Gravity's Eye

by Ian C Douglas

  Doctor Tom Ganister

  Aug 7th

  We woke to find the radio sabotaged. Smashed! And both buggies with their engines removed. We’re trapped! It’s a hundred miles to Base, no way could oxygen last that far on foot.

  I swear the others think I did it to keep them here. Even Veronica seems to be losing faith in me. They keep muttering behind my back. We turned the Station upside down. Not a peep of the engines.

  We can last here awhile, thanks to the hydroponics garden and air recycling. But how long before anyone comes looking for us?

  I don’t know what to do.

  Doctor Tom Ganister

  Aug 9th

  I’m going down with cabin fever. I must be. Around midnight I went to the kitchen for a drink. Wheeler was peering in at me through a window!

  A groan whispered in the night. Zeke jumped.

  “You idiot!” he rebuked himself. It was Fitch, mumbling in his sleep.

  “Go…he’s got to go…got to...” Fitch shifted his weight and gently snored.

  Zeke returned to the journal.

  Aug 11th

  It’s the yellow sphere. I’m convinced. Somehow it’s sending us all mad. Where the hell is it? I came across Wiley in the lab, staring into mid-air as if hypnotised. I questioned him and he said it was me who was acting oddly and stormed off in a huff.

  I wish I’d never come to this planet.

  Doctor Tom Ganister

  Yellow? Then it wasn’t the purplish Orb of Words. So was this the Gshnodaa?

  Zeke tried to stifle a yawn but failed. His eyelids felt like lead, too heavy to keep open any longer. His head was nodding forward and he jolted it back. It was no good, he was too exhausted to read any more. He placed the logbook back in his pack and snuggled into his sleeping bag. The story of the Beagle research team would have to wait.

  A new orb! And the poor pioneers hadn’t a clue how powerful it was. Zeke had no doubt it sealed their fate. Something awful happened here.

  Zeke glanced at the brooding outline of the dilapidated station. He shuffled deeper into his sleeping bag. Despite the thoughts swirling in his brain, he immediately fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Morning at the

  Beagle Research Station

  “Ouch.”

  Stones scratched against Zeke’s spine. He sat up, rubbing his back. The small Martian sun was already rising above the distant canyon walls. A glance at his watch revealed it was mid-morning. Fitch and Trixie’s sleeping bags were empty, but their footprints trailed down to the battered building.

  Why didn’t they wait?

  Zeke wriggled out of his bag and bounded down to the building. He paused at the steel ring of the airlock and peered into the gloom. Nothing was visible but the dark. Zeke took a deep breath and plunged inside.

  As his eyes adjusted he passed from the depressurisation chamber into the long cluttered corridor he remembered from before. The sound of banging and tapping reverberated along the walls. Then he heard Trixie’s voice. She was nearby, in one of the rooms lining the passage.

  “I hope you haven’t brought me on a wild goose chase. So far nothing but Earth junk.”

  “We’ve hardly started. Be patient,” Fitch snapped.

  “Well if Hailey has misinformed us, let me kill him before you do.”

  Zeke walked up to the doorway. “I hope that was a joke,” he said nervously.

  Fitch and Trixie were down on their knees surrounded by a mishmash of office and scientific equipment, files, computer parts, manuals.

  Fitch smiled his glacial smile. “We can’t resist a little teasing in the morning.”

  They all laughed uneasily.

  “Well, I think I know what we’re looking for,” Zeke announced.

  “Thank the stars for that. This is murder on my nails,” Trixie remarked, getting to her feet.

  “Out with it then,” Fitch said, with an intense frown.

  Zeke related the pages he’d read in the Beagle logbook, with the description of the new orb.

  Fitch stood up. “That must be it! I wonder how it works?”

  “But that diary must be a hundred and fifty years old—” Trixie began.

  “A hundred and seventy, actually,” Zeke interjected.

  “Whatever, how do we know this yellow orb’s still here?”

  Zeke chewed on his knuckle.

  “Because none of the crew ever left.”

  “And you know this how?” Trixie asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “I just do.”

  “Super, absolutely super,” Fitch beamed, rubbing his hands and striding out into the corridor. Trixie followed him.

  “Now we know what to look for, let’s split up. Zeke take the right wing, the living quarters. Trixie turn left for the laboratories. I’ll carry on here.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Zeke said. Goose bumps were marching up his spine again.

  Trixie laughed cruelly. “You still think long dead astronauts are lurking around the corner?”

  “No,” Zeke replied. “But there’s danger here. I sense it.”

  Fitch stepped across the corridor to a door on the opposite side. “I know you came here in the middle of a spooky sandstorm last time, but I’m surprised you’re still harping on about this. You’re normally so level-headed.”

  He placed a hand on the doorknob.

  “There’s no harm in sticking together,” Zeke protested.

  Fitch looked back over his shoulder. “But that slows us down, Zeke. There is absolutely nothing to fear in this dump.”

  Fitch fixed Zeke with a long hard stare as he opened the door.

  Time skidded to a nasty halt. Zeke and Trixie gazed in horror at Fitch, glaring back at them, his hand on the door handle.

  “What?” he demanded to know.

  A monster was blocking the doorway.

  It was the size and shape of a human, and covered head to toe in a hard sooty skin, like charcoal. Shards of glassy crystal poked out from its face, disfiguring its eyes, nose and a lipless mouth. More shards pierced its upper arms, shoulders, and fingers.

  Trixie screamed. The monster jutted its head forward and white vomit gushed from its mouth. Fitch turned round as the disgusting liquid spattered across his face. He fell to the ground, shrieking.

  Trixie scanned the corridor desperately. With eyes shining, she pointed to a dented old filing cabinet lying a few feet away. The iron box launched into the air and flew towards their attacker. But the thing gestured with a jagged hand. As though colliding with a glass wall, the cabinet stopped midair and crashed to the ground.

  Zeke instinctively stepped backwards, tripped on something and tumbled. As he frantically attempted to stand Trixie shimmered and vanished.

  “Ghtrrfrasdii!” the monster cried with a tongue punctured by crystal slivers.

  Zeke recognised this word as Hesperian. Return!

  Sure enough, Trixie’s long leggy figure re-materialised, her pretty features etched with terror. The fiend leapt forwards, spewing more vomit. The bile caught Trixie on the jaw, and she collapsed choking.

  Zeke managed to stand, take another step back only to stumble over yet more debris.

  The thing was upon him before he could gather his wits. Blinding, stinging liquid poured down his nose and throat, suffocating his lungs. A reek of chemicals attacked his brain as the world dissolved away.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Beneath the

  Beagle Research Station

  The world reformed in the shape of a nightmare. Zeke was blind and paralysed. The weight of Mars itself seemed to be pressing down upon his torso. Something was smothering his mouth, with only his nostrils open to the dank air. He struggled with all his might, but his arms and legs were bound to his sides.

  “Stretch your jaw, keep doing it.”

  The words were faint and faraway.

  With a tremendous effort to keep calm Zeke attempted to open his mouth. A rubbery and
foul-smelling substance clung to his face, like congealed glue. He pushed down hard with his chin, again and again.

  Yes! Something ruptured. A taste of dirt tumbled into his mouth, dry and metallic.

  I’m underground!

  Zeke’s lungs and heart jerked into overdrive. Fear surged through his body. Was he buried alive? His head had enough room to turn but from the neck down he was trapped.

  “Any luck?”

  Zeke recognised the distant voice. It was Fitch.

  “A bit. Can speak now.”

  “Well, obviously!”

  The moon boy’s sarcasm brought a hint of a smile to Zeke’s lips. He focused on long, deep breathing and craned his neck, trying to figure out his surroundings. There was a meagre scrap of light around his feet, an aperture connecting to another burrow.

  Somewhere, away in the soil, a girl was sobbing. For the first time ever Zeke felt pity for Trixie Cutter.

  “What’s going on?” he called to Fitch.

  “Well, as a bright boy like you must have already figured out, we’re beneath the surface. When I regained consciousness I was being dragged through smaller and smaller tunnels. The creature seems to have built itself an underground lair.”

  Or a refrigerator, Zeke thought with a churning sensation. Were they being stored for dinner?

  “Can you use your powers?” Zeke called out again.

  “I’m getting nothing. I think we’re in the middle of a subterranean iron deposit. Enough residual magnetism to blanket out our psychic skills.”

  Zeke let out a curse. He made a brief stab at translocating. It didn’t work. He clenched his fists in fury.

  Fitch continued. “What on Mars was that thing? It walked like a man, but vomited like a bug.”

  “A bug?”

  “The way it knocked us out with vomit and then wrapped us in it. Made me think of spiders.”

  Of course! Zeke’s limbs were stuck to his body with the monster’s bile. Forgetting Fitch couldn’t see him, Zeke nodded in agreement.

  “Ants and wasps regurgitate body fluids to make their nests, don’t they?” he asked.

  “Isn’t that termites? I don’t really know. We don’t get many bugs on the Moon.”

  Both Fitch and Zeke laughed a half-hearted laugh. Zeke’s laugh died on his lips. He gulped. There was something he wanted to say.

  “Whatever happens Fitch, I want to thank you for being my friend.”

  A long silence.

  “Fitch? Fitch, are you there?”

  “Sure I’m here. And that’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. I wasn’t very popular you know, back on the Moon.”

  “But you have friends on Mars, not least me. After all, I’m not exactly Mr Popular myself. But you and me, we’re mates and—”

  “Shh!” Fitch hissed.

  For a moment Zeke thought he’d embarrassed Fitch. Then he realised something was scraping and scrambling towards them. The monster! The sound of short, rasping gasps came very close. Zeke felt five stony fingers touch his calf. He bit back a squeal. Then a thought struck him. The monster spoke Hesperian.

  “Kshnmlnwa yriwiw,” he blurted out.

  The fingers withdrew.

  He said it again. “Hello friend.”

  Two coarse hands grabbed his ankles and hauled him out in a flurry of grit.

  As the cloud settled Zeke could see he was in a larger tunnel, around four feet in diameter. The walls were made up of regolith; the ashes, sand and mud that over the aeons had accumulated on the face of Mars. It was like being stuck down a rabbit warren, but with one particularly messed-up rabbit.

  The figure was crouching at his feet.

  “Be brave,” Zeke muttered under his breath.

  The creature slithered up his body. Every muscle in Zeke’s body tightened. They came face to face. The unpolished gems in its cheekbones caught the feeble light and illuminated its twisted visage. A rank smell of dirt seeped from its lungs onto Zeke’s face. His stomach heaved.

  The cracked lips parted.

  “Wonders! Child from the third planet, speaking our words.”

  Zeke stared into dry, filmy eyes, as pale as a statue’s.

  “Yes, I speak the language of Mars. Why have you imprisoned us?”

  “Imprisoned? No, not these old stones. I have saved you.”

  “Saved?”

  “You will be safe down here. Safe from the evil.”

  Oh dear, it’s totally nuts, Zeke thought.

  “Child-from-the-other-world does not believe Cratan? But it is true, great wickedness is coming. Cratan will protect you.”

  “Cratan? Is that your name?”

  The word sounded familiar, but Zeke couldn’t think why.

  “It is now. First name, flesh name, forgotten long ago. Nothing but rocks in here now.”

  The thing rapped its bony skull with a loud resonant thud.

  “Then will you free us? If we stay down here we will die.”

  “You not die. Cratan nurture you. Cratan has way to preserve life.”

  Zeke stifled an urge to scream at the brute. He had to keep it talking.

  “Preserve? Is that what’s happened to you?”

  Cratan twisted its neck to an inhuman angle.

  “Yes.”

  “But…how?”

  “The yellow orb.”

  “The orb found by the astronauts, the Martian artefact?”

  Two hands as hard as concrete grabbed Zeke around the neck.

  “Very clever, child. Why you know so much?”

  “That’s why we’re here!” Zeke said choking, “We need the orb, the Gshnodaa.”

  Cratan lifted back its head and howled. “Thieves. You are thieves. You will steal away my orb and leave me to perish.”

  “No, no! That’s not it!” Zeke cried in English, repeating in Hesperian, “no, not so.”

  But it was too late. The monster released its grip, and scuttled away, out of Zeke’s line of vision. Angry shrieks echoed through the underground lair before fading into silence. Silence and the dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Underground

  In the dark it was hard to keep track of time. Zeke drifted in and out of an exhausted sleep. After a while, his senses sharpened, bringing him back to the dismal reality. He blinked and looked around the burrows. At least his eyesight was adjusting to the gloom.

  “How’s it going?” Fitch called out.

  “Not good,” were the only words that came to Zeke’s mind.

  “The puke around my arms is weakening,” Fitch said. “Try pushing away from your body, over and over.”

  “Any word from Trixie?”

  “No, she’s been quiet for, well, seems like an eternity.”

  Zeke went to speak but the words faltered on his lips. Much as he loathed the Chasm’s top bully, he couldn’t bear the thought of her dying down here. The voice at the back of his head piped up, Keep positive. He began struggling against the bonds of dried bile.

  “Stop! I can hear it!” Fitch called in a loud whisper.

  Zeke stopped wriggling as, once more, the sound of stony limbs scuffing through dirt approached.

  The crystal face loomed above him.

  “Nasty thieves, you will not find my orb. You will not take it,” the creature said in Hesperian.

  “We don’t want to take the Gshnodaa away,” Zeke said. “We only want to ask it questions.”

  The creature shifted its head from side to side.

  “Is this some flesh-body trick?”

  “What?”

  “You said the Gshnodaa. That is not the orb, that is I.”

  “You are the Gshnodaa?”

  The monster nodded, and made a rattling noise with its stick-like tongue. If Zeke’s arms had been free he would have slapped himself on the forehead.

  “Fitch! The orb isn’t the Gshnodaa. It’s the creature!”

  “Then ask it. Ask it!”

  Zeke licked his lips and conjured up the appropriate ali
en words.

  “Then it’s you we need. We want your help.”

  “Help?”

  “We seek Gravity’s Eye. Where, where…” How had the Engraving described it? “Where the mind expands to the level of the atom.”

  Cratan lay down adjacent to Zeke. It stretched out a soot black hand and began stroking Zeke’s hair. A powerful wave of nausea hit the pit of his stomach. Zeke took a deep gulp and pushed that feeling aside.

  “Why, child-from-the-third-planet, go there? Dangerous place. Thin place. Easy for electrons and protons to wear out. The evil could slip through.”

  “Nevertheless we must go. Tell me.”

  “What did it say?” Fitch cried out frantically.

  “I know where it is. I see far. I see all around this world. See many secrets, some buried deep, some wriggling their way out, like worms. Worms and secrets.”

  “And Gravity’s Eye?”

  “What do those words mean?” Fitch yelled.

  The creature sniffed. The surface of its pitted cheeks cracked into fine wrinkles.

  “Tell me Cratan, where can I find it?”

  It looked him straight in the eye. “Ascraeus Mons.”

  Mars stopped in its tracks. Zeke thought he felt the vast planet beneath him, hanging motionless in the emptiness of space.

  “Will you tell me what the damn thing said?” Fitch roared.

  The planet started to spin again.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Zeke said, struggling to find the words. “It just gave us the whereabouts to Gravity’s Eye.”

  “You think you’re so clever!” Fitch snapped back. “You know I can’t speak Martian.”

  “But you do English.”

  “What?”

  “Or rather Latin. Surely you can follow a little Latin.”

  “Zeke, stop messing with me or—”

  “It answered with a common Latin name. Ascraeus Mons.”

  There was a long pause while Fitch’s brain tried to make sense.