops team.
The captain and crew traversed the spacious loading area. Heading for the bay door rather than the personnel egress, they clomped through the expanse, snatching up what little they required for erecting base camp. Then, as soldiers and scientists waited, they stood as a family for one, tantalizing moment.
“We are go for mission, Admiral,” O’Hara spoke through the comm. link he wore on his left ear.
“Acknowledged. You may begin. This is your mission, O’Hara. Route any findings back to the colony when you have solid results. Out,” Admiral Lay disconnected.
The bay door opened, releasing hydraulic pressure with a hiss. An orange glow wormed into the loading zone, paled by artificial lighting. Holding their breaths, the crew stepped down the loading platform and onto Eon. For the first time in their lives, they took deep breaths of real air. The oxygen on Eon was a little more concentrated than that of Earth, but not pure like the oxygen pumped through the vents on ships and colonies. It was quasi-euphoric with a peculiar, almost living, scent. Nicholson sneezed.
“Alright, everyone take in the sights, but move quickly. We plan on arriving outside the dig site in an hour. Move out,” O’Hara ordered.
The ground was level, an easy terrain to traverse, but what made it odd was that their combat boots didn’t squeak on the natural ground; a peculiarity they found extravagant, and they carefully scrutinized each step for the first few minutes. Everyone there had been raised on the Alpha-6 colony. Since it was located on an asteroid in the Alpha belt, everything there was synthetic. The air, the ground, and the light were all artificial constructs. Any mission or training exercise that took place outside the bunkers or buildings required special, synthetic gravity equipment. Food was grown in dirt, but that dirt was precious and kept in pots in greenhouses. No one ever dared covering a floor with dirt and walking on it just to see how it felt. What they experienced that fateful day was different; soft ground gave way with every step.
Above their heads, the lit, purple expanse looked so far away. It was disorienting. They were all used to ceilings above their heads. Outdoor training exercises required space gear, and travel outside only revealed an ominous, black void, or the occasional star speckled void. Optimistically, they pressed onwards.
The next thing they noticed were sounds on Eon, different than the sounds of a vessel or colony. The buzzing was intermittent and organic unlike the cold, calculating hums of machinery. There were no voices, either, something rarely experienced. The air moved of its own accord, too. Finally Martinez broke the silence.
“Go-od damn,” he shouted, unable to contain his excitement. “I can’t believe how amazin’ this is, Cap. Ma-an, I never thought I see somethin’ like this.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. No vids or pics had prepared them for the realness of the situation. Twin orbs of faint, orange light burned dimly, semi-lighting their way, providing a twilight sensation too real for words.
“I’m afraid I’ll wake up back inside the ship,” Nandesrikahl said with a thick, British accent.
Though he was of Indian decent, his grandparents were from South Africa, so he had one of those accents, which belied a condescending facade. It was an illusion, however, one he often played to annoy his mates. In reality, he was always respectful of everyone.
“Let’s hope this is for real. I’m anxious to get started,” Mickelson remarked.
The two mile hike took about forty five minutes. None of them felt the passage of time. There were so many sights, sounds, and smells, they nearly went into sensory overload. Plants of all colors swayed from breezes, which caressed their faces. Some of the golden trees were immense in stature, and small organisms scurried up and down trunks. The ship relay communications unit finally dinged, and Swain checked their position.
“Crap! We’re already here, Captain,” Swain announced.
“Right,” O’Hara heaved. “We’ll begin setting up camp. DeReaux, Fitzpatrick grab Mickelson. You guys got five to break then move out.”
The two snapped to attention following with a salute, which O’Hara returned. DeReaux was a refined man of French descent, tall, thin, and swarthy. He always seemed to be sniffing the air, maybe for fine wine, or maybe for fine women. His confidence, borderline, arrogance simply gave such impression.
As a handsome man with thick black hair, a great sense of humor, a lady magnet for all intents and purposes, he had good reason to be confident. His skills weren’t lacking, either—the military skills nor the lady killer skills. He was the finest sniper the academy had seen on Alpha-6 in over thirty years, rivaled only by Admiral Lay himself.
There was no expectation of battle during the mission, but O’Hara mandated a degree of security. Having the top sniper was a good idea. Having the top spotter accompany him was a better idea. Fitzpatrick was a manly, Irish woman. She and O’Hara were family friends. Their familial ties dated back to the initial colonization of asteroids. Helen Fitzpatrick was not a homely woman, but she was tough and butch. She sported a buzz cut, cussed more than Marty, and had been caught checking out a few ladies.
She was known to spot the slightest change over any horizon. If there was movement, or a visual incongruity, her eagle eyes picked it up. She was also fairly good with a rifle herself, though she preferred setting up for DeReaux rather than shooting, so they made a great team.
“Alright, Frenchie, lets grab the doc and move out,” she said.
“Swell,” he responded, nodding ever so slightly. “Mickelson, are you ready to proceed?”
The wreck of a man was more a rock than a man, really. He loved geology, and it took precedence over everything else, which included both his appearance and hygiene. His long, scraggly hair hung loosely on his head, and his thick mustache and goatee were always in need of a trim. He picked his pack off the ground, grimaced, and pushed his glasses back onto his face.
“I guess,” he replied with a smile, revealing yellow teeth.
While the remaining crew set up mobile camp, DeReaux, Fitzpatrick, and Mickelson hiked in cadence for about twenty minutes. Soon, they saw a few, downed rovers in the distance. They knew they were close. Mickelson produced a Geiger counter. He turned it on, creating an obnoxious, clicking sound.
“What’s the readout, Mick?” Fitzpatrick asked.
“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary,” he replied as he squinted through his spectacles.
Suddenly, the counter ceased all noise. Fitzpatrick looked for an area to post up, but stopped to look at Mickelson when he hemmed and hawed. P
ensively, he pace backwards, and the counter resumed clicking. “I think we should leave this here. I can grab some samples just outside the dig site and bring them back for rad check,” he said, pushing his glasses back onto his face.
“Won’t you get sick if it is radiated?” DeReaux asked as he crinkled his nose.
“I’ll just be in a sec. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
DeReaux and Fitzpatrick glanced at each other.
Chapter Two
Whistles and tweets sounded all around. Creatures in the sky spread their wings to cut circles over base camp. O’Hara had seen pictures of Eon’s fauna months prior, but watching them in action held some nostalgic majesty.
A commotion drew his attention; Swain was setting up the Lithium capacitor and chastising Marty for not paying attention to what he was doing. The captain’s comm. unit dinged then. It not only displayed 15:00, but the red, flashing light indicated someone was contacting him, so he pressed a button to relay directly to his earpiece.
“O’Hara,” he replied hastily.
“Hey, Captain, what’s it like? I’m looking through the screen. It looks wonderful,” Day’s voice was cheery and awed. “We’re all dying to get out there….”
“I don’t know how to describe it. It really is gorgeous, but you’ll all get your chance soon, I’m sure.” At that time, O’Hara turned to Martinez, who was dragging out green tarps for cover. “Marty, set those up over there, Swain forget the equipment for a moment, and make sure we set up cover first. I have to disconnect, Day.”
“Roger.”
Swain and Martinez nudged the scientists out of their way. The geeks were so caught up in getting their gear ready for tests, they had no clue what was going on around them. Less than an hour later, the soldiers had posts in the ground, and three, makeshift tents set up. Done with chores, Imes glanced over at Becker. He ran fingers through his thick, spiky, hair as he approached her. She was trying to get a crate on a dolly.
“I’ll lift it, you slide it under,” he said without making eye contact.
“I can do this,” she snapped.
Imes sighed while tilting the crate towards himself. He stood there, glaring at her. She didn’t so much as glance back, but she deftly slid the dolly underneath the crate. She then hauled it over the bumpy terrain, where the nerds huddled around it. Finally, they began removing more supplies; small, foldable tables, chairs, computers, and scanning devices.
The plan was to study the soil samples Mickelson was recovering. It was going to be an all night process involving composition studies, checking for radiation, magnetism, and carbon dating. The sophisticated equipment was very costly; the scientists had definitely dipped into Phoenix Crew’s budget, but everyone from civilians to government fat cats were stoked to start colonization on an actual planet; the entire sci-fi industry was based on those kinds of adventures.
A moment later, Nandesrikahl approached the captain. O’Hara held his hand over his brow, staring at the twin orbs. Their light was not so powerful as to prevent one from directly observing their beauty.
“Captain,” he asked.
“Nandy,” O’Hara said and turned to him.
He scrutinized his subordinate for a quick moment. Nandesrikahl was a tall, lanky, gentleman, but athletic and very bright. A smile played on his dark complexion.
“’Ow long do you think it’ll take them? To return, I mean,” he inquired.
“Shouldn’t take too long. We’ll be all set up by the time they get back, though. Why don’t you round everyone up and take a look around?”
“Sir,” Nandesrikahl replied with a salute.
****
Back at the dig site, the recovery team stood outside the danger zone. Furtive glances went around. Mickelson pushed his glasses back onto his face. He gave the soldiers a puzzled look. DeReaux didn’t pay him much attention, but Fitzpatrick arched a brow.
“Are you going, or what?” she sniped.
“Uh, I guess,” the scientist replied, meekly.
DeReaux chuckled, and said, “A minute ago you weren’t even worried.”
The scientist smiled, shrugged in resignation then sauntered over to the site proper in order to get his samples. There was a slight incline to the southwest of that area. Fitzpatrick thought it provided a better perspective. She elbowed DeReaux and pointed with her face. He nodded accordingly. In no time, they were posted up. The sniper was keeping an eye on Mickelson through his rifle scope, Fitzpatrick observed through binos.
They watched the weird geologist amble off towards the perfect, dusty circle. Fricasseed machines were strewn about the area, probes and rovers, mostly. Finally, Mickelson took off his pack and sat down. Fitzpatrick was no longer able to watch him; the visual stimuli overwhelmed her.
Wind blew the foliage of small, golden trees, and the orange light of the suns was rather dim. The purple sky overhead made it difficult to distinguish shapes. Swooning shadows mixed into swirling colors. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled and opened them again. With an exhale to calm herself, she was ready.
Mickelson had already opened his pack. After removing a small spade and a mason jar, he collected a scoop of dirt, closed the jar, put everything in his pack, and looked back to his two escorts. He smiled then pushed his glasses back onto his face, before waving.
“Get out of the radiation,” DeReaux howled at him.
“What is wrong with that man?” Fitzpatrick laughed.
Once they regrouped, they marched back to the Geiger counter, where Mickelson took readings. Awkwardly, the geologist stood for a moment, holding the counter over the dirt pile; he was one of those guys that just didn’t know how to use his body. He leaned one way, bent the other, and everything came up clean.
“Excellent,” DeReaux replied, nonchalantly, “A return trip is in order then.”
With that, they commenced a speedy jog directly to the circle of dirt. The Geiger counter had again been left behind due to magnetic interference. That time, the dirt was scooped by digging down a foot beyond the topsoil. Mickelson wanted to get as far below as his tools allowed. Once the boring ordeal ended, they made back for camp, stopping only to pick up the counter along the way.
When they arrived, they found everyone was either eating or tinkering with equipment, except O’Hara, who seemed to just be standing there. Mickelson approached him from the side. He was so nervous, he didn’t know what to do.
“Uh, Captain,” he eventually whispered. O’Hara turned to face him. Mickelson scratched his lip anxiously before speaking again “Um, Captain,” he said as he pushed his glasses back onto his face, “We’ve collected two samples directly from the center of the dig site. They’re clean.”
“Good, good. What’s next then?”
Smearing dirt on his forehead, Mickelson replied, “I’ll run tests on the samples. Decipher the composition and pH of the soil. I’ll carbon scan for age. We should know everything there is to know within twelve hours.”
The geologist lumbered off to his storage trunk, where he prepared all his equipment. O’Hara gently shook his head, wondering if he had even realized how filthy he was. He smelled like camel butt, too, he thought. Tests ran for the better part of the night. Swain, Phoenix Crew’s own, resident nerd, and the remaining scientists flocked around Mickelson to help with whatever he needed. Nandesrikahl and Zakowski were taking pictures of the area while Martinez shot vids on a digital recorder to send back to Alpha-6.
“Zak, make sure you get some pics of the tests,” O’Hara ordered.
“Sure, of course, Captain,” he said snapping a salute.
Chief Warrant Officer Zakowski was a slight man of Jewish descent. His curly, brown hair was thinning in the front and a little in the back. Zakowski never had dirt under his nails or food in his teeth, and the crew had a running joke that he never did manual labor or gotten dirty a day in his life, but he was there for a reason; everyone entrusted their lives to him. He was a fantastic medic. Between him and Ensign Nandesrikah
l, no one had reason to worry, not even on a foreign world.
For the most part, the entire crew had been in the same classes and graduated around the same time; Day was a little younger, Swain was a little older, but the rest were all between twenty four and twenty six and had been under the command of then Captain, now Rear Admiral, Shaw, until two years ago, when O’Hara was promoted to captain, thus taking over the squad. Since O’Hara’s promotion, they gathered data, prepping for manually surveying Eon. While they were all organized to some degree, the excitement of being on real terra firma was a bit overwhelming. The captain, however, remained unfazed. The man was all business outwardly.
Certainly, he let the crew have their fun, but he had to remain alert. It was his first, real mission, and nothing was going to screw it up. He checked the time, it was closing on 17:00 hours, but the light of Eon hadn’t changed since their arrival. He smiled to himself and planned to eat, check his equipment, maybe do a little number two, and then get some R and R. The rest of the gang had similar plans except they had four hour shifts in which two at a time kept an eye on the scientists. Swain offered to take first shift. His calculating mind was overly intrigued by the tests.
“Zak, take first with me,” Swain asked.
“Get outta’ here,” Zak smiled. “What you really mean is do I want to take first on my own, right?”
“Figured me out, huh? Appreciated.”
The pseudo night progressed with no problems. Zakowski did his tour then went to rest after being replaced by Becker. Imes had planned to relieve Swain, but was refused; Swain really wanted to observe the testing procedures. Imes thought it best to keep Becker company anyway. If he didn’t, the captain was going to tear him a new one, so he nabbed his pack, slid it over his shoulders, and started doing squats.
