Unbound Brothers

by Rob Rowntree

  As a distraction, Alan focused on the kaleidoscope of sunlight trailing across the cabin’s walls. Refracted through tiny ports near the apex of their cabin, it swam lazily about as the ship revolved about its vertical axis.

  Moments later a sharp thump told him the engines had burped their last fuel. The wall panels flicked on, revealing a dark night with a sunlit Earth edging into the frame.

  He felt elated. A momentary image of Jimmy flickered through his mind. His nano-fuelled guilt played with his subconscious – he needed to be here, wanted to embrace blue-space. Although he let himself believe he’d chosen the noble thing, the best for Jimmy, he couldn’t deny the fact that he loved it here. Sure, trapped and led, but now he saw his reasoning for what it was, an excuse. A little bit of him hated that, but outside. . .

  On some instinctive level, some primeval sense, he saw the planet’s vibrant hum; pap mines belched waste across the old oil-fields of Siberia, huge methane extraction plants lit up a twilit shrouded china sea and above the darkening globe, caught in the tired day’s fading light, myriad craft twinkled like rushing diamonds. Life was beautiful.

  The ship tumbled. Manoeuvring thrusters re-orienting and briefly the Hopper engines cut in with a bang. Acceleration, pressure and weight. Then nothing. As soon as it had started it stopped.

  Earth fell away as the ascent vehicle rose toward a higher orbit.

  “You appear to be enjoying this.” said Bech, one of the engineers.

  Alan thought for a moment and remembered she had an unusual first name, “Kiki, right?”

  “Yes, my parents had a strange sense of humour.”

  Warming to her, Alan said, “To answer your question, I am enjoying this. I absolutely love it up here. It’s the size of it, the immense sense of depth. And of course I have these,” He indicated his neck. “They kind of give it an edge.”

  Kiki Bech looked at his spore-ports, but continued as if she hadn’t really noticed them. “Wow, you really do like it. Me, I can take it or leave it. All I see is more of the same, stars and space, entropy. But hey, don’t let that spoil your view.” She wriggled in her restraints, getting herself more comfortable, and then continued, “I guess from the exchange in the hangar that you don’t know much about this expedition.”

  “You could say that. A couple of days ago I was visiting a sick brother and now it turns out that all of those around me were involved in some sort of mini-conspiracy to get me to sign up for this trip. No matter, I’m here now.”

  “Alan, I can call you Alan right? You’ve travelled in Deepships before; Rosie says that you ploughed seventeen mud-balls. What was it like? What did you see?”

  The ship nudged a little as it re-orientated its trajectory.

  “Kiki, that’s a loaded question.” He stalled a little. They’d mentioned his mud-skimming earlier, why so interested in planet fall? They obviously expected to land somewhere.

  “What’s it like? Well to begin with they’re all the same, atmosphere tearing at the descent ship’s skin, cloud, ground and sometimes a little water. It’s exciting in a physical sense, a tactile sense, but after a while the disappointment eats away at any intellectual stimulation. Ploughing one slime covered mud-ball, is much the same as any other. The algae are different; one even crept along at a fair walking pace. But algae and fungi aren’t much fun—”

  “Rosie said you fought off a bunch of large intelligent crustaceans.”

  “Hold up,” he laughed, “Okay, you got me. But it’s not like I had much choice, my science-crew got themselves surrounded and as for the crustacean’s intelligence, they threw pebbles and shingle. I’m not convinced that just wasn’t a by-product of their hasty advance. They possessed formidable claws which hugged the beach. Every now and then they’d halt and wave their claws, lifting them quickly and in the processes flicking nearby pebbles into the air. Professor Joyce received quite a nasty blow to his head. Still, when you have weapons the table is often easily turned. It was no big thing.”

  “My hero,” Kiki laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s me. I’m glad you can see through the bull.”

  “The experience is unique. You can at least be proud of that.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Slipping free of her restraints, Kiki smiled as she cautiously moved to take the seat next to his. Re-securing herself, she snuggled up to Alan and said, “Perhaps we’ll find something interesting on this trip.”

  Alan found her open intimacy interesting, but alarm bells were ringing. Why was this young woman trying to get him on side? Perhaps Conway put her up to it? Or she operated alone, in which case what sort of agenda did she have? Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he snuggled back, enjoying the spontaneity of it all.

  Ahead, in the darkness of the viewing panels a small point of light grew. The Haqiqa Alan guessed.

  At this distance nothing much could be discerned. Alan wondered if Conway had perhaps resurrected one of the old Deepships and rigged it for a crew of eight. Possible, with modern data interfaces. Not easily, but it could be done.

  An hour later the Haqiqa dominated the view. Conway’s ship impressed. A sleek, modified space-going yacht hung in the black, its pencil sharp needle flowing back, and expanding towards an accommodation block which tapered in gentle and subtle curves to meld with the blue-space engine, an engine like no other.

  Blue-space engines were round bulbs with a small spine to the rear. This one was mostly spine; a small bulb embedded in the yacht’s upper hull gave way to a huge tapering spindle. He saw Kiki smile as she understood. She said, “It’s different. A different way of getting there.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “There’s no nausea, no vibration, and for the first time we’ve been able to get a rough idea of how long the journey will take. But only once we are in blue-space, so we still have to take the recommended eight months supplies.”

  Alan pondered the implications. Until now blue-space journeys had represented a gamble. You set the co-ordinates and hoped for the best. There were records of very short trips and trips, though rarely, lasting as long as four months one-way. Trips to the same location could last different lengths of time. Blue-space played outside the rules and proved exciting.

  “You don’t look as impressed as you should, Alan Abrams.” Kiki dug her hand playfully into his side. “It took years for us to develop measuring instruments that even functioned in blue-space. Having the ability to predict the length of a journey is a massive leap forward.”

  From her mock-rancour Alan guessed she’d probably worked on the project. “That’s true enough. But it kind of takes some of the fun out of it.”

  She laughed, running her fingers along his thigh.

  Alan hoped this wasn’t an act and relaxed, enjoying the attention.

  In the view screens, and because they were closer, the Haqiqa had grown into a wall which slid silently by. They were travelling aft, towards its port loading bay. Presently, a huge opening came into view, interior lights dazzling. The ascent vehicle floated in past two sets of large recessed doors and edged towards the compartment’s rear wall, to settle gently upon its assigned pad.

  As they waited for the loading bay airlock to close and the Haqiqa’s attraction-plates to come on-line, Alan checked out the view. Machines and vehicles ate up space. Once the Hopper ascent vehicle left there’d be room to work, but not much.

  Across the bay two large atmospheric shuttles hung in cradles, their stubby wings a vibrant crimson against the starker white of the crafts’ bodies and the metallic sheen of the bay. Further round, other vehicles hugged the deck.

  “I’m glad we are taking all this equipment,” Kiki said. “Their mere physicality somehow helps. No matter where we end up, their presence will remind me of home. I guess it’s an engineer thing.”

  Alan shuddered at the all-terrain armoured personnel carriers. Why not ground effect vehicles or cars? Forced to accept that Conway felt them necessary, Alan reminded himself that he w
as the new boy. Conway had all the information.

  Moments later a klaxon sounded and Alan disembarked with Kiki holding onto his arm. A slight stutter checked Alan’s step, as his body tried to adjust to the imposed force of the attraction-plates. Not real gravity, just a multiple forced quantum entanglement, a side-effect of the engine’s excess power – true gravity control remained an elusive engineer’s dream.

  Gibson, who rode in another section of the ascent craft, saw them and winked, a small smile punctuating the action: a friendly gesture. Alan nodded in acknowledgement.

  Someone nudged him.

  Conway stood behind him. “If you have a moment I’d like that talk now.” He glared at Kiki before storming off.

  Kiki appeared put-out. “What’s with him?” she quizzed.

  Looking down into Kiki’s young face Alan said, “I’d better get this over with. Will I see you later?”

  “Yeah, sure thing,” she said. Disentangling from his arm she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before going to collect her gear.

  Conway called from the companion way door, “Now, Mr. Abrams, if you please.”

  Alan moved to catch up.

  Chapter Five

  Blue Sunrise

  Alan trailed a silent Conway through brightly lit, carpeted corridors, to an ornate set of double doors.

  Alan found the corridor’s décor unsettling. Framed paintings, holographic-scenes and recessed sculptures interrupted the pastel hues of the walls with little regard to symmetry. Many appeared mere afterthoughts, hung in whatever space was available. Alan thought Conway had possibly left the so-called ‘design’ to another, as was the want of a busy man pre-occupied with goals above and beyond a mere collection of art.

  Painted landscapes in the style of the old masters, holograms of ship launches and star-system maps mingled uneasily with large picnics, house parties. Here and there on plinths were sculpted busts of unknown dignitaries, in fact a whole conglomeration that brought a smile at the absurdity of it all. It’s just not what I’m used to, he thought.

  As the ornate doors parted, Conway, stoic as always, walked into the room. Beyond him, Alan saw a large room with a bulkhead panoramic window. Darkness allowed the subtle earth-light from outside to infuse the room with an ethereal glow. Momentarily thrown by the effect, perhaps due to his long absence from space, Alan searched the room for furniture. A large desk materialised in the half-dark. Over by the window, plush sofas and chairs surrounded a low table towards which Conway headed with ease. Only when seated did Conway ask the computer to illuminate the room. As Alan went to join him, small spotlights pushed pools of liquid-light into recessed corners, illuminated glass cases, the added glow assisting Alan to a seat.

  Recessed fish tanks full of tropical colour and beds of cultivated plants forced Alan to pause. Most ships couldn’t afford the trade off; weight and mass equalled money. The show of unlimited wealth prompted another cautious grin from Alan . Intricately carved screens cordoned off a large section of the room. Alan, drawn to the craftsmanship, took time to absorb flowing lines and etched scrollwork.

  Conway said, “My private quarters. I like to keep my office close at hand.”

  A platitude, surely. Yet here indulgence and show dominated. Alan pitied the lower echelon businessmen that Conway had courted here; they might have found it difficult not to have been impressed.

  “Mr. Abrams, Alan. Let me get you a drink. We have things to discuss.”

  “I’ll have a scotch, neat, thank you.”

  Conway pressed a recessed glass panel at the edge of the table and a tray rose from a hollow in the centre, spirits, glasses, and an ice bucket. Alan watched Conway pour the drinks and noted Conway took a vodka tonic for himself.

  He sure looks at ease and used to entertaining on a personal level.

  Conway held out the whisky. “Alan,” he raised his glass, “here’s to a successful mission.”

  The glasses’ resonating-ring filled the room yet to Alan it sounded negative. He had little choice but to go along with the flow...for now. They took sips.

  “Now,” Conway continued, “you need to be on your guard.”

  Alan thought he’d mis-heard, “Pardon?”

  “My little speech in there, poor as it was, meant nothing. Not to me and certainly not to the crew. It’s all smoke and mirrors and navy double talk.”

  “Mr. Conway, confiding in me might be unwise. After all, you hardly know me.”

  “Oh but I do Alan, I do, my staff know how to research. You come to me without the baggage my fellow crewmates bring, you are unsoiled by their machinations and therefore open minded. There are things you should know.”

  Conway let the words hang. Alan felt conflicted. Did he care? Why should he? If Conway and friends had unresolved issues should he get involved? But of course there would be no avoiding any conflicts on such a journey.

  Alan followed up with, “I admit that as far as mysteries go the loss of the Peterson is right up there with Amelia Earhart , the Jupiter Six and Gabriel Montgomery’s Martian Missionaries, but I fail to see why your expedition is courting unwanted attention and attacks. Surely a resolution to the disappearance would be in the interests of everyone involved?”

  “Alan, what if I were to tell you that I know what happened to the Peterson’s crew? And that the navy knows what happened as well. Not the finer details, just roughly where they ended up and a little about things they’d encountered.”

  For a second Alan was shocked at such a revelation and bound to state: “Then I would counter with: why this expedition? Where’s the pay off?”

  “Indeed.” Conway swirled the ice in his glass and gazed out of the window. To Alan it rattled like old bones. “Empty, two hundred billion stars and it’s empty. What sort of cruel joke of a galaxy produces only one sentient race?”

  “This one,” Alan said.

  “Well yes, and no. Not quite. Things out there are more complex — dangerous perhaps — and that my friend is why there is opposition to this trip. People are scared. Scared and want us to hide in our hole of a gravity-well, lie quietly down and not make a peep. Some say our trip is at best ill-advised, possibly even foolhardy.

  “Naturally these detractors are harping on after the fact. ‘Beacon-earth’ has been shining bright for a few centuries now and those that want to know our whereabouts have only to listen.” The ice rattled again as Conway finished his drink. “I take the view that being forewarned is forearmed and anything we can discover may be of use.”

  “It’s a little paranoid, but it’s your money.” Alan savoured his drink then said, “I couldn’t help noticing that you made a distinction; not the Peterson, but the Peterson’s crew. Do I assume that the ship remains missing?”

  Conway shrugged. “We won’t really know until we get there. And yes it is hard to understand how a ship the size of the Peterson can vanish.” Alan made to ask a question but Conway hurried on. “No, please don’t interrupt. It’s important that you hear this from me. The crew know these details, so should you.”

  Conway settled back in his seat, his look not easy to define. Alan, somewhat at a loss, found these new revelations hard to accept. He thought of his brother and his own motivations, thoughts tumbling into justification.

  “The blue-space quantum interface messages give us relatively specific locations,” Conway continued. “We know information remains locked into the universal fabric and that’s why Gibson and Shepperd are aboard, it’s their baby. We have solid locations that put the Peterson in a system on the edge of the Orion Spur close to the rift.”

  Conway toyed with his glass, the high pitched hum as he ran his moist finger around the rim annoying.

  “We looked, and now we know that the Peterson is not there because the navy says they scoured the system.”

  Alan leaned towards Conway to make his point, “Whoa,” he said with conviction, “the Peterson is a big ship to be fair, but unless it was broadcasting or radiating in some way you could
quite easily miss it. A star system is a huge haystack.

  “And Mr. Conway, if you had such detailed information on the whereabouts of the crew please tell me why in the hell wasn’t there a rescue mission?”

  Conway gave an accepting nod, “Knew you’d ask. Fact is the mudball they’d landed on has remained elusive. And after my new information arrived three months ago, it became a moot point.”

  “You could have continued.”

  “True. But you see Alan, they were all dead.” Conway paused for emphasis, adding: “Every last one of them.”

  Alan drained his glass. “May I?” He helped himself to another whisky. “So why the ruse about the trip?” He demanded, “Why not the truth?”

  “That’s my point Alan. The truth is the Peterson should be in that system, it isn’t. No marker buoys, no distress beacons. There should be some sign of it, yet it has simply vanished. And Alan, the navy and I want to know where it is.”

  “All this for that?” Alan couldn’t really accept that this expedition was simply to look for a derelict spaceship and suggested: “It’ll be adrift in system; maybe some technical malfunction led to an accident.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s feasible. But you see Alan; I have one more piece of the puzzle. Something quite spectacular.”

  Waiting for the kicker, Alan sat back, sipped his fresh drink. Silence lengthened. Finally he said, “You’re not going to tell me.” A statement; decision made. Curiously his mind latched on to a disappeared crew.

  Was that a conspiratorial smirk on Conway’s face when he said, “I’d rather not. Not just yet.” Alan decided to stay with it.

  “We’ll head out to the last official location of the Peterson, once there I’ll announce my new findings to the crew. Then we will work our way back in towards the Orion Spur. It should prove...interesting.”

  Forcing a smile he didn’t quite feel, Alan said, “Mr. Conway, you convey announcements like a novelist.”

  “I like to keep my audience attentive.” Conway stood and stretched. “All this contemplation and conversing, makes one ready for exercise.