Unbound Brothers

by Rob Rowntree

  In the twinkling starlight Alan tipped the envelope up. A small nano-data kernel tumbled out, sparkling like quicksilver as it fell and pooled in his palm. How in hell was he supposed to view this? Military hi-end tech hadn’t been on Conway’s shopping list.

  ***

  “You say the reader was there on your bed? Woodland must have dropped it by after he left you.” Kiki crouched over the squat form of the SROV, a cluster of tanks, manoeuvring pods and sensor arrays, adjusting a laser range-finding array.

  Alan, unable to shed doubts of Kiki being the saboteur, had when the offer of her help on the mission came, accepted it with reservations. Though small, his doubts coupled with the mere fact that she could be, made him wary of her. In spite of this, their work progressed, Kiki enthusiastic enough to immerse herself in her tasks.

  “I suppose though,” Alan said, referring to Woodland, “that you are grateful he did drop it on my bed, Kiki. You don’t want Peter Porcupine here getting crushed by the odd gravity gradient.”

  “The SROV will be fine with the added dampening. And yes, I’m glad Woodland saw fit to share with you. It would have been a bitch to lose this baby,” She patted the hull. “It’s kind of elegant in its way.”

  “You know, I kinda like it too. They’ve come a long way from those old deep-sea versions. The cerebral patterned AI is very smart.”

  Kiki laughed, “Right and they’ll be bringing the Singularity any moment now.”

  Alan said, “Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen. Chuck an AI a circle and tell it to find the ends of the line. Friggin’ useless.”

  She laughed again and Alan thought she was enjoying the moment. Perhaps she really had come to terms with their predicament and allowed her old self to emerge. If indeed the Kiki he’d met at the outset of this journey had been the real person. A moot point. It really didn’t matter.

  “Kiki?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you could choose a different path, maybe one that hadn’t led here, would you take it?”

  A quick glance at him, gathering a response she said, “That’s an unfair question under the circumstances.” She gave herself a short break. “I guess if confronted by the same issues and choices, I would have to say that I’d have done the same things and taken the same actions.”

  A moment’s silence filled the hanger before Kiki continued. “You do know that I never tried to kill you. The UTG incident? It was to warn you off.”

  “You’ve just taken a gamble. Why?” Alan attempted to read her with a sudden new knowledge, one illuminated by what could only be an admission.

  “I figure that after our little chat about ice and my non-too-subtle hints about xenophobia you would do one of two things, either tell Conway and I’d be put under house arrest, or keep it to yourself.

  “Since we are stuck here without communication my objective, such as it was, has been achieved. My burden has been lifted.”

  “I will have to tell Conway at some point, Kiki. How else could it be? But for god sake why? I just don’t get it.”

  More serious now she responded with, “It’s a simple matter of survival Alan. The universe is a quiet place. Ever stopped to ask yourself why?”

  For some reason Alan felt frustrated, hoping for some insight into Kiki’s motivations the prospect of yet another half-baked discussion on the Fermi-Paradox felt distracting.

  “Of course I have,” he eventually admitted. “That thought gave me the impetus to join Exploration and crew Deepships. I can’t think of anything more important than meeting others, sharing experiences and views; trying to grasp or at least glimpse a small part of their understanding of their universe, mostly their interactions in it. The fact that we’ve never found any civilisations really annoys me. And you talk of survival...”

  In earnest now she said, “For me the problem’s not in the idea, and I accept the notion that there should be many budding societies out here. But the fact that we can’t find them worries me greatly. Where are they?

  “You guys in Exploration found plenty of ruins and rubble and you could take the view that such societies, some bound to their world, others producing space stations and habitats on airless worlds, are all ships passing each other by. Time and space are big right? It could be true, but there’s still one question that bugs me.” She held him, her gaze never leaving his, “Where are the few percent that made it? Statistics alone indicate that there would be a few—”

  “How does that get you to killing people and sabotage?” Alan said. “Seems a little paranoid.”

  “If I accept my point, that there should be a few interstellar races and we can’t find any, I have to ask why. The one conclusion I reach is that something is stopping them, something is preventing sentient expansion. Therefore the less exposed we are, the safer we are. Get it?”

  Alan shook his head. He’d never understood these arguments; they always appeared fuelled by paranoia, an illogical need to rationalise the apparent absence of aliens. But to kill and murder... Kiki needed help.

  “I’ve heard that before Kiki, but I just don’t buy it. Like you I think there’d be some that made it. We just haven’t looked hard enough yet.”

  “Maybe. But I’d rather be safe.”

  “Yeah, okay. Let’s get this,” he patted the SROV, “over to the launch chute. Care to join me in the observation lounge around 19.30 hours? You can help me direct Peter here, right up to and through the door of these things.”

  “You think they’ll have doors?”

  “They’re alien. Who knows?”

  “Sure why not. I’d like that.”

  Alan fought mixed emotions. Kiki could be a dangerous woman, hell was a dangerous woman. But with her self-obsessed mission over, she did appear to be a heap more amiable.

  SROV secured and readied, Alan made his way over to the nearest companionway. He passed an antique notice board - one of Conway’s follies perhaps - beneath a sheet of glass. In the lower left hand corner a flyer advertising a play entitled The Mantrap caught his attention with its gaudy colours.

  Kiki cried a lot when Rosie died.

  Chapter Ten

  Heavy Metal and Swiss Cheese

  A chime sounded for his attention.

  Alan automatically cleared it, concentrating instead on the images before him. An object floated in the black of space. The SROV’s twenty-minute-old feed showed a rough cylinder with a dull, charcoal body. Albedo must be low, he thought, not much reflected light. Yet he detected smudges in the blackness, taunting shadows tempting the eye to see more of its structure. Craters? Most likely there a long time.

  Kiki’s words about ruins came to mind.

  The chime sounded again: this time he took note. The meeting for SROV-contact had already begun in the observation lounge. Alan needed to hurry.

  Once seated, the lounge hushed as Alan took control of the data transfer unit.

  “Careful you don’t hit a tree there, Alan.” Gibson bowed at the sound of a few titters. Alan didn’t mind, the more humour the better, it eased stress.

  Of course, Gibson knew that Alan couldn’t drive the SROV into anything, its onboard awareness routines wouldn’t allow it.

  If Alan issued a command likely to damage the vehicle it would halt, query for clarification. At forty minutes per-instruction, there’d be time enough to rectify any mistake.

  “Holy shit. Will you look at that?” Pickering leaped out of his chair. Gibson, Shepperd and Kiki soon after. Alan heard a faint scraping sound, the scratching becoming faster, more intense. Turning, he saw Stowe furiously applying paint with a palette knife, the canvas jumping with each firm application made.

  How could she concentrate at a time like this?

  A huge, squat cylinder filled the viewing area of the virtual. It spun slowly and once the small robot vehicle neared, the pock-marked surface became more apparent. Time-worn pumice, thought Alan. Here were shallow craters, though these were not what drew the gazes of the assembled crew.


  Randomly scattered across the surface, yet utterly filling that surface were large holes that looked remarkably like tunnel entrances. The majority had what appeared to be doors or hatches, several of which were open. The entrance sizes varied. Those with open hatches drank what light there was into silent, somewhat daunting shadows, dark interiors singing with unknown promise.

  Conway said, “I think it’s beautiful. Look at the fractal nature of the tunnels’ distribution. Can you get the SROV’s optics to zoom in?”

  Alan hesitated, “Well I can Mr Conway, but the vehicle’s on-boards will be doing that soon. Faster than any signal I can send.”

  Conway would have known this, but the moment felt devoid of reason. How could anyone reason when confronted with such spectacle?

  Data poured in.

  Alan announced as he read, “Preliminary results indicate that the structure is unusually massive. The SROV is having difficulty in maintaining station. The outer layer is a steel composite, but other elements in the mix are not registering on the SROV’s systems.”

  The image jumped. Zoomed in.

  Conway laughed like an over excited school girl. Smaller and smaller holes lay between the arcs of the larger. “Look at the edges of the open tunnels. Is that erosion of some kind?” Along the arc of several holes, or tunnel entrances as Conway wanted to call them, tiny ‘bites’ etched the curves into a mould of spikes and rills. “Micrometeorites maybe?”

  Woodland moved nearer the image, “Old, that’s for sure. Will the SROV’s AI investigate anything it deems fit? Look there,” he indicated with a nod, “is there something in that tunnel? A platform or ledge? See how it juts out. If the vehicle doesn’t go there, can you give it some new instructions, Alan?”

  “I can send an instruction now if everybody’s in agreement.”

  “No.” Conway said, rather too quickly. “Let’s allow the vehicle some autonomy. There’ll be time for more detailed work later. Let’s not rush.”

  Dealing with the monitoring station required little work on Alan’s part and after staring at the image the sense of awe finally captivated him. It’s a god-damn real alien artefact, machine made, and at first glance utterly unfathomable. A gigantic coal riddled with tunnels.

  From the vehicle’s telemetry Alan noticed odd readings; a large magnetic field emanated from the heart of the structure, gravity appeared to flux, rippling across the surface like bubbling foam.

  Shepperd moved nearer and gazed over Alan’s shoulder. After a moment, Shepperd said, “You know, if you overlay the representation of the gravity anomalies on a real-time image I think you’d see something interesting.”

  Briefly Alan settled to the fact that all here had attuned to what was happening and to each other. It certainly offset the unhealthy atmosphere of earlier. He prayed this new-found camaraderie would last.

  After he manipulated the data he said with some excitement, “Everybody, if you’ll kindly take a look at this.”

  The virtual’s main image wavered and changed. Overlaid with translucent bubbling foam the object looked like a chrome pebble effervescing turquoise juice.

  “Hey, the bubbles manifest at the tunnel entrances.” Pickering sounded genuinely surprised.

  Alan said, “You can thank Shepperd for the show. I could have looked at the energy schematic all day and never figured it out. The fluctuations in gravity aren’t large enough to create any real problems for the SROV, although the little ship has to work harder to maintain position.”

  Pickering stared at the virtual. “But what is it? What is it for?”

  “That,” Conway said, “is one of the reasons we’re here. Alan, place the SROV into a polar orbit about the object. Map the surface. Once we get a look at the object and its poles perhaps we’ll learn more.”

  Looking for a door, Alan thought. “Yes, Mr Conway.” Alan accessed the command codes, and took the time to add a small subroutine. Nobody need know, but after its preliminary orbital reconnaissance the SROV would select an open tunnel and begin a detailed examination. To everyone watching it would appear like a random decision made by the AI.

  When manoeuvring, the SROV used a minimal amount of fuel, prolonging time at the target; it also meant the orbital recon would take a long time. After ensuring his commands were transmitted correctly, Alan said, “Hey guys, I’m a little tired and the SROV’s going to be a while. If it’s all right, I’m going to grab a drink and a few minutes rest in my cabin. I need to get my head around that.” He gestured at the screen. “I’ll have my screens up in my room so if anything happens...”

  Conway said, “Okay, but I need you here. One hour.”

  ***

  Alan sat at his desk, head in hands. Shivering, he instructed the room’s thermostat to increase the heat.

  Now that they...no, he, now that he finally confronted something that he’d searched for, wanted for so long, he began to wonder at the enormity of their task. A task humanity had been destined for since walking upright from the equatorial forests of prehistoric Africa. Yeah right! Even if they found aliens they may never understand them. By their very nature other beings would be utterly different, totally engineered by their environments and social dictates.

  Shaking his head, Alan opened up a message script. Jimmy might not get this, but perhaps it would help Alan unwind his tired mind.

  ***

  Begin transmission.

  28/09/2354 19:53 GMT; Ident 1305-S, Abrams: Voicemail: Recipient Mountain Lodge Rest Home-Jimmy Abrams.

  Hi, Jimmy,

  Today we found our first evidence of advanced sentient technology. The object looks old, like black eroded pumice. Perhaps this isn’t the meeting Conway had hoped for. The owners of this structure are long gone, but it’s still an important moment.

  In some ways I’m glad we aren’t there in person. It would be intimidating. Like the crew in Cosmic Journey, we are using a remote vehicle. The object is many millions of kilometres away, a physical barrier that has given the awe inspiring spectacle some degree of ordinariness. But it’s still damned impressive. The distance helps us cope with the notion of others.

  This discovery is helping restore a little morale and enthusiasm after Conway’s blue-space revelations. The sour tone of the recently discovered blue-space message left everybody deflated because the information it contained held little promise. The location of the Peterson’s crew remains a mystery, yet Conway and Woodland remain confident. The notion of discovery somehow helps them to maintain an even-keel.

  Gibson has turned out to be a bit of a lap dog where Conway is concerned: a shame because he’s a nice enough chap. And for the rest of the crew, there have been difficulties.

  You know, out here seeing all these wonderful things makes me feel inadequate. I really want you to see them, to have them. God knows you deserve them, something for your... troubles.

  Listen to me, I’m rambling.

  I miss you Jimmy. Hopefully we’ll discover something here. The system’s a circular binary, two stars chasing each other’s tails around and around. There are planets but no signals or energy leakage. Oh, the pumice object has an energy signature and that’s a problem. The structure is obviously old; I would have expected any power source to fade and die many years ago.

  May have some more news in my next letter.

  Your loving brother

  Alan

  End transmission.

  ***

  Closing his terminal, Alan busied himself with some long overdue chores. Time was when he would have been only too happy to be away from Jimmy and the guilt. But now that the homeward journey appeared no more than wishful thinking, Alan wondered if he would ever see his brother again.

  A sudden dimming of the lights brought Alan to full alertness. Ships systems often created power outages, overloads, malfunctions, but this one felt different. The abruptness of the incident plunged Alan’s cabin into a total darkness lasting long seconds before illumination returned.

  As he moved toward
s the door a loud groaning filled the room; the lights began to fade again. Fearing that the engines were malfunctioning, Alan felt his way to the nearest stairwell. In the darkened, empty corridor, alone and scared, images of endless meandering tunnels filled his mind.

  Gripping the nearest banister, Alan forced himself to breathe, to count out mounting anxiety. Surprised and frightened by his irrational panic attack, he stared about the darkened labyrinth. Faint emergency lights played with shadows, twisting the darkness into a warren of fear and trouble.

  A shadow moved, solidified.

  “You see what it’s like Alan. I can’t find the way out brother...Alan...my brother.” The image of Jimmy slowly merged into the corridor’s structure.

  Alan shouted “No. Don’t.” Only darkness contradicted hope.

  Breathe. One. Two. In. Out. This didn’t make sense. He had never experienced anything like it before. Pulled by doubt, pushed by duty towards the observation lounge, Alan tried his best to fight off an overwhelming sense of dread.

  Moments before he reached the lounge the malaise lifted.

  Standing before the doorway Alan brushed down his clothes and wondered if the rest of the crew had experienced anything.

  Inside everything was mayhem.

  Stowe lay on the floor, easel and paints scattered. Gibson and Kiki knelt tending to her. Tears stained Kiki’s cheeks. Conway sat in a padded booth staring through the panoramic window.

  Alan heard sobs and found Pickering crumpled against the far wall.

  Stepping over the threshold Alan nearly collided with Shepperd dashing across the floor, water jug in hand.

  “Shepperd, what happened?”

  Not breaking step, Shepperd yelled, “Look at the screen man.”

  No time for a response Shepperd poured water for Conway as Alan spun to face the virtual, his mouth suddenly dry.

  The object looked much the same as before, holes and blackness. Maybe the SROV’s position differed because the point of view had altered and the object lay lower and more of the ‘northern pole’ showed.