The Nexus Colony

by G. F. Schreader

  The far horizon slowly was changing back to clear skies. The storm clouds seemed to be moving off to the west, and the subtle glow of the orange sun again cast its surreal glow across the Antarctic landscape. All was like it had been a short time earlier.

  Once back inside, Pietrovich removed his outer gear and plopped the satchels down on the desk, pushing aside the mounds of paper that continually piled up consuming all the space. Tentative, he opened the larger one slowly. It was an expensive looking gear bag, and the label indicated it was probably American, one of those expensive ones you see in the American catalogues. The flap unbuckled, he removed all the contents and placed them on the table. There was no doubt about what he was looking at. It was a system of photographic equipment, and a quite expensive one at that. Pietrovich carefully examined one of the two cameras, the one that had a lens and flash unit attached. The five lenses and both camera bodies were a Japanese brand that he recognized from the catalogues. Olympus. Old nicked-up thirty-five millimeter cameras. The second bag also contained photographic equipment, only that bag had brand new Nikon digital cameras and very little else.

  Rooting through the larger bag again, he dumped the remainder of the contents from the pouches that were secured by Velcro strips. They were mostly more items that a professional photographer would carry, he presumed. There was a name tag on the inside flap of the larger bag, but no identification in the smaller one. Somehow, some way, he had come into possession of somebody’s camera gear bags on the path outside the Vostok communications center.

  Pietrovich sat down. Taking in a deep breath, he tried to sort through his mind all the events that had just taken place in such a short time period. The strange words of the message lying on the counter of the control console were still staring him in the face. He had gone outside. He had seen strange, unidentified lights in the emptiness of the nighttime sky. And he had come back inside with an even stranger discovery. A very distinctive human icon.

  The telephone rang. A momentary pang of terror shot through his body. Hesitant, he picked up the receiver. To his relief, it was someone from the administration building. To his greater relief, the base manager, who coincidentally was also his immediate superior officer, was calling to ask him if he was aware of the strange occurrence that apparently had happened all over the base. For the next five minutes, Vassili Pietrovich recapped what had just happened to him.

  When Pietrovich got to the part about retrieving the camera bags, the base manager asked if there was any identification in them. Pietrovich replied that there was in one of the bags. The name sounded Canadian, perhaps American. The man asked Pietrovich what the name was, and ordered him to start sending out transmissions to see if any of the bases around the continent had that name on their roster.

  Pietrovich told him the name. John Lightfoot.

  Chapter 12

  FEBRUARY 10, 20--

  MULOCK GLACIER

  8:07 A.M. GMT

  The winch was securely in place on the downside of the ridge. The looped end of the two hundred foot cable lay dangling over the crevasse edge as Ruger and Abbott labored to secure a smooth edge underneath it. With all the weight it would be bearing throughout the day—lowering the field team and supplies—Ruger wanted to prevent the friction of the cable from cutting into the ice where it might freeze in place. Ruger had used this setup before, and kept a smooth-edged Fiberglas plate with the winch setup just for this purpose. Much to his and everyone’s dismay, they had already lost another hour this morning.

  Even though each one of them had claimed to have passed the night in a deep sleep, everyone seemed to have awakened exhausted, including Ruger himself which was unusual. The previous day’s activities must have taken a greater toll on everyone’s energy than he thought. Even Prall and Monroe had admitted exhaustion, and neither one of them had done anything strenuous. It was strange, but then again everything was getting stranger out on The Ice.

  Strangest of all—and the cause of their morning’s delay—was the disappearance of John Lightfoot’s camera equipment. It had caused a stir in the camp, and even though the situation was diffused at the moment, even Ruger still had his suspicions about who was responsible for stealing Lightfoot’s gear bag. He didn’t know how they had managed to get it out of the tent without anyone hearing, but then again, everyone’s exhaustion probably contributed to their unawareness.

  It upset Ruger more than anything that he hadn’t heard Abbott’s people. Ruger was certain that both Allison and Lightfoot had slept soundly despite the howling force winds outside. Usually, Ruger catnapped when the conditions were such. Except for last night. He wasn’t sure about how he had slept. That was a part of the strangeness that was permeating through the camp.

  As Ruger pulled himself along the rope making his way back up to the ridge from the crevasse edge, where the rest of the group was readying the equipment, Ruger sorted through the events of the past hour in his mind. Lightfoot had awakened about six thirty. Ruger was brewing some tea. Right away the man asked Ruger what he had done with his camera equipment.

  “Haven’t touched it, John,” he replied indifferently.

  Lightfoot groggily got to his feet, stretched, and looked around the tent for his bag. “I could have sworn it was right here at my feet,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I know it was right here at my feet. You sure you didn’t move it, Mike?”

  Ruger was concentrating on squeezing the last drops out of the tea bag. “Yeah. Didn’t touch it, John.”

  By this time, Allison had awakened, and Lightfoot asked her the same question. No, she hadn’t touched it. No, she didn’t take notice where he placed it last night.

  “Damn!” Lightfoot exclaimed. “That’s weird.” Lightfoot stood in the middle of the tent with his hands on his hips and a disgusted look on his face. “Now, damn it! I know I put it right here. You remember?” he said to Allison, looking at her. “I snapped off the last two shots of you sitting there to use up the rest of the roll.”

  “Sure. I remember,” she replied indignantly. She was annoyed that Lightfoot kept photographing her over her resentment.

  “Then I changed out the roll and got everything ready for today so I didn’t have to do it now. I put the bag right there like I do all the time out here.”

  Ruger looked to where Lightfoot was pointing at the foot of his sleeping bag. “Come to think of it, John,” Ruger said, “you’re right. You did put it there.”

  “Well, it ain’t here now!” he replied. Lightfoot looked accusingly at Ruger for a moment before Ruger caught on.

  “Just hold it a second, John,” Ruger responded. “I haven’t seen your gear and I really don’t have any reason to move it.”

  “Neither do I,” Allison responded, crawling out of her sleeping bag. “And at the moment, I don’t really care. All I want is a cup of that tea.” Ruger held out the cup.

  “Well, Goddamn it, Mike!” Lightfoot snapped. “Somebody moved my gear last night, ‘cause it ain’t where I put it and it ain’t here now.”

  For the next several minutes, the three of them rooted through the entire tent. The gear bag had vanished. That’s when Ruger began to suspect that one of Abbott’s people had come into the tent during the night and taken the equipment. Although for what reason, Ruger couldn’t figure out at the moment. All Abbott really needed was the exposed film, which he had already seized from Lightfoot and had marked sequentially the previous day by numbering the unexposed canisters. That way, Abbott could keep track of the number of rolls Lightfoot exposed. The equipment itself meant nothing. He couldn’t figure out why Abbott would want to take it.

  By that time, Lightfoot was ranting, mumbling that the joke had gone too far, and that he was going to “…march on over to Prall’s tent and confront that army bastard! I’ll get my gear back.”

  But Ruger was able to talk him out of it. The thought of his near execution from the previous day still lingered. Ruger himself went right over to Abbott and Lisk, asking for the
equipment to be returned, making up the contingency story that Lightfoot needed it to “prep” the gear for the day’s activities.

  Abbott gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t have it, Mike,” he replied with the same indifference that Ruger had initially responded to Lightfoot.

  “Somebody took it out of our tent last night, Marsh,” Ruger informed him.

  Abbott looked at Lisk, who shrugged his shoulders. “Wasn’t either of us, Mike.”

  “Will you do me a favor, Marsh?” Ruger asked. Abbott looked at him, then nodded to Lisk.

  Lisk left the tent and came back several minutes later. “They didn’t take it either,” he said.

  “Well, what about Almshouse?” Ruger responded testily.

  To which Abbott responded in kind, “Well, what about Grimes?”

  The two men stared at each other. Ruger left the tent.

  The sun was brightening but the wind was cold, and the joke had gone too far. This was ridiculous. Instead of utilizing the time to prepare for the descent, he was wasting time playing mind games with somebody’s idea of a prank. Ruger poked his head back into the tent to see if Allison and Lightfoot had perhaps found the missing equipment.

  “Where’s my gear?” Lightfoot demanded to know.

  “I’ll be right back,” Ruger responded. He marched angrily to Abbott’s tent again.

  “This has gone far enough, Marsh,” Ruger said, sternly.

  “What has?” Abbott replied, standing up to face Ruger.

  “The camera stuff,” Ruger replied.

  Abbott studied the look on his face for a moment. “You really can’t find it?” he replied, more serious than before.

  “No. We can’t.”

  “Well, for God’s sake, Mike. What the hell did he do with it last night?”

  “Look, Marsh,” Ruger said as calmly as he could. “If you’ve changed your mind and don’t want him to take any more photographs, just tell the man, will you?” Ruger turned to go.

  “Hold on, Mike,” Abbott said, and Ruger turned around. “I haven’t changed my mind about anything. Nobody has messed around with Lightfoot’s equipment. I don’t know what the problem is, but we are not the problem.”

  “It was in the tent with us last night, Marsh,” Ruger explained. “We all saw it. We all remember him putting it at his feet when we turned in. This morning it was gone. Somebody took it. It wasn’t any of us three.”

  Abbott thought for a moment. He dismissed the idea for the time being that it could be Lightfoot himself who was lying. There was no tactical advantage to that. “All right,” he replied calmly. “When everybody is assembled and we’re ready to depart camp, I’ll get to the bottom of it. Fair enough?”

  “Sure.”

  “I want to get out of here soon,” Abbott said. “In the meantime, Al…get our camera gear. I want back-up just in case.”

  “No problem.” Ruger turned and left.

  At approximately seven thirty, all nine of the team members were standing around the snowmobiles. Ruger had hooked up one of the sleds to the lead machine so they could haul the winch and the power generator up to the ridge.

  Abbott stopped the activities and called them together. Nobody had seen Lightfoot’s camera equipment. To their dismay, the other set was also among the missing. Abbott and Ruger together searched all four tents while everyone waited at the snowmobiles. Then they searched under the covers of all the remaining sleds. They searched the immediate area around the camp. There was no sign of Lightfoot’s or Abbott’s equipment. Not a trace.

  Suspicions grew. Ruger and his group, naturally, suspected Abbott’s people. In particular, Colonel Prall. Abbott, in the back of his mind, was now re-thinking his earlier speculation that Lightfoot himself was trying to pull off something. Could he have managed to abscond with both satchels? Abbott was in possession of the several exposed rolls of film from yesterday. And frankly, he didn’t give a shit about Lightfoot and his loss of equipment. Or the loss of his own, either. But still, he had to keep tabs on the man. But there was something else in the back of Abbott’s mind that he wanted to keep to himself for the moment.

  “Change in plan,” Abbott announced as they prepared for departure from camp. “Lightfoot will stay topside. Dr. Bryson will come along.”

  “What?” she responded, startled. “What good am I going to do?”

  Abbott replied, “You can hold the light.”

  Lightfoot protested. “I can take pictures just as easily with that contraption of Ruger’s,” he insisted, referring to the useless little camera Ruger kept in his gear pouch. A thought suddenly struck Ruger. Was his camera still there? It was, but the battery was as dead as a doornail when Ruger held it up and tried to turn it on. He shrugged his shoulders. It had worked perfectly yesterday.

  “When I need you to take something new,” Abbott said, turning to Lightfoot, “I’ll send for you. Until then, you stay up here.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Lightfoot responded.

  “That’s my order,” Abbott replied. “And if you don’t like it, he’ll shoot you.” He wasn’t serious, of course, but it shut up Lightfoot.

  And here they were at the edge, prepared to descend into the crevasse for the third time. As Ruger pulled himself along the guideline back up to the ridge, his thoughts were still focused on what could have happened to both sets of camera equipment. He still couldn’t fathom how anyone could have gotten into the tent last night without his knowing it. Unless, of course, Lightfoot was lying after all, which Ruger convincingly had dismissed.

  While the rest of the group was busy making final preparations and their attention turned elsewhere, Abbott came up to Ruger and pulled him off to the side. Walking a short distance away along the ridge line, certain they were out of earshot, Abbott said, “I know there’s still a lot of animosity about this camera thing, Mike, but I want you to get one thing straight in your head before we go down there.”

  Ruger looked him in the face. “I’m listening.”

  “My people did not remove that equipment from your tent last night let alone ours. We have no reason. And despite all your suspicions, Prall is not the culprit. Neither is Donnie. That’s not their style. I think you know that.”

  “Then explain to me where it went,” Ruger insisted again.

  There was a moment of silence as both men stared off into the distance. Abbott then said, “If we have to suspect anybody, I think we both agree it has to be Lightfoot himself.”

  “I thought that at first,” Ruger responded. “But I don’t know what the hell he’d accomplish.”

  “Neither do I.” They were silent again for a few moments. Abbott remained pensive. “Something strange is going on out here, Mike. I can sense it. I think you can too, of all people. I just hope it doesn’t get any stranger.”

  The incident with the sled was still very vivid in Ruger’s mind. “Yesterday…when we got back to camp…” Ruger started to say, then hesitated.

  Abbott turned to face him. “What about yesterday?”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Ruger replied.

  Abbott’s sudden interest was more than cursory. “Let me determine what’s nothing. What about yesterday?”

  Ruger related the incident with the moving sled. Ruger stated he still suspected Prall, even though Allison was certain that neither of the two men had left the ridge.

  Abbott remained pensive, staring off in the distance down the slope toward the camp. Suddenly it dawned on Ruger. He should have seen it before. “We’ve got visitors, Marsh,” he said.

  Abbott didn’t respond. Ruger said, “Somebody else is out here on The Ice with us. I don’t think they came along with Lightfoot, either. And suddenly I don’t think he’s lying anymore about his equipment.”

  Abbott still didn’t offer a response, but kept pondering and staring off into the distance.

  “The question is, Marsh, “ Ruger continued, “where in the hell are they hiding out there?” Ruger panned the glacial ice field, trying to
imagine where the visitors would be encamped. “It would have to be quite a distance away,” he said, trying to construct in his mind the terrain within a ten mile radius.

  Finally, Abbott said, “There’s nobody out there in the field, Mike.”

  “Sure there is,” Ruger replied, cupping his hands over his goggles to concentrate his field of view.

  “There’s nobody there, Mike,” Abbott repeated. “Nobody human, anyway.”

  It took a moment for Abbott’s words to hit home. Ruger dropped his hands and looked Abbott in the face. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Let’s keep this between us for the moment, Mike. My guys, no problem. We deal with this all the time. It’s why we’re here. On the other hand, your people…” Abbott let the words tail off. “Let’s just see what develops.”

  “Wait a minute,” Ruger responded. “I’m not so sure I’m hearing this correctly.”

  “I think you know damn well what I’m talking about, Mike. You’re just a little skeptical about accepting it as a plausible explanation.”

  “You’re trying to suggest to me that this camera thing has something to do with…aliens? Gimme a break, Marsh. Artifacts are one thing, but…”

  “Listen to me, Mike,” Abbott said, cutting him off. “We’re dealing with some unknown shit out here. I’ve dealt with this kind of unknown shit before. Take my word for it. These entities are capable of doing all kinds of unimaginable things. They’re always fucking with us. Sometimes it gets nasty. Sometimes its nothing more than just playing with our feeble minds.” He looked off into the distance again. “Which is what I think they’re doing with us right now.”

  After a moment of pondering Abbott’s suggestion, Ruger said, “You’re trying to tell me they’re toying with us. Is that it?”

  “Yeah. That’s it. At the moment, I think it’s the only logical explanation.”

  “Well, if that’s the truth…and let’s assume just for a minute that it is…then what’s the purpose?”

  Abbott turned and looked toward the crevasse where the group seemed to be awaiting their return. “I don’t really know. But maybe they don’t want us to find whatever it is that’s down there.”