A day out from what the Rift calculated as the intercept point, just shy of the termination zone for the solar winds, number five went silent. Whether this was a countermeasure by Berry, trying to lower his electromagnetic profile and evade capture within the magnetic anomalies in that region, or whether the alien craft had jammed communications or possibly destroyed the scout, no one knew. But there were three things Anderson knew for sure.
They weren't alone.
They'd been spotted long before they spotted anything unusual.
And their counterpart’s intentions were aggressive, probably hostile.
Anderson was worried.
While making out his report for Earth, he wondered who would read it, what they would make of it, and if it would cause more problems than it would solve.
Space-time distorted everything.
Humanity was ill-equipped to handle the vastness of space and the immense passages of time that transpired within even the simplest of interstellar interactions. They'd seen this already, with the colonists around Teegarden's star, a mere twelve light years from Earth.
Even the simplest of requests could take the best part of someone's career to fulfill. With hundreds of light years between the Rift Valley and Earth, and over a thousand years difference in terms of elapsed time, Anderson wondered if he was sending a report to a dead planet, one that had already encountered this interstellar race and been driven to extinction. That was the fear, that any alien interaction would be as brutal as the Spanish conquest of South America, or the Japanese rape of Nanking in China, with atrocities comparable to those of the British in South Africa during the Boer War. He also considered that the Rift Valley's intentions might have been misinterpreted and misunderstood, their stealth having been mistaken for a threat.
Maybe this alien species had spread asymmetrically and had already made contact with mankind in other regions. They could have established diplomatic relations centuries ago, and neither he nor his alien counterpart would know. They could end up firing on each other like border guards on some long forgotten frontier, relics of ignorance and intolerance.
Intergalactic space was big enough for everyone, both species could have peacefully coexisted for hundreds of years already, and so Anderson's warning would be a somewhat quaint and amusing artifact of this chronological distortion.
The most likely scenario, though, was that this was a first contact, perhaps the first contact ever, and the exact nature of mankind’s first interstellar relationship would take years to flesh out, maybe decades or even centuries before it resolved into its final form.
Would anyone remember those five that died in the initial foray? Would anyone care? Anderson cared. Apart from the crew of the Rift Valley , at least those who had known these men personally, no one else would ever see them as anything more than a byline in history. He'd sent them out alone, and they'd died alone.
Anderson peered at the vast molecular cloud below the Rift Valley , at least it was below from his current orientation. Its dark clouds were illuminated by the solar wind streaming off a pair of newborn stars. The musty, brown cloud was the perfect place to hide, with its billowing tendrils reaching out over seven light years across, but that was precisely why Anderson hadn't taken the Rift into this region. It was too obvious. If this were his back yard, he'd be watching those clouds like a hawk. Any passage through the molecular hydrogen would leave a wake, while any powered maneuvers would leave an infrared smudge glowing behind them. Accelerating would be taxing, as the thick hydrogen would compress in front of the Rift , pushing their shields beyond design constraints. No, as tempting as it was to sit inert, drifting with the cloud, blending invisibly into the background, if they were sprung it would be disastrous.
Anderson understood his duty to the ship. It extended far beyond the four hundred men and women on board. His was an obligation to future generations, both onboard the Rift and back on Earth. He had dispatched a second wave of three scouts, but only to observe the agreed rendezvous point for the first wave. They were to remain cold for a period of five months, silently watching, waiting, but he knew it was futile. The rendezvous was at a Lagrange point between three nearby stars, just shy of the molecular cloud.
The scouts were to passively observe from at least forty astronomical units, entering a natural orbit around each of the stars so as to blend in with any far-flung Oort-cloud-like debris as they faced outward, looking toward the gravitationally neutral Lagrange point. The scouts were instructed to observe any survivors silently for at least a week before making contact.
At forty astronomical units, the distance between the scouts and any survivors would have been beyond the orbit of Pluto were they in orbit around Earth. Anderson hoped it was far enough, but his adversaries had already proven themselves adept in celestial warfare.
The hunt was on. The game was afoot.
2:03 Offensive
Trixie stood next to Berry, twisting on the balls of her feet, her knees crossing slightly as she squirmed. Berry hadn't noticed, and she wasn't sure how to describe it to him, but his eyes suddenly registered and he seemed to know what was going on.
“I'm sorry, Babe. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
He squeezed past her as he added, “Do you need to relieve yourself?”
Trixie was silent. She wasn't sure how to respond. She wanted to say, “Yes,” but she felt an overwhelming need for privacy.
Berry opened a hatch on the side wall in the Swift , and twisted a unidirectional seat around so it faced their current gravitational orientation. He pushed on the soft, molded plastic until it locked in place.
“Here you go,” he said. “Sorry, there's no curtain or anything. But you can wipe yourself with these damp cloths. They're sterile, anti-bacterial. Get recycled over and over again. Not that you'd ever know it.”
Trixie stared at the small seat with a hole in the center, and noted the bowl beneath it. There was the soft sound of suction forming a draft within the stainless steel bowl, ready to draw down any liquids. She looked back at Berry, getting the general idea.
“Go on. It's OK.”
In the light gravity, it was easy to spring up beside him and land on the fold-away toilet. She turned around, squatting down with her feet straddling both sides of the seat.
“No! You sit down on it,” Berry said, seeing her starting to pull her singlet up to her waist. He pointed at the seat. Trixie batted his hand away, signaling for him to turn around and face the other direction.
“Okay, okay. I won't look,” added Berry, turning toward the airlock. “I was just trying to help. If you sit down, you'll be more comfortable.”
Berry whistled as he rummaged through one of the storage lockers with his back to her. Trixie wasn't sure if he was pretending to look for something or not, and she'd never known him to whistle, so he seemed nervous, more nervous than when they were clambering through the bowels of the alien ship. This was the closest she was going to get to privacy within the cramped confines of the scout craft so she sat down on the seat as Berry suggested, and felt relief.
“I might use that after you,” Berry said, without looking. “So don't flush. Although, you probably don't know how to flush, do you?”
“No,” Trixie said after a few seconds. Apart from the soft ring of the bell on her wrist, these words were the first sound she'd made in the whole episode, which surprised her. These were new feelings, the need for personal space and privacy, and she was struggling to adjust to them.
She finished up, impressed by the warm, moist towelettes. She and Berry swapped spots in the narrow bulkhead of the Swift . Berry said, “No peeking.”
Trixie was happy to oblige. She mimicked Berry, looking through the lockers and pulling out anything interesting.
“That's hydraulic oil,” Berry said from behind her. She placed the shiny silver can on the ground and looked in another locker. There was a machine with a touch-screen flat panel inside the waist-high compartment.
“It's an organic constructor. Not much in the way of supplies, though, so it can only do the basics. Are you hungry?”
Trixie turned, surprised by the whoosh of air and water as the toilet flushed. Berry tucked in his singlet and tightened his belt.
“Say, protein bar,” he called out, seeing her curiosity at work.
“Protein bar,” repeated Trixie and the organic constructor whirred to life. Seconds later, the door popped open and a warm, sweet smell wafted through the air.
Trixie grabbed the bar and bit into it, holding it with both hands and biting through the middle. The door to the constructor closed automatically.
“Normally, you start at one end,” Berry said. “Can you get one for me?”
“Protein bar,” Trixie said, and the machine whirred to life again. Another bar of compressed protein popped out. Trixie tossed it to Berry as she again commanded, “Protein bar.”
Berry laughed as the machine complied a third time. “Well, if we're going to go out fighting, it might as well be on a full stomach.”
Trixie ate the second bar, enjoying the meaty flavor.
Berry handed her a bottle of water. She looked at it suspiciously, sniffing it.
“It's just water,” he assured her.
Berry took the bottle from her and loosened the top. Raising it above his head, he drank a few large gulps. Trixie copied him, spluttering as the water splashed around her mouth.
“You've got to swallow, silly.”
She tried again, but it seemed too quick for her, too unnatural. Water dripped down her front, wetting her singlet, so she changed tactics and drank slowly, taking small sips, flicking at the water with her tongue.
“Oh, we're in a pickle, Trix. What a mess!”
The water washed away the fine dust on her neck and upper chest, revealing her natural coloration beneath the chalky dust.
“Yes, what a mess,” Trixie said, laughing at herself as she looked down at her wet shirt. Seeing her clean skin highlighted just how dirty the two of them were from the fine dust within the heart of the alien craft.
The Swift rocked slightly. The sound of claws scraping on the metal hull echoed around them.
“I'm so sorry, Trix. I wish there was another way,” Berry said.
Tears welled up in his eyes. In the low gravity, his tears formed large drops in the corner of each eye. As he blinked, they slowly ran down his cheeks, but Trixie barely noticed. She was rubbing her fingers together, surprised by the smooth feeling between her thumb and forefinger as she rolled the fine paste around. The water and powder had combined to form a slick, oily film. Berry reached over and took some from her.
“Trixie, you beauty. There's some kind of refined hydrocarbon mixed in with this powder, perhaps even a form of petroleum. The water is causing it to separate. Do you know what that means?
“Of course you don't, it means that dust ball we saw is flammable. It's no wonder they hid them within the belly of their ship, they're some kind of fuel reservoir, they're weak spots. From the outside, we couldn't make a dent in this thing, its dense network of branches and roots would flex and absorb the energy of an explosion. Given the size of this ship, even a nuke would be confined locally, but set off even a small spark down inside that dust storm, and boom!”
“Boom,” added Trixie, copying his previous example, using her hands to mimic an explosion.
“Boom,” Berry repeated, smiling, raising his eyebrows. “The oxygen mix on this craft is about 30%. It's way more than we need, which is why even when you're jumping around the place you're barely breaking a sweat. Their metabolisms must burn through the stuff at an amazing rate, but that will work in our favor. Any flame will spread like wildfire.
“And that dust storm, it's one of at least four others I've seen in this section alone, all linked together. There must be hundreds of them throughout the ship, maybe thousands given the size of this craft. That dust is so fine it's going to have a massive, diffuse surface area relative to its volume. This is chemistry 101. Small volatiles in suspension are capable of rapid expansion, rapid reaction. In that confined space, it would make a huge chemical explosion, a big boom.”
Trixie liked that. “Big, big boom.”
“Yes. Big, big boom. From the inside out, daisy-chaining throughout the interior of the ship, from one chamber to another. If we can set off one of these things, it's going to be like a detonator for the others, setting off a chain reaction.”
“BANG!” Trixie said, clapping her hands together as Berry had done previously. The bell on her bracelet rang as she clapped.
“Oh, yes. These are the kind of fireworks we want to see. This would tear their craft apart, splitting it open.”
Berry was biting his lip. It surprised Trixie. Something was up.
“Trix, Honey. You need to leave your bracelet here on the Swift .”
Trixie grabbed at her wrist, hiding the rainbow bracelet and the small bell beneath her hand.
Berry held out his open palm.
She dropped her eyes, looking at the ground sheepishly.
“It'll still be here when you get back.”
Trixie was silent.
“Trix. This is hard enough as it is. We need to avoid any noise that would give us away.”
She didn't say anything. To her, this simple piece of jewelry was a connection with her misty past, it was something that defined her, anchored her. It was irrational, she knew that, but emotionally giving up her bracelet was the hardest thing she could do.
“Trust me,” Berry said.
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. Her mouth was turned down. Her lips quivered. She wasn't sure why she felt this way, but the feeling was real. In the midst of the craziness of being trapped on an alien spacecraft, the bracelet gave her hope. But Trixie trusted Berry. She had to. Apart from the bracelet, he was all she had. She slipped it off and dropped it in his hand. Berry leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.
“You're doing well, babe. Hang in there. Just stay with me. We're going to make it through this.”
He put the bracelet on the engine cowling.
“It'll still be here when we get back. Okay?”
“Okay,” Trixie said. Already, she felt better. Trusting Berry helped her confidence grow. He was strong. She could be strong.
“All right. Let's see what we can use from around here.” Berry rummaged through one of the cabinets. “We could use the acetylene from the welding rig, that would be a good fuel source.”
Berry fired up the portable welding torch. Trixie liked the flame. It was both pretty and powerful. She stepped back, watching closely, intrigued by the flickering blue light. With his left hand, Berry ran his fingers through his hair, shaking loose some of the dust from the cloud they'd seen within the heart of the alien ship. Flashes of light crackled, dancing on the blue flame as the dust drifted through the air.
“That'll work,” he said. “Big boom.”
Trixie clapped her hands with excitement.
“We need a fuse,” he added. “Something to delay the blast and give us time to get back here to the Swift .”
Berry lit the end of the nylon cord and watched, turning off the torch with a crack as the gas stopped flowing. A flame flickered at the end of the cord for a few seconds, melting the nylon, but it soon went out. Berry cut the end off and tried again.
Trixie was intrigued. She dropped down on her haunches, her elbows resting on her knees as she crouched there, watching Berry intently, absorbing his every move. She was hungry for more than imitation, she wanted to understand his reasoning, to think like he thought.
Berry picked up the silver can of synthetic hydraulic oil.
“This stuff doesn't burn very well,” he said, explaining his thinking. “But maybe that's what we need, something slow burning.”
He soaked part of the nylon cord in the oil, making a mess on the floor. Sealing the can, he wiped his hands clean on a pair of overalls, and lit the welding torch again. This time, the smolde
ring nylon kept burning, slowly eating up the cord. Drips of burning oil and molten plastic dropped to the floor.
“I think that will work,” he said, stamping out the flames. “A couple of yards should give us a good ten to twenty minutes, long enough to clear the area. We'll use two separate fuses to give ourselves some redundancy, because if this doesn't work, there's no going home.”
Berry tossed Trixie a backpack. Instinctively, she knew what to do, and started loading the spare acetylene cylinders into the bag. Berry fed the nylon into the oil can, allowing it to coil inside the metal container and handed the sealed can to Trixie. He tore off some duct tape and stuck two extra cylinders to his welding rig. Berry tossed the tape to Trixie. It barely touched her hands as she swung it straight into the backpack.
Trixie picked up the rivet gun.
“You like that, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling.
“Okay, when firing it, you need to keep the guard pulled down or it's going to jam. The guard is hardened steel, designed to cause the rivets to mushroom. I don't know how well the aluminum compound rivets are going to go against those shells, but it's better than fighting with bare hands. Try to aim for soft spots, gaps around their shells, eye stalks, antenna, things like that.”
“Okay,” Trixie replied, feeling quite confident with the bulky machine in her hand. She picked up a couple of spare compressed air cylinders and taped them together the same way Berry had, making sure she put the tape back in the bag.
A red warning light started flashing in the cockpit.
“Fusion cells are heating up,” Berry said. “At least if we don't make it back, we'll leave them with a nice surprise. It's now or never, babe. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Trixie said, with a look of intense focus on her face, her lips pulled tight, her muscles tense.
Berry opened the inner hatch and climbed into the airlock. He clambered past the extravehicular suit hanging on the wall and started opening the outer hatch. A readout on the side of the airlock showed the pressure outside, including the mix of gases, and warned him the inner airlock door was still open. With his welding torch leading the way, its soft blue flame flaring up in the oxygen-rich atmosphere, Berry crawled forward out of the outer hatch. Trixie followed behind him, shuffling the bag in front of her as she wriggled through the airlock.
Trixie & Me Page 5
