Heward’s voice was back again. “Hey, you guys see a green toggle at the left of the control panel?”
“Yeah.”
“Flip it a couple times. We just lost your telemetry.”
Abbott moved it back and forth.
“That any better?”
“We still get nothing. You reading any instrument problems at your end?”
Rafa squinted at the instrument panel. “The miner says everything’s working.”
“Problem’s probably on our side then. We’ll check it out.”
Abbott nodded. “We’re almost there.” They were out of the mudslide now, and the steady squelching of robotic feet through the mud and boulders had been replaced by a broad swishing as grasses swept by, some even slapping the glass that enclosed the cabin, two meters off the ground.
They lurched to a halt abruptly. Through two layers of helmet glass, Rafa still saw the nervousness in Abbott’s dark face. He wondered fleetingly if his own face looked the same.
“I’ll go out first,” he offered. “You hand me the stuff.” He didn’t like the thought of blindly dropping into the deep grasses below. Anything at all could be out there, and he’d never see it coming. A laser pistol like Heward’s might have been comforting, but only the commander was allowed a weapon, for fear the vikings would use them on one another. So he’d just have his bare hands. The biosurveys had no details about dangerous fauna, which didn’t prove anything one way or the other. But somebody had to go.
“Okay.” Abbott sounded relieved. Rafa took a deep breath, opened his door and dropped awkwardly into the shoulder-deep grasses. The ground was soggier than he expected, and he stumbled awkwardly in the heavy boots of his biosuit as mud oozed up to his ankles. Above him, Abbott swiveled the floodlights and began to hand down equipment.
The battery came last, and Rafa’s shoulders and back strained under its weight until Abbott had clumsily lurched down the short metal ladder and helped him ease it to a rest in the grass.
“Ground’s a bit too muddy to set this up properly,” gasped Rafa, somewhat winded from the lifting. “Let’s go over to those rocks.” He waved a gloved hand toward an area of jumbled boulders a dozen meters away, slightly uphill. Abbott nodded.
Together they carried the equipment and selected a spot with solid, level granite underfoot, sheltered on one side by a stony outcropping several meters high. They used explosive pitons to anchor a force field projector deep into the rock. Then they powered it up, set the size and orientation of the field, and waited for calibration.
In a few seconds the indicators winked a welcome green and the air around them began its telltale shimmer. Overhead, the rain continued to fall—the fission battery only generated enough power for coarse-grained repulsion—but but the storm seemed to quiet slightly. Rafa found himself breathing a sigh of relief.
As they began erecting the dish and connecting color-coded cables to the battery, the radios in their ears crackled.
“Just checking in, guys. How’s it coming?” Heward sounded as calm as ever.
“We’ve got everything unloaded,” Abbott replied. “We’re assembling it now. The force field’s up.”
“How’s the storm?”
“This rain is terrible. Good thing the equipment is made to be out in the weather.”
“We still aren’t getting any telemetry from the mining machine, and the robot that Montaño sent out a few hours ago just went dead too. We were wondering if it got hit by lightning or something.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Abbott said. “We could almost turn off our suit lights. The flashes aren’t letting up.”
“The thunder is pretty nasty, too. I’m glad we’ve got helmets,” added Rafa, tracing a laminated schematic. In a moment he nodded and flipped a switch on the control panel at the base of the dish. The display glowed to life, and he knelt and pulled off his glove.
“Hold on,” said Abbott. “We’re about ready to fire this baby up.”
Rafa started the diagnostic sequence and was quickly rewarded by more green indicators. He pressed the “Acquire” button and watched as the dish swiveled smoothly on its base and the console confirmed communication with the satellite overhead.
“We’re up!” he said. “The dish has a clear signal. Now let’s see if we can talk back.”
Abbott nodded and activated the transmitter. As he did, lightning flashed several times in quick succession, and Rafa, looking back toward the miner, was puzzled to see a smooth arc of sky that remained dark. His visor was a bit fogged, and he pushed it back to get a better view. The rain and the distortion of the force field made it difficult to make anything out. His eyes strained.
Abbott, squatting cross-legged in front of the transmitter, grunted in satisfaction without looking up. “We’ve got a stable uplink,” he announced. “Any minute now earthside should be tuning in.”
Another streak lit the sky, and Rafa gasped in shock. What was between them and the distant lightning looked like an enormous flattened jellyfish—at least a fifty meters wide and half that high—with scores of tentacles dangling from its belly. A broad undulating membrane rippled along the creature’s circumference, stabilizing and propelling it steadily forward through the gusts of wind.
Abbott leapt to his feet at Rafa’s exclamation, and together they stared numbly out into the blackness that had abruptly descended again. Rafa could feel his heart pounding wildly. He squinted to adjust his eyes to the darkness. It was hard to tell how close the creature had been. Too close, that much was certain.
The sky remained frustratingly dark. Beside him, Abbott’s breathing was heavy and ragged.
“What is it?” Abbott whispered.
“I have a feeling we don’t want to find out,” Rafa muttered. Then he had an idea. “Hold on! Can we aim the miner’s floodlights from here?”
“Yeah. Are you sure we want to arouse that thing’s interest?” Abbott said dubiously.
Before Rafa could respond the lightning was back. The creature was above the miner, and they had a quick glimpse of several tentacles tentatively exploring its surfaces.
“Too late,” muttered Rafa grimly. As they watched the creature wrapped some feelers python-like around the stabilizing struts and began to rock the machine back and forth. The swaying rapidly accelerated.
“What does it want?” Abbott wondered aloud.
“Dinner? A playmate? Who knows. But it’s about to get a surprise.” Rafa was kneeling while he worked with the transmitter on his wrist. He flashed through several displays and finally stabbed impatiently at a button. They both watched as the machine’s floodlights began to swivel. The brilliant beams slashed from horizontal to vertical in wildly oscillating spirals until they hit the plum-colored underside of the monstrous jellyfish.
It recoiled abruptly, streaks of pink shooting rapidly across its skin, released its grip on the machine, and shot upward a dozen meters or so with a graceful flick of the ever-moving rudder around its midline.
The mining machine teetered briefly on its back legs and finally righted itself with a groan that set their teeth on edge. Almost immediately its servos had compensated for the muddy tilt of the earth and its lights speared directly at the belly of the creature.
For a few seconds it hung motionless except for the steady writhing of its tentacles, perhaps confused or merely thinking. Then it began to swell, its blimp-like midsection bulging outward till it had doubled its already impossibly massive girth. Suddenly the entire central chamber of its body began a rhythmic contraction, and it lifted with surprising speed until it disappeared into the murky night sky.
Rafa and Abbott continued to peer into the darkness above the mining machine with a mixture of awe, dread, and relief, until they could convince themselves that their visitor would not return. At last Abbott slumped back to a sitting position with a sigh.
“Whew! Remind me not to wander off by myself. This doesn’t look like a very safe neighborhood.”
Rafa shudder
ed in agreement. “Let’s hope we just saw the top of the food chain.”
“Amen to that!”
“I’ll walk the miner up close to the force field. The less we’re out in the open, the better I’ll feel.”
Abbott nodded in fervent agreement.
* * *
Rafa was stripping out of his biosuit in the muddy equipment hold when he felt a momentary buzz from his implants. He glanced at the small LCD on his wrist, which informed him that he was now linked all the way through to Earth. But despite the warning, he jumped at the disembodied voice that abruptly filled his ears a moment later.
Good evening to all of you on the Erisa Explorer crew. This is Anton Bezovnik, President of MEEGO in Houston. You may remember me from your orientation not long ago. We’re happy to finally be in contact. We are receiving excellent signals from each of you and will be introducing you to your individual controls shortly.
I understand from Mr. Heward that several vikings were lost when you touched down. He tells me there was a mudslide and that there has been some equipment damage. Please accept our condolences and be assured that we’ll do whatever we can to avoid such accidents in the future. We’re confident that with your help, this mission can still be a resounding success.
Because viking implants are new to most of you, let me review the protocols you learned in training. Each of you will have one or more controls that will assign tasks and monitor your work. Typically you’ll be linked with your control continuously during work hours, though you are allowed an occasional short break to attend to personal needs.
Mr. Heward is formally in command when you are not linked with a control, but he reports to the team lead back on Earth and does not have authority to countermand Earthside orders except with my approval. Right now your team lead is Dr. Satler; Dr. Edvardsen will be in charge on alternate shifts. Remember that you are expected to follow the instructions of Dr. Satler and your control to the letter.
Controls are authorized to use neural stimulation on a limited basis as rewards for your cooperation. Do your work without complaint or prodding, and tell your control what sort of stimulation you prefer. But don’t haggle or bargain for rewards; government regulation requires careful logging and periodic audits of your stimulations to prevent addiction, and MEEGO strictly observes legal pleasure quotas.
We also use neural prods for discipline. If you have not experienced a prod, let me encourage you not to tempt fate. A prod is in a class of its own as far as pain is concerned. I remind you that we expect—and enforce—civilized, law-abiding, cooperative behavior from all of our crews at all times, even when you are off-duty.
Bezovnik’s voice cut out and was quickly replaced by a deeper, more youthful-sounding one.
This is Dr. Satler. I just have a few additional items. Your wrist monitor displays status information, including a control schedule and a list of assigned tasks. It can also display a complete policy manual, a primer on safety and first aid procedures, the assignments and whereabouts of your fellow crewmembers, and other useful information. Please refer to it if you have any questions.
As you know, there will be a short all-hands meeting at the beginning of each twelve-hour shift, for coordination purposes. Shift rotations run on Earth time and will not coincide with your day-night patterns since Erisa Beta II has such a short day. We’ve lost some time due to technical difficulties, so your first real meeting will be in about five hours. Between now and then you’ll be introduced to your control and do some brief preliminary tasks to prepare for tomorrow. Then you’ll be allowed to sleep.
Stand by now while your individual controls connect.
Rafa yawned as he dropped the slippery biosuit in a corner. At the other end of the hold, Abbott was stretched out prone on the bare metal, his heels resting in a muddy puddle. The kid with the nose rings was sorting through the tangle of damaged equipment created by their tumble down the hillside. As Rafa watched, he stiffened and nodded to an unseen speaker.
At the same moment, a voice filled his own mind.
Mr. Orosco?
Rafa responded aloud. “Yes, I’m here. Go ahead.”
This is Dr. Satler again, the team lead. I’m actually more scientist than administrator, at least by inclination. So I’ll be working with you to catalog the life on the planet, identify biohazards, things like that.
“I see.”
I noticed that you have an academic background. That may be useful.
“Hope so.”
When Rafa did not comment further, Satler continued. I understand you already found our first biohazard for us.
“Abbott and I set up the communications equipment. While we were out there we saw a... I don’t know what to call it... An enormous flying jellyfish thing. It looked like a huge round blimp with tentacles.”
Did it attack?
“Not us. It came to check out the mining machine. Played with it like a toy.”
Act aggressive?
“Hard to say. It didn’t do anything all that violent—but then, cat and mouse games usually look innocent until the cat gets bored.”
So why do you think it left?
“It dropped the miner like a hot potato when we flipped the floodlights on. Then its belly puffed up like a balloon, and it took off. I think it was more startled than scared; it’s hard to imagine real fear in anything that big.”
You could be right. I’ll go back and take a look at your vike feed a little later. These pufferbellies sound interesting.
“Pufferbellies?”
We don’t come up with fancy Latin names until we can fill in the taxonomy a bit with DNA analysis.
Rafa shrugged. “I guess that’s as good a name as any. Don’t know if I’d call them interesting, though.”
Anyway, shall we go over the schedule? We’ve got a lot to do before the next shift starts.
6
The knock sounded terse and hollow and strangely loud against the counterpoint of the twins’ happy chatter—the way it always sounded in Julie’s dream. Rafa glanced at his wife, his expression maddeningly calm, and rolled smoothly to his feet when he saw that she was up to her wrists in cookie dough.
“I’ll go,” he said, dumping pumpkin guts into the kitchen incinerator and scooping Kyrie onto his back. Lauren looked up from her own half-finished jack-o-lantern and giggled as Rafa pretended to flick seeds on her. In the dream, that giggle was hauntingly carefree and innocent. It broke Julie’s heart to remember it, made her desperate to wake up. But the dream always swept her relentlessly along.
“Rafael Orosco?” It was an unfamiliar voice, deep and businesslike.
“Yes.”
“I’m Agent Tearle from the FBI. This is my partner, Agent Gregory. We’re investigating the death of Samantha Oberling. Could we ask you some questions?”
Julie wanted to scream at Rafa to shut the door, to run for his life and hers. But instead she froze, lonely dread settling like the mists of the chilly October fog outside. Rafa had told her about the grisly car accident he’d seen the night before. But a cold foreboding told her the FBI didn’t get involved with traffic problems. And she’d noticed earlier that his bloodstained sweats were no longer crumpled on top of a basket in the laundry room. She hadn’t washed them...
She couldn’t think of any neighbors or acquaintances by the name they’d mentioned. Did Rafa know the victim from the university? What connection could her little family possibly have to a murder?
From the front of the house there was a pregnant silence. When her husband spoke, he sounded clipped and hostile.
“Can I see your ID?”
A moment later Julie heard a murmur and heavy footsteps sounding in the entryway. She washed her hands and slid the cookie sheet into the oven, then followed a very curious Lauren into the living room. Rafa was sitting with Kyrie on his lap, facing the two officers. He was holding a pen and an official-looking form as if he were about to sign something. He didn’t acknowledge her reassuring smile when she cau
ght his eye, and Julie felt resentment wash over her.
Rafa knew something, was hiding something. He was getting ready to lie to the officers, to her, to his children. In retrospect she could see it. Cruel to be kind.
One of the visitors was seated on the piano bench. Young and intense, he only nodded curtly as Julie came into the room. The other stood and offered his hand. He was short and muscular, with streaks of silver at his temples and a receding hairline. The heavy jacket he was wearing bulged in several places.
“Hello, ma’am. Are you Julie?”
“Yes.” How did they know her name?
“I’m Ray Gregory. We’d like to talk to you as well, when we’re finished with your husband. Could you wait upstairs?”
Julie tasted the rudeness of the dismissal, resented it as she had that night, but was glad she had the sense to take the girls to their room and get them occupied with some coloring books and crayons. At least it had deferred their confusion and heartache. When they were busy she went into the den and curled up in Rafa’s favorite leather easy chair under an old quilt. The vent in the corner carried the sound of the men’s voices from below with gratifying clarity.
The younger agent—Tearle—was asking the questions. Did Rafa use any illegal drugs, he wanted to know.
“No. Nothing. Not even tanners.”
“Joak? Vust?” Tearle didn’t sound satisfied with a flat denial.
“No. You’re welcome to test me.”
“Know anybody who does?”
“Plenty. Doesn’t everyone these days?”
“Close friends?”
“Mostly students at the university.”
“Do you have any sources of income other than your salary?”
“No. Why?”
“Ever been audited?”
“No.”
“Own any property other than your home?”
“Just a skimmer, furniture, stuff like that.”
“Do you hire someone to do your taxes?”
“No. Julie’s a financial whiz.”
Viking Page 4
