by Rob Rowntree
Stowe leaned back in her chair and averted her head to look out of the cockpit window. “There,” she said, pointing.
In the loading dock’s observation lounge, Alan saw Conway, Woodland and Gibson gazing out, Conway fiercely stoic, in glaring contrast to Gibson’s harried expression. Only Woodland appeared calm, his unruffled features appearing ghoulish as the orbital’s splashed arc-lights.
Shit, the guy really gave nothing away.
Conway pointed at his mike.
Should he speak now? In a few minutes he’d be reporting in person. No, best start now. “Conway?” Alan ventured.
“Alan what the hell happened to Shepperd? Is he okay?”
Shepperd, okay? “No Conway, he’s not okay.” Alan wanted to scream out his pain at their loss but managed to maintain calm. “He didn’t make it.”
Through the glass Alan saw Gibson shudder and step back. “Whatever roamed the platform took him. Mercifully, he didn’t suffer. Over quickly.”
Alan heard a sob, Gibson perhaps.
“Alan, I’ll expect a full debrief. We will need to decide upon our next course of action.”
Alan clenched his teeth and said, “Aye... Aye... Skipper.”
***
Alan locked his cabin door, fumbling with the data encryption lock. The intercom chimed: Conway wanting his debrief.
Sweat broke out on his arms, ‘pins and needles’ attacked his lower back, spreading up his spine, to grasp his head, the sensation akin to a swarm of gnats. No, not now; damnedest time to have spore enhancement withdrawal.
The chiming intercom buzzed like an annoying insect. Fuck off Conway, you can wait. He needed to calm down, plan.
Alan’s eyes itched, burned and his vision began to fade. Desperate to rid himself of the sensation, he stumbled into the small bathroom and barged into the sink, all the while reaching for his pills in the overhead cabinet. He swung open the door and bottles rained into the sink.
Alan grabbed a bottle, opened it and poured red capsules in to his mouth, then collapsed to the bathroom floor. His neck hurt, his eyes burned and somewhere distant Shepperd said, ‘I don’t want to be here, I never wanted to be here.’
Alan lay there for a long time.
***
An incessant chiming penetrated an all encompassing numbness.
The cold bathroom floor pressed hard against his back and for a moment he wondered where he was. Rolling over, he pushed himself up to sit with his back against the sink pedestal. The chiming irritated, each high pitched beat driving home. It helped in a way because it distracted him from the sour taste in his mouth.
How long had he been out?
Slowly he rose and padded into the cabin. A blinking light on the com-unit announced an incoming call. Conway? The digital clock read 15.42. He’d slept for several hours. He didn’t feel refreshed.
He opened the link.
“Alan?”
“Last time I looked.”
“Alan,” Conway’s voice sounded conciliatory, concerned. “I’d like to see you in my suite, say in an hour.”
“Sure, whatever.”
“If it makes you feel any better I’ll admit my error of judgement, but quite frankly it’s a futile gesture.” Conway added, “We both know that I made it. If you’ll come along, we can discuss how best to get back on track and perhaps we could arrange for a service of some kind... For Shepperd.”
Alan snorted, “If that’ll make you feel better.”
“It might. But I’m thinking of Gibson. He’s inconsolable.”
Alan hesitated, a reckless moment of petulance taking hold, “Conway? How many more of us have to die before we find this ghost you’re chasing?”
A long, stretched sigh whispered from the speaker, Conway said, “Believe me, I didn’t want any deaths. These people are my family, my—”
“These people aren’t your family. They’re more like your audience. You treat them like acolytes, devotees. And some of them would willingly put themselves in harm’s way for you. Whatever your motivations, you cannot casually play with their lives; that is plain wrong Conway.”
“Alan, best we discuss this later. Shepperd’s death is a tragic blow and in hindsight ... Well, it’s easy to apportion blame. You know Alan; we are much alike; both riddled with guilt.”
“Wha—”
“I have over many years done things that I’m ashamed of, things that no ‘regular’ citizen would have been asked to do. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, just merely pointing out that I’ve had my share and do understand where you’re coming from. Guilt can consume and twist, shade a life-time of decisions.”
“Conway, the guilt I bear is in no way similar to that you carry. And if you bring Jimmy into this again, I will most certainly be ashamed of my actions. Do I make myself clear?”
“I apologise, Alan. One hour then?”
“Okay.”
Alan disconnected. How dare Conway take the high ground? Shepperd died because Conway took risks. Well that bastard’s playing-loose with the crew had to stop. Alan began to think that his only course of action might be one of mutiny after-all.
He rose and washed, changed his clothes, and his decision made, headed out the door.
He hurried to the flight deck. Deserted corridors greeted his echoing footfalls; others presumably drained by today’s events had retired to their cabins to rest. Alan welcomed the solitude, any meeting or awkward conversation right now might distract from his goal. What had Stowe said? ‘Be decisive now. Don’t let the memory fester.’
His data-well beckoned like a warm cocoon.
Rapidly bringing up virtual screens, he accessed several subroutines controlling critical functions in life support, navigation and propulsion. His hands danced over scrolling icons, releasing the tiny subversive data packages already placed into the system when he first connected with the ship.
They ate into the authentication protocols, found gaps in the operating system and waited.
Alan had a few minutes. Breathing deeply and pushing doubts regarding his potentially ship-destroying action aside, he opened his spore-ports and linked with Haqiqa.
Select aft starboard thruster-assembley – Isolate fuel safety cut-off HC0112894 – Fire thrusters.
Haqiqa slewed to port, something crashed to the deck on the flight-deck mezzanine.
Ship com, Conway: “Alan. What’s happening?”
“A thruster-assembly has malfunctioned. I’m attending to it now. Looks like a problem with a safety cut off.”
“Do what you can and I’ll see you when you get here. I trust you can handle it?”
“Just take a minute.”
Alan cut the link. Moments later he released the cut-off, the safety came online and Haqiqa settled. Sending a simple query into the core system brought a smile to Alan’s lips. Conway’s day just got a whole lot worse.
Several alarm notifications flew into his field of view. The system integrity monitor had simultaneously sent Conway those same alerts, but by the time Conway deciphered their meaning Alan would own the ship's core systems
Slowly a ghost-authentication programme spread throughout Haqiqa’s systems, nothing fancy. It painted encrypted locks into the software.
Chaotic encryption dynamics would mutate with each logon, randomly shifting potential logon keys. Without the right key, which Alan held in his memory, the logon would remain inaccessible to everyone but himself.
Alan also initialised a nifty routine to ward off reboots. Conway could potentially reboot the system and regain access. Alan’s little programme automatically re-asserted his authentication hijack.
Conway could try and retake the software, but without Alan’s authorization nobody could actually touch the files secured.
Satisfied he eased back and stretched. He felt exhausted: concentration and trauma, more than he’d normally cope with. Sure, they’d cajole with arguments and threats, but ultimately control and order would return, along with activated plans and prot
ocols, and debate would bring reasoned decisions. He crossed mental fingers and hoped.
Glancing at the time displayed in one of the virtuals, he noted that his silent, abrupt coup-d’état had only taken forty-five minutes.
His stomach felt empty. He’d make for the observation lounge to grab a snack before confronting Conway.
Before he left, he programmed one last surprise.
***
Conway’s office reeked of repressed anger and underlying tension.
“It seems Alan, that we may have reached an impasse.” Conway hesitated, poured himself another brandy from his table’s reserve. Alan noted that the glass held the remnants of at least one earlier drink. Sitting back, glass in hand, Conway studied the liquid, refracted light eliciting an amber caste to his features.
“Whatever our personal feelings, you and I, Alan, have to accept there’s one way to complete the mission, we move forward. For the foreseeable future this system is our home and we should deal with that.
“In hindsight, I agree that I arranged our excursion to the platform hastily.”
“Arranged? A pertinent euphemism for pushing me into an ill-advised foray into god-knows-what. You know, I almost called your bluff and allowed you to stick Kiki under cabin-arrest. Should have, I know that now. I will not make such a bad decision again.”
Conway’s piercing stare unsettled Alan, “Refusal to take the trip would have only led to me asking someone else to go.”
Alan reached into Conway’s personal spirit stock and poured himself a large scotch. “Yes,” he said between sips, “I guess you would have.”
Conway stared at Alan, his look one of consternation. “If you don’t mind me saying Alan, and not wishing to sound obvious, this mission has its dangers, although Shepperd perhaps felt his exposure to those dangers would remain slight, he did agree both verbally and by contract to undertake any and all requests placed upon him in the execution of his duty as a team member.” He leaned forward to make a point, “And that included exploration of potentially hazardous situations. We all agreed to it. Even you.”
Alan threw back, “I guess it all depends upon your definitions. It’s fucked up Conway, the trip was unnecessary and served no real purpose.”
Am I baiting, or stating a fact? Alan let it stand.
Conway frowned, “No purpose eh? On the contrary we have learned a great deal. Bucket loads of data for instance, squirted into our data storage and let’s not forget that this object or one like it may hold the answer to the Peterson’s disappearance. Come on Alan, it needed checking on.”
“Fine, maybe so, but we should have explored other, less volatile possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“The outer gas giants, a complete survey, a passive sweep of the system. These would have all brought information; anything lacking, or had we found nothing, we could have come back here.”
Conway’s attitude changed, became more affable, “Yes, I see your point, but at the time I felt my approach correct.”
Silence filled Conway’s suite.
“Conway, as we have lost another crew member, and until we can devise a better approach for investigating these objects, I’d like to suggest we set about organising a systematic tour of the outer gas giants. Currently they are the only viable options for a decent life sustaining ecosystem.” Conway stiffened.
Conway moved to stare out his panoramic window. The view faced away from this system’s star and out towards the rift. Alan saw star clusters and odd constellations; a sparkling show that threw up slim tendrils of light to test the void beyond.
Conway turned to face Alan. “I can see your point and to some extent agree, but Woodland and I have discussed the matter and wish to explore a couple more of these objects before pushing outward. You would not want to miss the Peterson, especially if she hove-to alongside the next object, or the one after that. These objects represent the most interesting aspects of the system, so it’s a fair assumption that they might have come here.”
Alan agreed readily enough: for all his faults Conway did have his insights. However, “Conway, we should view this like any other mystery. We need information, clues if you will, and the best place to find said clues is at the scene of the crime. I maintain that we will discover that information on the planetary surface explored by the Peterson’s crew; meaning diaries, notes, recordings left for such as us to find. We should go find that place.”
Noticing Alan’s empty glass, Conway said, “Re-fill?”
“No thank you, one’s enough for now.”
Conway appeared to sense Alan’s bridling hostility: “Would you care to read something at the service for Shepperd. I know this awful experience has upset you.”
Alan saw the airlock door closing, the shaded entity lowering its dark head to stare in at him.
The memory held no new detail, the head and mass remained a black-upon-black shape. But in that memory, that moment, he felt sure that the thing had reached out into his mind, into him. “Have you lost your friggin’ mind Conway? Shepperd’s not cold and you’re looking for bloody profit.” Alan closed on Conway, faced him, “These objects are too dangerous. Until we know more you should keep your money-hungry plans at bay.”
“Alan, please calm yourself. My profit eager plans have a brake; you need have no fear on that score. After the unfortunate incident I asked Kiki and Gibson to cobble together a few automated vehicles; no one will venture forth until we are completely satisfied that the risks are manageable.”
Conway’s reluctant to change objectives? Another niggle, damn it. Perhaps Conway already knew about these objects and their profit-potential before the Haqiqa had left.
“Conway, the crew have found the last few days highly stressful. Even you would accept that.” Conway nodded. “Let them focus on something else. It would lift everybody’s spirits if we can find the planet or moon the Peterson’s crew discovered. Look, if you continue with your scheme I’ll guarantee there’ll be more deaths.” Conway appeared to be listening so Alan said, “There’s nothing as good as seeing the greens and browns of a terrestrial world after a long voyage. There’s time for it and if we can’t locate the damn place, we can always come back here.”
Conway hesitated, “It may seem to you that you have a say in these matters,” he jabbed his finger at Alan, “but it only seems that way. Reality is a different matter. I have made my decision.”
Alan felt the ship shudder as the engines came online. “I see. So you’ve already plotted and laid in the course, one more mystery to solve, one extra stick in the woodpile to see what scurries out.” Alan raised his voice enough to ram home his argument, “This ship’s ill-equipped to survey these objects in any realistic or scientific fashion. The best you can hope for is to stir up some data and perhaps shake something unwanted from the branches.”
“A colourful analogy Alan, and one I agree with, but if rescue should arrive I want to make sure I have not wasted my money. Have you seen those objects? Really looked? It’s a nest-egg, a veritable mine of advanced technologies. Why the data alone is worth a small fortune.”
“Profit should not be a factor in our developing situation,” Alan stated. “All risk needs careful management. You have no right to put the rest of us in harm’s way.”
“The rest of us? Listen to yourself, Alan. My loyal-crew, and they signed on the dotted, and made a free choice—”
“I’m pretty damn sure Stowe and Pickering didn’t expect this level of danger. And I can positively state that they didn’t expect death, at least not in the manner in which it came. Surely it shouldn’t take explanation!”
Even as Alan spoke he knew he’d wasted breath. Conway smiled, and then said, “Unless there’s anything else...”
“No way to persuade you? Nothing?”
“The Peterson and her crew can wait a little longer, and remember, profit never looks at you twice.”
“I’m truly sorry to hear you say that Conway. You leave me no choice...�
�
Alan reached forward and offered his wrist link to the nearest node. Moments later the link activated; Alan said, “Execute one.”
Haqiqa vibrated and Conway turned to look out of the window again. Slowly the view slid around as the ships thrusters brought her about. “Just what do you think you’ve done? Programming the AI to alter our course is an act of mutiny – A futile one at best.”
As Conway talked Alan watched him move around the low couches and head for the nearest link node. The engine’s deep thrum increased and Alan felt the tug of acceleration as Haqiqa released its energies.
Conway linked to the AI, vocally ordering it to resume its original flight plan and when that failed he opened up a virtual screen and started to manipulate software.
Placing his empty glass firmly on Conway’s table, Alan strode towards the door.
Conway spun on him, “Alan, please release the systems into my control. I know that you have concerns. Lo—”
“Those bloody things reached out, reached right into our fucking minds and played with our emotions. God knows what’ll happen next time. You can have the ship back when I’m good and ready.”
“Alan, Gibson will have control back in my hands within the hour and when he does I will confine you in your quarters for the rest of the voyage. What’s more, when we return to Earth I will rescind your contract. No monies for you or your brother. I will not tolerate mutiny aboard my vessel.”
Threats from a cornered rat. Alan, at least for the moment, loved it.
Reaching the door Alan said, “You’re welcome to try Conway. But in an hour you’ll come looking for a deal, not seeking my confinement.”
As the door to Conway’s suite closed behind him, Alan wondered who he might count on now. The grave-silent corridor he walked along tightened around him.
In an hour he’d better be ready.
Chapter 13
New Worlds and Natives
Alone in the observation lounge, Alan contemplated a small marbled world.
Blues, browns and banded-orange tantalised below lacy, stretched gossamer-clouds. Bringing up a virtual screen, Alan zoomed into the image, picking up greens and lighter tan patches hugging coastal regions, thickening towards the equator. Small patches of white capped the poles, and light sparkled off isolated oceans. Stunning.
