Quiet Invasion

by Sarah Zettel

  The team nodded solemnly.

  The depressurization finished, and the green light shone over the inner hatch. Josh worked the hatch and everyone spilled gratefully over into the changing room. Adrian stood ready to help them out of the bulky suits and supplied cold water from the scarab’s fridge. Josh glanced down the corridor and saw movement through the main window. Team Fourteen was on the ball and heading down for their turn at the Discovery.

  By the time Josh looked up from his water bottle again, Vee had vanished. The rest of the team crowded around the kitchen table, eating sandwiches and drinking water and fruit juice in quantity. They all speculated freely and at top volume about what they’d seen, what it meant, and how they were going to frame their findings for Mother Earth. Vee did not reappear.

  Conscience caught up with Josh. He drained the last of his juice and climbed through the side hatch to the sleeping cabin.

  Veronica sat cross-legged on her coach with her briefcase open in front of her, typing frantically. Her lips moved as the keys clacked, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying to herself.

  “Are you all right, Vee?”

  She looked up, startled, and for a moment he saw naked anger on her face. She wiped it away. “Fine.”

  What is it? What is the matter with you? He sat on the edge of the floor. “You really should at least have something to drink.”

  She reached down next to the couch and pulled out a bottle of water. “I’m fine, really.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Anger flickered back across her features. “No.”

  One more try. “You know, this is supposed to be a team effort.”

  “I’d heard,” she replied dryly.

  Leave it alone, he told himself. Let her play her game. This is not your business. But there was a challenge in her eyes that grated at him. No, not a challenge, an accusation.

  Josh picked his way to her couch. “What have you found?” He crouched down next to her.

  With three keystrokes, Veronica blanked her screen. “Nothing I’m ready to talk about.”

  “Listen to me,” he whispered fiercely. “You’ve got an act going, fine. You can play with Peachman’s head, and Wray’s. But you play with the Discovery, and so help me, I will make such a stink you will be booted all the way back to Mother Earth without benefit of shuttle. This is not a gallery show. This is so far beyond important we can barely understand its implications. I will not let you screw around with this.”

  Vee’s angry eyes searched his face. Josh did not let his expression waver or soften. At last, Veronica dropped her gaze. Her fingers moved across the command board and typed out one line of text. She turned the screen toward him. Josh read it and his heart thudded hard in his chest.

  It’s a fake.

  Josh sat back on his heels and met Vee’s gaze. “You’re out of your mind.”

  She frowned hard and typed.

  Keep it down! We have no idea who’s in on this. Go back to dinner. Tell them I overdid it and am taking a nap. Whatever. Get your briefcase out and mail me. I’ll spell it out.

  She added her contact code at the bottom.

  Josh looked at her again. Vee’s face and eyes had hardened. Whatever she’d found, or thought she’d found, she was serious about it, and if she was right

  No. She can’t be.

  Without another word, Josh returned to the kitchen nook.

  “Everything all right?” asked Troy.

  “Oh yeah,” lied Josh, picking up his empty juice cup and carrying it to the sonic cleaner so he wouldn’t have to stay at the table and look at anybody. “It’s easy to overdo it out there if you’re not careful. Vee just needs to lie down and get some extra fluids.”

  And get her head examined. He shut the cup in the cleaner. God, if she’s doing this for self-aggrandizement, I’ll kill her.

  The meal finished, the dishes got cleared, and people spread out as much as the scarab allowed, giving each other the mental space necessary for sane and civil interaction in a confined space. Adrian shuffled back to the changing area, probably to run the post-EVA suit checks and recharge batteries and tanks. Kevin was up front in the pilot’s seat, running over something on the main displays. Terry commandeered one corner of the kitchen table and downloaded the day’s records into her smart cam. She watched the display, apparently oblivious to anything else. Julia retreated to the couch compartment.

  Josh went into the analysis nook, opened one of the overhead compartments, and retrieved his own briefcase. Perched on the nook’s one stool, he jacked it into the counter’s power supply and accessed his mail.

  He typed, I’m up and open. Connect to this contact, and sent the message across to the code Veronica had shown him.

  He waited, trying not to fidget. He wished he’d thought to make a cup of coffee before he started, but now that he had started, he didn’t want to leave the case. Anybody could come down the corridor and read the screen. He wanted all this cleared up, now.

  Another line of text spelled itself out across the screen.

  Up and open. Now, first question. What’s anybody going to do with a CO2 laser on Venus?

  Josh felt his brows knit together. What?

  What’s the atmosphere out there made of? CO2. What’s going to happen if you fire a CO2 laser into a CO2 atmosphere? The beam is going to be absorbed almost immediately. What good is that going to be? The setup makes no sense!

  Josh took a deep breath, steadying himself. A grand outburst was not going to accomplish anything. We are obviously not seeing the whole mechanism. That’s clear from the pattern of holes on the outside. There was something else here.

  Pause. He lifted his cap up, smoothed down his hair, and replaced it. New text appeared.

  Dead convenient, isn’t it? Anything that couldn’t be cobbled together from local materials is conveniently missing from the scene, like a power source for the laser, like any kind of repeater or reflector that you couldn’t make out of salt and stone. And what about the lights?

  The lights? typed Josh, genuinely mystified.

  The lights! There are three lights in the whole place and they’re all in one room. Did somebody just climb down into the dark? Crawl through dark tunnels? Send messages in the dark?

  Josh remembered her lying on her back in the antechamber, staring at the ceiling. Now genuine irritation flared. What did she want, a guidebook? They were supposed to be looking for possible answers for these questions. That was why they were all here. This installation was built by aliens; we can’t expect to understand their motives.

  No. That’s the tautology whoever set this up wants us to start using. Anything that doesn’t make sense can be put down to this all being done by aliens. OF COURSE it doesn’t make sense to us.

  Use Occam’s Razor, Josh. What’s the simpler explanation? That aliens came, undetected, to Venus and created an outpost, which they left half of in permanent darkness. Then they abandoned it, leaving just enough clues behind to let us know they were there. Or is the simpler truth that somebody set up a mysterious looking fake to gain some fame and fortune?

  Or funding. Josh thought involuntarily. Oh, Christ. Funding.

  His head felt light. The soft, background sounds of movement, random clanking, and soft conversation seemed unbearably loud. He tugged hard on the brim of his cap and looked over to the kitchen, wishing for coffee.

  No. This was not happening. She was reading the data wrong.

  More text spilled across the screen. There is nothing in there we don’t understand or that we couldn’t make, given the proper facilities. Anything we might not understand is missing. It’s a SETUP.

  Josh took a deep breath and forced his fingers to type in a reply. His hands had gone cold, he realized. How come after weeks of camera work, measuring, tagging, and analysis, no one else has reached this conclusion?

  No one else wanted to, she replied.

  Josh suppressed a snort. And you did? Or maybe you just wa
nt to get back at Grandma Helen for thinking you’re harmless?

  A long pause this time. A blank screen and a strained mental silence. Is that what you think I’m doing?

  I think it’s possible, returned Josh.

  Fine. The connection shut down.

  Josh sat there, staring at his screen, reading and rereading the words shining on its gray surface.

  A fake? Impossible. Ridiculous. The amount of time, money, and material it would take to rig up a fake like this would be incredible. Nobody on Venera would have access to those kinds of resources.

  Except maybe Grandma Helen.

  Josh’s spine stiffened. No. Now that really was crazy. She’d never do anything like this. No one would.

  But, damn, hasn’t it brought the money rolling in. Right when Venera needed it.

  Josh shook his head. Crazy, crazy. The Venerans were scientists. If there was a cardinal sin among scientists, it was the falsification of data. If you got caught, it meant scandal, possible lawsuits, and the complete ruination of a career.

  But if you didn’t…Josh found he did not want to drink about it. Anger darkened his mind. Vee’d done it. She’d stolen the day. Now, instead of wonder and excitement, he was filled up with suspicion and fear.

  Josh slapped the case lid down. He stowed it away automatically, out of the habit of living and working in confined spaces. Then he shuffled sideways into the kitchen. No one else was there. He heard the sonic shower going. He heard voices from both sides and up front. He thought about coffee, but instead he opened the fridge and rummaged through the scarab’s small stock of beer, pulled himself out a bottle, and twisted the top off.

  “Everything all right, Josh?”

  Josh turned. Adrian stood there, a suit glove in his hand.

  “Yes and no.” He sat at the table. Adrian put the glove on the table and reached into one of the overhead bins. “What’s the matter with that?”

  “Microfracture in one of the seals. Nothing big.” He pulled down a tool kit and a plastic pack containing the silicon rings that helped seal the gloves to the joints in the suit cuffs.

  Josh watched him work for a while; then he looked around carefully and said in a whisper. “Adrian, what do you think of our tourists?”

  Adrian shrugged. “They’re tourists,” he murmured. Adrian had lots of practice at not being overheard. “They’re looking for something profound or amazing to send back to Mother Earth. Saw it on Mars all the time. Idiots racing down Olympus Mons in go-carts and writing articles about what a deeply expanding experience it was.” He frowned at the flawed seal for a moment. “Terry Wray’s pretty cute though.”

  Josh chuckled. “If you like media bland.”

  “But it’s such a cute kind of bland.” Adrian inspected his work. “That’ll do. I’m going to check the fit.”

  Adrian left him there and Josh sat alone listening to the comings and goings of the others. The air smelled of soap, sweat, minerals, and vaguely of sulfur. Josh glanced at the hatch to the couch compartment. What was she doing in there? Who was she telling her theory to? Her manager back on Earth? Julia or Troy, or one of the other team members?

  Terry Wray and her camera?

  Josh felt the blood rush from his face. If Vee told her ideas to anybody, anybody, there would be an outcry like nothing that had been heard yet. The Venerans, all of them, would stand accused of fraud. The U.N. would move in for real, work on the Discovery would be wrenched away, money would dry up, and Venera would fold, and work would stop because there would be no place to do the work from.

  Stop it, Josh. What’s a little more controversy?

  Or are you starting to believe her? Are you starting to agree there’s not one thing in the entire Discovery that could definitely not have been made by a human with the time and resources?

  Josh swallowed hard. Feeling detached from himself, he got up and walked to the couch compartment and opened the hatch. The lights were down. Julia snored gently in her couch, one arm flung out into the aisle. Josh stepped around her.

  Vee still sat up on her couch with her briefcase open on her knees. She glanced up briefly at him and then seemingly dismissed what she saw. Her hands never stopped moving across the command board.

  “Don’t,” whispered Josh. “Don’t go public with this.”

  “Why not?” she asked mildly.

  “Because you’ll ruin them. The Venerans.”

  “They deserve to be ruined.” Bitterness swallowed all pretense of disinterest.

  “All of them?” Josh leaned as close as he could. She had to hear him. He had to make her hear. “Everybody who lives in Venera deserves to be ruined? That’s what’ll happen.”

  Vee’s hands stilled. “It’s a fake, Josh. What do you want me to do? Perpetuate a fraud because the Venerans have been living beyond their means?”

  Julia snorted and rolled over. Josh bit his tongue and waited until she subsided. “You don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself, do you? You just want to show them all up. Noted artiste uncovers fraud where scientists fail. Click here to read.”

  Her face had gone perfectly smooth and expressionless. “Of course. What else would it be? It couldn’t possibly be I believe what I’m saying or that I might be right.”

  Josh clamped his jaw shut around what he’d been about to say. Julia rolled again with a rustle of cloth and a sighing of breath. Josh glared at Vee as if he could make her see reason by sheer force of will. She just sat placidly, her face immobile, her eyes unimpressed.

  Josh felt his teeth grind together. She’d do it. She’d ruin everything. Everything.

  But what if she’s right?

  “What if I promised to go out now and mail Michael Lum? Tell him your suspicions, have him double-check to make sure all the funding’s on the up and up. Would that satisfy you?”

  Vee’s gaze searched his face, considering. “It would be a start,” she said at last.

  Score one. “Would it at least keep you from telling Stykos and Wray about all this?” he pressed.

  There was a long pause, and then Vee nodded.

  “Okay, then.” Josh unbent himself as far as the room allowed.

  “Josh?” Vee’s whisper stopped him.

  “What?”

  Her face was lost in shadow, so he could not make out her expression, but he heard the weight of her words. The anger, the flippancy had left, and all that remained was honest feeling—tired and a little worried. “I am not doing this to show anyone up. I am not doing this because I’m angry at Helen Failia. The Discovery has been falsified and whoever did it deserves whatever they get.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He left her there and returned to the analysis nook, shaken and confused. She couldn’t be right. But what if she was? Surely somebody had already investigated everything to make sure all was in order. But what if they hadn’t?

  His stomach tightened. It’s happening already. The idea’s taking hold. Nothing to do but clear it out, one way or the other.

  Josh got his case down from its bin and brought it back to the analysis table, setting it down next to his half-finished beer. He jacked the case in, turned it on, took another swallow of beer, swore to himself, or maybe at himself, and started typing.

  Chapter Eight

  MICHAEL RUBBED THE HEELS of both palms into his eyes. When he lowered them, he blinked hard and read Josh Kenyon’s note again.

  Dear Michael,

  Sorry I can’t do a v-mail, but this has got to be kept quiet. I spent the day working with Dr. Hatch, and she spent the day getting convinced that the Discovery is a fake.

  I want to laugh at the idea, but I can’t. She’s making some good points, especially about the fact that there is nothing down here a human couldn’t have made, given resources and time. There’s also the fact that some facets of this laser we’re studying don’t make sense.

  I know I’m not a Veneran, and I’d never tell you your job, but can you let me know you’ve checked everything ou
t? The money’s good, the logs are good, and so on? If I don’t get something to tell Dr. Hatch, she might just go straight to the media drones.

  Thanks,

  Josh

  Michael could picture Josh in the scarab, hunched over his case, swearing as he typed, not wanting to believe, but not being able to dismiss a reasonable premise without checking it out.

  A hazard of the scientific mind.

  And the security mind.

  Had they checked for the possibility of fraud? Of course they had checked. That was the first thing they did after the governing board had come back up from the Discovery while the implications still made them all dizzy. Helen had run the money down. Ben had done the personnel logs. Michael had checked their checking, and everything looked fine. In the meantime, Helen had sent their best people down to the Discovery to start cataloging and looking for any sign of human intervention.

  They’d turned up nothing, nothing, and more nothing.

  Only then had Helen called the U.N.

  So what was Veronica Hatch seeing? What possibility had they left open? Or was she just playing for the cameras? She might be the type. She certainly acted like the type.

  It didn’t make any difference, though. If this went into the stream, the accusations were going to fly, and everything Venera did regarding the Discovery would be called into question.

  Michael stared out at the world beyond his desk. Administration was Venera’s brain, even if the Throne Room was its heart. Unlike most of the workspace on the base, administration was not divided up into individual offices and laboratories. Each department had an open work section with desks scattered around it.

  The arrangement made this one of the noisiest levels on Venera, second only to the education level. The idea was to keep everybody out in the open, so the left hand always knew what the right hand was doing. It met with limited success, but by now everyone was so used to it, no one really worked to change it.

  As always, the place was a hive. A noisy hive of a thousand competing conversations, some with coworkers, some with residents or visitors who had complaints. His people wore no uniform, but they all had a white-and-gold badge pinned to their shirts to identify themselves.