Day 155. 6 June, 2115:
“…hull is some kind of nano-lattice composite,” Rick is droning as he takes us on our latest walk around our silent visitor. Each time I find myself expecting that the mystery ship will do something, but it just sits as quiet and still as it did from the moment it landed, over twenty-four hours ago. “Radar reflective, likely meaning there was a specific intent to make her stealthy. But there’s also enough ceramic quality—notice also the lack of drag-producing features, the smooth lines—to indicate she was made to enter atmosphere.”
“This is an orbital shuttle?” Lisa asks him. He reaches up a hand to let his gloved fingers stroke the polished black surface.
“Not a dropship or freighter,” he clarifies. “Too light. Too small, at least in terms of draft. Not enough sign of bay doors capable of loading and discharging anything or anyone in quantity. Not even a sign of a universal airlock, at least not one that’s compatible with anything we have. I’m betting this is a fast recon vessel. Dropped from orbit, carried or boosted here.”
“Which means it’s from Earth,” Matthew makes the easy conclusion.
“I doubt it was built here. Even if one of the colonies—or the ETE crews—survived, evolved this kind of tech, built ships capable of making orbit… But I’d think they’d have built more than one, sent more than one empty ship to check us out.”
“Unless they all left. Or something happened to them,” Matthew keeps it dark. Rick shrugs.
“Won’t know until we get her open. Whoever made her—or used her—didn’t make it easy by putting any identifying markings on the hull.”
“Gets us back to that stealth thing,” Matthew goes accusatory again. He knocks at the smooth black surface with his “stick.”
“Please, Colonel!” Rick almost jumps him. “Breaking the skin could compromise its heat shielding… If we ever intend to take it into orbit ourselves…”
“And go where, exactly?” Matthew ridicules bitterly, barely keeping his professionalism. “I thought there was nothing up there? Does this thing have engines that can boost it back to Earth?”
“I won’t know until we can get a closer look,” he tries to stay even, hopeful. “But not likely. I was thinking in terms of getting above the atmosphere net, sending a signal from orbit.”
All Matthew does is shake his head and look away, his way of passively conceding the point. Rick shoots me a look of pained frustration.
“Still no sign of life?” Lisa changes the subject.
“Nothing, Colonel,” Anton tells her. “Not even an indication of a Hiber-Sleep system running inside. She’s dead cold.”
I take a big step back, to take the long sleek ship all in. It still looks more like a missile than anything intended to be manned. The HA squad that’s been watching it in shifts—surrounding it with guns and eyes—reflexively takes a step back as well, like I stepped away for safety. I give them a little hand signal to stand put.
“No sign of weapons,” Rick continues. “No exposed cockpit or other viewports. Still not even sure where the doors are. There are a number of seams—very fine tolerances, almost invisible to the eye—that could indicate movable panels.”
“And no idea why it came here?” I press the obvious point again.
“Likely responded to our signal, Colonel,” Anton tries his theory again. “Some kind of automated protocol. She may have been sitting somewhere unmanned for awhile, picked up the first blip she’s had in however long, either mistakes it for a retrieval code or is specifically programmed to seek a friendly signal under certain conditions.”
“Such as her crew leaving her?” Lisa considers.
“No idea why until we get in,” Rick goes back to the original problem. “No sign of any violence on the outside.”
“We know it’s fast. Why did it take so long to get here after we started up the transmitter?” I ask.
“It might have had to spin up or something,” Anton offers.
“There’s no sign of violence,” Rick repeats, “but there is some scoring on the upper hull and wing surfaces, with traces of common Mars dust. She may have been buried. Not by a slide—maybe a sand drift.”
“Or hidden on purpose,” I consider, beating Matthew to the more sinister explanation.
“MAI is running through our library of remote codes and hail signals, also reviewing what we sent out before the transmitter fried,” Anton reports. “Hopefully, we’ll hit the right code, get her to open up.”
Matthew has wandered away, walking the flat of the big aircraft elevator. His walking stick makes echoing bangs on the reinforced deck as he paces, making a rhythm with the heavy clumping of his boots. The bay in this section is empty except for our visitor—I had Sergeant Morales and her teams move their “projects” into other hangars, safely away from the black ship, before we lowered the pad it settled itself on below ground, closed the big blast doors over it and pressurized the bay so we could work without masks (only surgical masks, just in case our guest brought something with it).
I thank Rick and Anton and leave them to finish their report with Lisa, then turn and follow after Matthew. I take my time to make it look like I’m not chasing him, not concerned.
“Looks like our visitor puts a few things to rest, at least,” I begin idly when I’m at his side. “New tech means Earth is still kicking.”
“Unmarked stealth recon ship doesn’t sound like a Search-and-Rescue,” he counters, keeping his voice down. “That it may have been left buried with its crew MIA makes things even more special.”
“I didn’t miss that, Matthew.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“I’ve got to keep it to what we can deal with,” I try. “Right now, if it isn’t in walking distance or rover range, it’s not on the priority list.”
“I know,” he cuts me off. Then I see him smile under his mask, give his head a little shake. “You’re doing a good job stepping into Cal Copeland’s boots, Mikey. We’ll make a base commander out of you yet.”
The God Mars Book One: CROATOAN Page 9
