The Symbionts of Murkor

by Tarulli, Gary

“El respiro del Diablo,” Gustavo declared, his face gloomy and gray. The devil’s breath.

  Amanda paled. It had been four days since the incident in Tube N119. She had used the intervening time to convince herself that nothing inexplicable had transpired. Contemplating the alternative was far less comforting.

  “Was I ‘spooked’ too?” Roya demanded.

  “Am I now supposed to know what you feel?” Amanda said. “What any of you feel?” When the stoic faces of her colleagues made it clear that her temperamental outburst would not suffice, she composed a cogent response. “If there was microbial life on Murkor, the astrobiologists would have found it. If they were wrong, our detection and decontamination procedures would have identified and sterilized it. And if that counts for nothing my testing would have discovered it. There is absolutely no life form or agent infecting us.”

  “Be that as it may,” Mariana said, “as Nadir’s physician I’m duty-bound to order a quarantining of the Coalition shuttle and everyone aboard until we are examined and cleared by Varian’s medical board.”

  “Agreed,” Garcia replied, circumventing Amanda’s protest. “With apologies to the shuttle pilot who was anxious to reunite with his family, that is the most prudent course of action.”

  “You’re wrong,” Carlos interjected in a weakened voice.

  “How so?” Garcia asked, knowing full well what the engineer was compelled to say. He would let him say it. Had anyone presented a more plausible explanation as to what was going on?

  “Ellis,” Carlos pronounced, the simple declaration revealing everything he thought and felt.

  The opinion went uncontested. No one had the energy or the heart.

  “It would seem,” Garcia said equitably, “that we shall leave Murkor having more questions than answers.”

  At the last, it fell to Gustavo to have the final say. “The Coalition shuttle is approximately eight hours out. Arrival expected in the dead of night.”

  Meeting concluded, the crew slowly went their separate ways.

  Silently reflecting on the communication officer’s poor choice of words.

  ***

  It was nightfall by the time preparations for departure were finalized and the base secured for abandonment. The cessation of activity and Murkor’s enveloping darkness conspired to remind the restive crew how abject and alone they were. Ushered back into L2’s main area, they huddled together in the subdued late-evening lighting impatiently awaiting a transmission, now overdue, from the pilot of the Coalition shuttle. A second outgoing message had gone unacknowledged.

  An apprehensive Garcia approached Gustavo, who was monitoring the nearby com hub.

  The communications officer shook his head. “Still no word.”

  Nearby, Carlos, glassy-eyed, slumped lower in his chair. He was no longer able to disguise the loss of muscle strength that they all were beginning to experience. Sitting alongside, Mariana took his pulse, then looked to Garcia, her eyes asking for help she knew he was unable to give.

  “Gus, amplify and scan the “S” band in the archived incoming transmissions,” Garcia requested, acting on a hunch, hoping he was wrong. “Go back two hours before the shuttle’s ETA, then have the mindstor filter the result for a human voice imbedded in the static.”

  The minutes and seconds slowed to a crawl. “Nothing,” Gustavo remarked, continuing the scan.

  “We’ve been misled,” Amanda said, fear in her eyes. “A cruel deception.”

  Roya, who appeared to have given way to sleep, opened her eyes, looked despairingly at Amanda, and said in a voice that practically pleaded, “Can’t you see what happened?”

  Before she could answer, Gustavo raised his hand for silence. His expression froze. “It’s faint.” His ashen face bleached to white. “An hour ago. I’ll filter out the static.”

  “Make it loud,” Garcia demanded, his worst fear realized. “We need to hear it.”

  There was no image, only fragments of audio, widely spaced and broken by static:

  “…close-in… child’s play… switching to…”

  Unmistakably, Pilot’s strained voice.

  “…shields… reaching you…”

  After an unbearably long stretch, a resumption:

  “…apologies… worse than I… oh, God!”

  Then, jarringly, an ear-piercing metallic sound, followed by deathly silence.

  “No—” Mariana gasped into the thin air. “No.”

  “Nothing more?” Garcia implored.

  “Sorry, Comandante,” Gustavo said, crestfallen. “The signal vanished.”

  “I understand.”

  They all did. The debris field had claimed a life, to which they quietly mourned.

  None more so than Garcia, who had made the decision to recall the shuttle. He grieved not for himself or the crew, for they were still breathing, nor for the shuttle pilot who had breathed his last. He grieved for the pilot’s family. For the suffocating pain of a loved one’s absence they would have to long endure.

  “Re-establish the planetwide com portal.” Garcia declared, shattering the troubled silence. “Connect me to Zenith.”

  They were fitting words, offered in response and in homage.

  As the full import of Pilot’s death overcame the crew of Nadir, the fear they felt, no longer tempered by the prospect of leaving Murkor behind, came on in full force.

  11. Ghosts to God

  HOW BEAUTIFUL!

  Floating, gazing up. Witness to a trillion splintering sparkles of liquid light splashing down on her. Beyond a million shades of blue, water can accept any color.

  Brehhp Brehhp Brehhp

  A subliminal message. Inevitably she’d have to leave this glorious place.

  For the present she refused to relinquish control.

  Submerging, diving under. Hovering weightlessly in the depths beneath the cascade.

  How long, she wondered, could she evade the world above.

  Imaginably, forever.

  Dreams, some postulate, are reality without the bother of physicality.

  The physicality of matter exploded by quantum theory and the proofs that followed.

  Brehhp! Brehhp! Brehhp!

  From somewhere a grating noise intruded into her half-consciousness, summoning her.

  It was time to surface.

  Even in dreams one needs to breathe.

  “Commander, I must disturb you.”

  It took a second for Ellis to recognize the sound of the door alert, another to respond to the voice of Sergeant Cooper.

  “Proceed.”

  Cooper, standing in the darkened corridor, inwardly smiled. He was becoming accustomed to Ellis’s abbreviated utterances. “There’s an IM from Nadir. Someone representing themselves as a Comandante Garcia.”

  Ellis immediately recognized the name. “When did they reopen the link?” The com link’s closure had been a source of supreme frustration, preventing her from initiating contact of her own.

  “Apparently just now, Commander. When I referenced the early hour this Garcia person said it was a matter of some urgency—if you didn’t know that already.”

  “‘If I didn’t know?’ Those were his exact words?”

  “Pretty much exact,” Cooper replied. “One more thing. It’s bloody early, but he looks like shit missed Christmas. Pardon the expression, Commander.”

  “I’ll access it here, Sergeant,” Ellis said, moving quickly to her desk and opening the link. An image appeared. Cooper was right. Garcia was a handsome man. And he looked like hell.

  “Commander Ellis, I presume?” he said directly.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I trust you, Commander Ellis? How can I trust you?”

  Good, Ellis thought, he wastes no time. “Unfortunately, Comandante, I’m aware of one reason you should not.”

  “An admission?” Garcia said, leaving it open for her to specify as to exactly what.

  “Intrusion into your mindstor. The unauthorized and regrettable action of so
meone in my charge.”

  “You admit to nothing more?”

  What the hell else could there be, Ellis thought, noting that the Nadir’s CO was obviously putting great effort into conversing, straining to hear and enunciate. Still, he was doing a competent job of sizing her up.

  “No offense I’m aware of,” she answered. Then, alluding to Zenith’s potential use of the stolen hydrological data: “And none whatsoever contemplated.”

  “I must proceed on that basis, asking you to accept similar good faith assurances from me.” Garcia paused, his countenance becoming graver. “Together, we are saddened. I never learned his name. Doubtless he was a brave and good man. Did you know him well? His family?”

  “Comandante, you have me at a loss—” Ellis said, a horrible suspicion forming in the back of her mind.

  “You do not know?” Garcia said, stunned. “No communication sent?”

  Ellis remained silent, refusing to believe. Nadir’s CO would have to say it plainly for her to believe.

  “Then I have heavy news,” Garcia continued. “The pilot of the shuttle that conveyed you to Murkor lost his life risking the debris field. I bear responsibility. If I had considered the consequences—it was at my request that he came and, with urgency, to our aid.”

  Ellis suppressed the urge to cry out. “From what I learned of him he must have come with eyes wide open and willingly,” she said, her mind flashing an indelible image of Pilot’s family. “He is survived by a wife and two young daughters. We are diminished by his death. I shall send word and testimonial to Varian.”

  “May I add to it? Garcia entreated. “If I remain able.”

  “Of course,” Ellis responded, the heartfelt request telling her more about the man than any Coalition dossier ever could. “Time is against you, Comandante. Do not hesitate to explain your circumstances.”

  “Strange and baffling they are.”

  Garcia labored to recount the last several days, including, to her dismay, suspicion of Ellis’s involvement with everything that had gone wrong at Nadir. “My failing memory prevents further elaboration,” he said in conclusion. “There may be critical omissions. My crew, five other souls, are presently worse off. I doubt we can prevail—”

  “Are you able to transmit the relevant engineering and medical data imbedded in your mindstor?” Ellis asked.

  “I am relieved you suggested it. Our facilities are rudimentary, embarrassingly so. Perhaps, with your considerable resources, you can assist us from afar.”

  “Zenith is well-equipped, in some respects also embarrassingly so,” Ellis responded. “Nevertheless, I am skeptical that a resolution can be achieved remotely—and apparently you are in no condition to attempt an arduous journey here.” Ellis carefully considered what she was about to say for there could be no retracement. “One of our two vehicles has been modified. We have the capability of retrieving you and your crew.”

  “You would be subjecting yourself to significant danger,” Garcia protested, “both in the journey and to the unknown peril afflicting us.”

  “I have no intention of leaving you in the lurch,” Ellis insisted. “As for the specifics, that I must defer until your data transmission is analyzed and the logistics are discussed with my staff.”

  Garcia thought back to the shuttle pilot’s impression of her. Cool, collected, and stubborn. It was right on the mark.

  “I can be faulted for failing to reach out to you sooner, Commander Ellis.”

  “Together we shall annul that fault. Expect to hear from me directly. After the upload is analyzed.”

  “I’ve never come across anything like it,” Stewart said, rapidly scanning the mindstor-generated visuals of Nadir’s medical records. “Not in twenty years of practicing medicine on eleven planets.”

  Two hours earlier she and Davis had been rudely wakened by Cooper and directed to join Ellis in her quarters where, assisted by feedback from Zenith’s primary mindstor, they had spent the time analyzing the critical the elements of Nadir’s data transmission.

  The task was not going well.

  “Shall we seek a second opinion, doctor?” Ellis asked, dispensing with “captain” to emphasize her vital role in the meeting.

  “I was about to suggest it. Better if I phrase it.”

  Ellis nodded.

  “Mindstor,” Stewart said. “Evaluate Nadir medical records for presence of underlying pathology that would explain the crews’ reported symptoms.”

  The mindstor’s audible was instantaneous.

  No exact match. Low probability of symptoms caused by the accumulative effects of oxygen deprivation, elevated carbon dioxide, mental stress. Secondary conclusion, low probability of group psychosis resulting in psychosomatic symptoms.

  It was normal for a response to garner a “low probability” designation. Predicated on the type and complexity of the question, human input error had to be factored into the equation.

  “Let’s try a different approach,” Ellis suggested. “Mindstor. Evaluate Nadir’s files for possible intrusion of unclassified organism, agent, or substance into base Nadir.”

  Again, the response was immediate.

  Low probability. Adequate detection and decontamination procedures are currently in place and functioning. Forty-three Standard Earth Years since last reported detector failure.

  Ellis looked at Stewart and shrugged. She was disinclined to waste time with more inquiries. To do so placed six people in greater peril—and yet. On the outer edges of her consciousness there was an idea, not fully formed. “One more attempt,” she said. “Mindstor. Evaluate Nadir and Zenith files for possible intrusion of unclassified organism, agent, or substance into base Nadir.”

  Three full seconds elapsed. Davis and Ellis exchanged surprised glances at the long delay. “Holy shit,” Davis mouthed.

  Low probability. Adequate detection and decontamination procedures currently in place and fully functional at both facilities. Forty-three Earth years since last reported detector failure. Cross-reference and further review of incidents involving L. Jensen, A. Cruz, R. Allawi, J. Ellis is indicated.

  “What in hell does that mean?” Stewart demanded. “And what prompted the question?”

  “Not sure,” Ellis responded. “Help me put the pieces together.” While Stewart searched the mindstor for the pertinent personnel files, Ellis turned to Davis. “What do you make of this?”

  “In eight years’ experience as a mentor I never witnessed a mindstor take that long to formulate a response. Never. The delay is probably because it lacks the ability to intuit. We are asking it to form a conclusion based on information that is incomplete, contradictory, or without precedence. In this instance it must be all three.”

  “Translation: Beyond human comprehension,” Ellis added.

  “It’s not that arrogant,” Davis said. “It does not exclude itself from being confused. If you want a better explanation I’d have to be smarter than it and everyone else.”

  “Okay, here it is,” Stewart interjected. “Amanda Cruz and Roya Allawi both reacted to something in the tube they were exploring—Cruz’s reaction more pronounced. Their incident occurred after problems with Nadir’s atmospherics started developing. I can only guess at why Garcia sent it over, because there was zero sign of a medical problem resulting from the incident. Cruz, herself, claimed what she experienced was an overreaction. That’s credible. Psych profile indicates she’s more impressionable. Allawi was most likely influenced by her colleague’s panicked behavior. As for Jensen—we have a good idea as to what happened. Stress and paranoia induced her mishap. The strongest medical argument for anything unusual taking place, weak as it is, is her being without a rebreather for long duration with no ill effects. That, too, can be explained. While unconscious her metabolism slowed enough for her to be sustained, at least briefly, by the oxygen in Murkor’s atmosphere.”

  “And myself?” Ellis asked.

  “Aren’t you the best person to answer that?” Stewart conten
ded.

  “Meditation and physical conditioning allows me to depress my heart rate and breathing—up to a point. I reached that point and went beyond.” Ellis wavered. Unsure of what she was about to say, her eyes moved to the hexagonal viewport that dominated one wall of her quarters. “I briefly felt a presence. Out there.”

  “I believe you did,” Stewart responded. “You were under a tremendous amount of physical stress. You’re aware that one symptom of an oxygen-starved brain is hallucination.”

  “That does not explain similar reports made by others.”

  “A malfunctioning rebreather, or one worn in insufferable heat for hours, certainly might. Sensing something lurking over one’s shoulder is to be expected on this ass-backwards planet, I can personally attest to that. The fiction feeds on itself. The mindstor just put a label on it: ‘Group psychosis.’”

  “That’s insufficient to explain what’s happening at Nadir. Or have you completely convinced yourself?”

  It was Stewart’s turn to waver, her turn to be drawn out to the view of a ruined planet as it slowly began to resolve itself in the pre-sunrise gloom. “Ghosts to God,” she finally said. “People want to believe in things they don’t see. Who is completely immune?”

  “Leeuwenhoek and Higgs,” Ellis fired back. “On occasion, the invisible proves to be real.”

  “Okay, then,” Stewart said, as if conceding the point, “but what exactly are we trying to convince ourselves of? An undetectable entity that likes toying with humans?”

  Ellis looked at Davis and Cooper. Both had refrained from voicing an opinion.

  “Forty-three years is a long time,” Cooper said. “The last so-called detector ‘failure’ was on Travail—helluva name—when a bardusaur ambled through an open hangar door. It’s ten meters tall and I don’t mean the door. The sheer mass of the creature overloaded the device. Been several upgrades since.” A look from Ellis and it dawned on Cooper that he hadn’t provided the definitive conclusion she sought. What he offered next came close. “I’ve been inside enough of those damn tubes to feel the presence, but nothing can escape the detectors.”

  “I can’t add to what’s been said based on my own experience,” Davis chimed in. “Cooper’s right about the detectors, though. On the other hand, a mindstor never takes that long to think through a response. As for Jensen, she is normally rock-solid. The long and short of it is that it would be prudent to keep an open mind.”