by Jamie Sawyer
Something in the response angered Kellerman and his frown deepened. “I already know that. You can stop wasting my time with information I already know. What do you want here?”
“Now? Just to get off this damned rock,” I said, meeting his gaze across the desk. “My crew will be reporting to Command as soon as we are able. I’ll need access to your communications satellite in order to send a broadcast to Liberty Point.”
Kellerman nodded absently – like his mind was elsewhere.
“I suppose that Command doesn’t want to lose sight of a significant investment.” I wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Helios Station, or my team. “There is, after all, still a war going on. It might not be the hot war that our ancestors fought, but it is just as important. Even with the Treaty.”
There was something knowing in his eyes, for just a second, then it was gone.
“You will have access to Operations,” he said. He paused, considering his next response. “I’m a man of my word, Captain. I suppose that you deserve some sort of explanation. I am committed to my mission here. As you heard yesterday, Helios is a harsh mistress. The Krell are everywhere. The station has suffered a series of debilitating attacks and I have lost many personnel. I take the responsibility for the care of my staff very seriously.”
“Where is the rest of your staff, then?” I asked. Over two thousand men and women, all gone. That isn’t taking responsibility seriously. It’s madness.
“That isn’t important.”
“They’re all dead?” There was no point indulging in niceties with this man; he immediately struck me as senseless.
Kellerman shook his head. “None of that is important. The site – the Artefact – that is what matters now. It really must be seen to be believed. I can explain my failure to report to Command.”
“It doesn’t matter any more. I just want to protect my people.”
“I think it’s best that I tell you anyway. If I don’t, then Command will only send another team to investigate. There may be additional unnecessary casualties.” He sighed. “The Krell have developed an interest in our radio communications. By sending a regular broadcast, we were almost beckoning them to our position. We found that when we refrained from broadcasting, the frequency of Krell raiding parties decreased significantly. Mr Deacon, bring me that data-slate.”
Deacon retrieved a battered data-slate from a nearby table. Kellerman called up some biological diagrams and slid it across the desk to me. The slate showed intensive and comprehensive examinations of Krell specimens, complete with annotations. Brain wave patterns, frontal lobe concentrations, dissections, examinations of the communicator antennae and spines found on the primary-forms.
“Certain radio waves – certain broadcast spectrums – actively interfere with the brain functions of the Krell. This is likely how the leader-forms exert their will over the lesser xeno-forms, the so-called primary-forms and secondary-forms.”
He was excited now, in full-flow: gone was the emotionless veneer. Which is the real man? I wondered. He motioned to Deacon again, who retrieved a stack of papers. The security chief looked decidedly unimpressed at being used as Kellerman’s assistant, but Kellerman didn’t seem to notice. He splayed the papers across his desk, searching for individual sheets and sliding them across to me. Soon, a stack of papers, slates and files was assembled in front of me.
“As I said, they are attracted to certain wavebands. These are interpreted by areas of the alien brain,” he pointed to a schematic showing parts of a primary xeno-form skull cavity, “and then obeyed as though they are a direct brain impulse from the actual organism.”
“How did you discover this?”
“As a result of the Artefact,” he said, drawing his words out. “By just listening to the broadcast, and observing how the Artefact affects the Krell population of Helios.”
I pulled back from the desk, and scanned over the documents, sighing heavily. For my own part, the documents didn’t seem to prove anything like what Kellerman was proposing. I was no scientist, but much of his evidence looked like the jumbled rantings of a madman rather than reasoned conclusions.
“If any of this is correct, then this site could break the Alliance or make the Directorate,” I said. “It cannot fall into the wrong hands. You were ordered to remain in contact with Command.”
Kellerman tutted in exasperation. The old Kellerman returned immediately.
“This is the most significant find in human history. It is more important that petty political squabbling and bureaucracy. I’m quite sure that the Directorate knows nothing of the Artefact.”
I baulked at that. To describe the Directorate–Alliance hostilities as squabbling was a step too far. Unexpectedly, I felt a twinge of grief for my mother, and for a life that had been denied. Kellerman’s facial expression didn’t reveal whether he had seen the shift in my presentation.
“The Artefact is what matters,” he repeated. “It is glorious, Captain. Simply glorious. Understanding the Artefact’s signal is more important than remaining in contact with Command.” Kellerman’s mood changed again, and his face positively glowed. “We have ascertained exactly what it does and why it was left here. But that is hardly the same as understanding the signal. The Artefact is something ancient, something so alien that even the Krell do not understand it.”
“I’ve heard enough of this,” I said quietly but sternly. “I need access to Operations. Now.”
“And as I have said, you shall have it. But there is time for that. Our satellite will not be in optimum position for communication with Liberty Point until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest. It takes an inordinate amount of power to activate Helios Station’s radio antenna. I would prefer that you do so when the chances of making contact with the satellite are best. I am sure that you understand.”
“So long as we can send a broadcast to Command.”
“You have my word,” Kellerman said, nodding readily. “But that leaves us some time to fill. I don’t want this to be a wasted opportunity. There is something that I would like to show you – so that you can take an aspect of my findings back to Command, so that you can tell them how important my research really is.”
I predicted where this was going, and tried to head Kellerman off: “The Artefact? Our mission parameters specifically excluded visitation of the site.” I was happy for it to stay that way.
“No, most certainly not the Artefact. It would be almost impossible to reach the Artefact itself, such is the concentration of Krell in the surrounding sectors. This is something else.”
“What?” I asked angrily. I was fed up with Kellerman’s games.
“It will be easier to show you, rather than try to explain,” Kellerman said. “But it is quite a discovery. Tomorrow morning, we are going to go on an expedition into the desert.”
Behind me, I heard Deacon groan. Kellerman scowled at him.
“We’ll take a crawler. There will be room for some of your squad, if you wish. Bring along a couple of soldiers. Those of a more martial disposition will undoubtedly appreciate the find.”
“So long as I have access to Operations,” I said, as I stood to leave the room.
Kellerman’s face remained fixed, but something flashed in his eyes. “Tomorrow, Captain. You will have access tomorrow. Until then, you are free to move about the station as you please. You’re not a prisoner here, but I will bid you farewell until tomorrow morning.”
Back at the hab, I hastily convened another meeting.
I was dubious of Kellerman’s explanations, of his staged performance. He was hiding something, of that I was sure. But equally, he was the authority on Helios, and only he could sanction use of the deep-space communications array. For now, at least, we had to play ball.
I relayed everything that Kellerman had said to my team. This was my decision, how to work the situation, but I’d never been one to take decisions without exploring them with my squad. They were a tempering counsel.
“So
, if we go through with this, we can use the Ops centre?” Kaminski asked.
“That’s what Kellerman says.”
“Do you trust this crazy old bastard?”
“Not at all. But he knows the planet better than us, and I don’t think that he’s lying about the satellite. If our best chance of sending a signal off Helios is to go out into the desert and see whatever it is he wants to show us, then so be it.”
Kaminski nodded. “I suppose so.”
“It just doesn’t feel right,” Jenkins added, without any further explanation. “Did he tell you what he wants to show you?”
“He kept that part under wraps. But I suppose he is right about a report back to Command. If we organise an evac without making any effort to investigate Kellerman’s research, then questions are going to be asked.”
“I guess,” Jenkins said, clucking her tongue.
“I’m going to need a couple of volunteers to join me tomorrow,” I said. I could order my troops to join the expedition, but I’d much rather have two willing volunteers.
“I can’t say I want to go,” Blake said, “but it beats sitting around the hab all day.”
“I’ll go,” Kaminski added.
That selection suited me: I wanted to keep Blake close, after his disclosure the previous night, and I wanted to keep an eye on Kaminski just because. He’d made it plain that he’d rather shoot his way out of the situation than reason with Kellerman, and I didn’t want to come back to the station to find that he’d implemented that plan.
“I just wish that we could climb into the simulator-tanks and sim-up,” Blake said. “Would make sense.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Kaminski said. “We’re on a hostile planet, surrounded by fish heads. Maybe we should wait until the simulators are repaired.”
“Simmer down. You both know that the tanks are out of action.” I frowned, looked over the group. “Where is Olsen, anyway?”
Jenkins sighed and shook her head. “He’s already taken a look at the simulators, and he isn’t sure whether they can be repaired. Reckons it will take a few days, minimum. He went with some of Kellerman’s research staff. Said he’d be back later.”
“That sees to ’Ski’s idea, at least for now,” Martinez said.
“Doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Kaminski grunted.
Of course, I couldn’t use my sims even if I wanted to. My data-ports unconsciously throbbed for a moment and I rubbed the back of my neck.
“It’s decided then. Kaminski, Blake – be ready for pick-up at sunrise tomorrow. Martinez, Jenkins – stay on-station and keep an eye on the hab.”
“What do we do until tomorrow?” Martinez asked.
“We wait,” I said. “I like this even less then you, but if we can get out of this situation without any more bloodshed, then that has to be worth something.”
I couldn’t sleep that night, either, so I took watch duty again. My ribs felt considerably better, or at least sufficiently numb for me to operate, but my leg still ached.
I was just passing time until dawn, until Kellerman’s expedition. Then I would have access to Operations, and could at least update Command.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw Elena’s face. If I stayed awake, I thought that I could hear voices in the corridors: Atkins and Pakos, yelling commands to the bridge staff.
“All hands – prepare to abandon ship. Initialising emergency evacuation procedure.”
Just the wind.
I didn’t want to revisit any more painful memories, didn’t want to remember, but I really wanted – needed – to get some sleep. So I used the remainder of the painkillers. They felt chalky and dry in my mouth. Took enough so that my consciousness would be sufficiently blunted to avoid dreaming.
Eventually, I collapsed into a dead man’s bunk.
Dead woman’s bunk, I corrected myself.
There was a wrinkled two-D photograph tacked to one of the walls, beside the unmade bed. It showed two women embracing – not the clinch of lovers, but a tender moment between friends or sisters – against a blue-and-green backdrop. The two looked alike; one younger than the other, both blonde-haired and blue-eyed. The older was familiar. The tech from the hangar bay, I realised. Tyler, that was her name.
I hoped that her sister wouldn’t mind me taking the bed. She was dead, probably, and undoubtedly didn’t need it any more. The two smiling women looked down at me as I tried to sleep, their eyes full of promise and hope.
Helios didn’t have either of those properties.
When it was quiet, when everyone else was gone, that was when I felt the Artefact’s signal most. Kellerman hadn’t told me anything about the effects on the human mind, not in his chamber today, but I remembered that his broadcasts back to Command had noted it.
I had chosen not to mention it to the others. They would surely think that I was mad, that I was going down the same path as Kellerman.
Maybe he hears it too.
Maybe I should ask him about it, when I get the chance. Or maybe I should hide it away, keep it buried inside.
Perhaps I am going mad, I reasoned. There’s already so much buried away. There’s hardly room for anything else.
Two pairs of eyes watched me as I lay in the dark. The smiles were mocking me, I decided.
I need a drink. I really need a drink.
No you don’t. This is something different.
Finally, I slept a drug-induced sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE SHARD
We met in the hangar bay, the next morning. I’d managed a few hours’ sleep – desperate, fitful – but I felt better for it. The ache in my ribs had reduced and my head felt almost normal.
Kellerman assembled Deacon, a driver called Ray, a meteorologist who introduced himself as Farrell, and a couple of his researchers. Kaminski and Blake accompanied me.
A sand-crawler was packed with supplies; enough to last us a few days on the outside, I reckoned, but Kellerman insisted that we would be back by late afternoon. The researchers appeared enthused by the idea of going off-station, but Deacon was the opposite. He grunted a greeting at me, then went about running operational checks on the crawler.
“Be more careful, Christo-damn it!” Kellerman shouted from across the hangar. “I’m a man, not an animal. You people treat me worse than the Krell!”
We watched the scene playing out. Two of Kellerman’s researchers had lifted him out of his hover-chair, and were holding him by the arms to support his weight. They were trying – unsuccessfully – to guide his legs into the lower half of a hostile-environment suit.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” one of the researchers mumbled.
The suit exterior had been grafted with a complex arrangement of attenuators and pistons. The design looked archaic and barely serviceable, an exo-suit cobbled together from a variety of different sources. As Kellerman was finally lowered into the suit and interfaced with it, his legs began to twitch. He stood up on his own. He swore at another of his researchers, who fussed about him to ensure he was properly connected. The exo-suit gave an angry hiss as Kellerman flexed each leg. Researchers continued plugging wires into data-ports on Kellerman’s neck, while he struggled into the upper half of the exo-suit. His people bolted a Y-rack onto his back, between the shoulder blades, then added other components to his arms. He rotated each arm, shrugged his shoulders.
Whenever a researcher touched him, or went to assist in some way, he angrily threw them off. His face grew red with something approaching rage, as he stomped around the hangar bay. His pace was awkward and irregular. It was not a combat-suit by any stretch, but the exo was capable of interpreting whatever spinal capacity Kellerman retained.
“I apologise that you had to see that,” he shouted over to me. “My idiot researchers do not appear to recognise that my condition causes me gross humiliation.”
Nothing that I had seen suggested that Kellerman’s people were treating him with disrespect, but that wasn’t what his comment was really
about. He was angry that he had to depend on others, that his legs had been taken from him. I recalled the images I’d seen back on the Oregon – of Kellerman lying in that hospital bed, undergoing psych-eval post whatever incident it was that had claimed the use of his legs. That anger hadn’t dissipated much, despite the passage of years.
“Impressive kit,” was all I said.
“It was custom-made for me after my accident. It enables me to continue field studies in a way that the hover-chair would not. It is based, in fact, on the same technology as the combat-armour that your simulants wear.”
Was that just a throwaway comment, or does he really know about the simulants? It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me, really – Kellerman was a member of the Alliance scientific community – but even so, I was mildly disturbed by it. I didn’t want Kellerman to know the strategic value of the simulant bodies, for some reason that I couldn’t really justify.
“Everyone get suited up,” said Deacon. “Although the atmosphere outside is breathable, there’s a lot of airborne particulate. Better to be safe than sorry.”
We were issued with mismatched environmental wear – real old tech. I struggled into an oversized H-suit; completely unpowered, lined with protective padding. Something like the EVA suits worn by starship maintenance personnel – like an ancient astronaut’s vac-suit. It had once been white but was now stained a dirty beige.
“I wouldn’t want to use this in real vacuum,” I muttered, as I suited up. The H-suit was patched with emergency taping at the wrists, holes amateurishly stitched at the knees.
“Looking good there, Captain,” Blake said.
“Like you’re any better, Kid?”
Both of my team wore similar ill-fitting protective suits, and grinned sheepishly as they got dressed.
“We have to make do with what we have out here,” Kellerman called over.
