The shaft, through which I am moving without being able to stop my fall, has an oval shape. That is all I can tell. I am not even sure how fast I am falling. According to my acceleration sensors, it should be approximately three meters per second, but if that value is correct, I ought to be outside the building by now. The inhabitants of Proxima b managed to construct an extraordinary building, even restructuring space and time. Or perhaps I am simply confused. Considering I had been about to start a major repair for the second time in two days, that is a possibility.
I hope that at least the ISUs can hear me. I ordered them not to move out of radio range. But who knows how deep I have already fallen? Once they can no longer reach me, the sensor units will launch a special search mode that eventually should lead them to me. That is, unless the area where I am going to land can only be reached via the octagonal hatch—the snake-shaped ISUs could not open that by themselves.
Splash! I have landed in a puddle. Yet I seem to be mistaken, because I continue moving further downward. I did not land at the bottom of the puddle but in a full-sized pond within a huge container. I'm not sure what its purpose might be. Might this merely be a safe storage for everything not wanted above? I look around. The floor of the container rises spherically on all sides. Around me lie parts of strange forms, the origins of which are unclear to me. The only things I can recognize are bones. They look quite similar to those of the mummy up there. Did the inhabitants dispose of their dead here?
To make things worse, now my energy management system sends an alert. For the last four days I have been living off my reserves. I should have tried to find more resources a while ago, but when would I have had the time? I had been chasing Eve because she needed me, and I could not have anticipated that I would be lying immobile at the bottom of a water tank, nor could I have prepared for it. I must concentrate on my energy supply if I want to help Eve. I am going to build micro-probes that can examine this tank for potential energy sources. My remaining energy should be sufficient for that.
May 4, 19
Eve drops the empty water bottle. Her eyes follow the plastic container. It seems to fall in slow motion. The bottle hits the ground, tilts, and then rolls on for half a meter. The noise hits her ear canal with a delay. Then it takes a few seconds until her consciousness notices the shock. The meager rest of her life seems to be moving slowly, as if she had activated the parking brake. She is still sitting next to the alien corpse, unable to get up. No, she simply cannot find the will to do it. She leans her head against the honeycomb behind her and closes her eyes. It makes little difference. The blackness remains, and she even thinks she can see relics of the infrared lines on the inside of her eyelids.
She jerks her head forward and back so it hits the hard cover material of the honeycomb-shaped chamber. A gong sounds in her head, then another one, a third and a fourth one. The pain hits her later. It enters her thoughts like a single wave, pushes the fog aside, and suddenly she feels a clarity that amazes her. It is incredibly stupid that she is sitting next to the dead alien, feeling sorry for herself.
She is not yet dead, so she had better go on. She has to get up. Eve looks at her legs. She orders them to move but nothing happens. Fog is seeping into her consciousness again. Gong, gong, gong—she bangs the back of her head against the wall again, clearing her thoughts. Suddenly her limbs react. She gets up. Then she is standing, a bit wobbly at first, but standing. She slaps her cheeks twice with her palms.
The stench is so horrible that she almost topples again. Everything around her stinks. Does the repulsive odor come from the stuff the alien discharged before its death—or was it afterward? Yet there is also a smell of putrefaction that is getting stronger by the hour. Eve takes two steps sideways. Now she realizes she stinks as well. She is the center of her own cloud of hydrogen sulfide, ammonia, and butyric acid. She desperately needs a shower and she should eat something, even though she is not hungry.
She should also do a status check. She is alone. She has to set her own goals. Over there is a railing. Eve stands next to it and looks at the wall. The honeycombs still show up in infrared. This means they are supplied with energy. A violet light is blinking next to the chamber she opened. She remembers that it was orange yesterday. Does the color indicate something about the status of the chambers?
She walks down to the control panel with the countless symbols. Then she pushes circle-buttons at random to activate about 50 lights scattered across the entire console. She turns around and counts the results. There are eight yellow honeycombs, six orange ones, and nine red ones. Most are blue, and exactly three are violet, just like the light at the chamber of the dead alien. Violet is the end of the optical spectrum. Therefore the three occupants of the chambers marked in violet are probably already dead. That is only a theory, though, until she checks it out herself. Eve uses the in-between keys to turn all three honeycombs transparent. Then she walks back up to see for herself.
She reaches the first chamber in the middle of the second floor. Her heart skips for a moment when she sees what’s inside—a creature, lying on a couch that is much too large for its small size. It is strange, but she immediately recognizes that this is not a different sex of this species, but a far-from-mature being. She does not even know what gives her this impression. Is it because this creature put his two precision arms into the belly fold? If that is an organ for food intake, then the position would resemble a human baby sucking on a finger.
The eyes of the alien child are covered by a thin layer of skin, perhaps for protection. The legs resemble more the second, strong pair of arms than the powerful jumping limbs of adults. And the child has hair on its back, or some other kind of skin protrusions that it would likely have shed later in its life. What really makes Eve sad is the overall condition of the body. It is quite obvious this individual will never again wake up. Its skin is thin and almost transparent, and the body lies in a puddle of liquids that flowed from its corpse despite the cooling. The child must have died a while ago.
It takes her a bit longer to reach the second chamber. She places both hands against the window and mentally prepares herself before looking inside. The creature here is lying on its back instead of on its side. It is completely desiccated, practically mummified. The body is only two meters long. It is hard to say whether this is a female or an adolescent. The system failures must have started a long time ago. How long might this facility have been in operation? Could it be 100 years, or 1,000?
By now Eve thinks nothing could shock her anymore, but she is wrong. The third chamber, almost at the very top of the shaft, looks like a battlefield. Hoses and surgical instruments hang from its ceiling. Perhaps the chamber tried to save its occupant, but the numerous seemingly random cuts in the body point toward the opposite. It seems the chamber tried to kill its inhabitant. It is interesting that the body shows no signs of decomposition. The chamber’s cooling function still seems to be working. However, the medical technology apparently intended to perform a little massacre. Eve can’t help but imagine what it would be like to sleep in such a cryo-chamber, only to be cut apart alive by a robot surgeon gone haywire. Hopefully the alien did not consciously experience its own death.
The results are clear. She no longer has to check any other violet chambers. The color code definitely indicates the status of the frozen extraterrestrials. This means, though, that the entire system must have been in a state of decay for some time. Something went wrong. Perhaps the remaining inhabitants retreated into this building to shelter from the large flare, hoping their brothers and sisters would come for them later. Maybe the system was supposed to wake them 100 years afterward—but nobody heard the alarm. Eve knows these are only speculations. Had the inhabitants of Proxima b written down their history? It would certainly be exciting to study such a document. To do so, she has to get out of this shaft, which seems to be a dead end in this labyrinth.
First she has to solve a different problem. She needs drinking water. Yesterday she c
onsidered setting up a condensation tent to obtain water, but that takes a long time. The opened honeycomb might offer a different option. If her assumption is correct, the chamber would provide water to the occupant, at the latest after the awakening. So far she has not found a single faucet outside of the chambers. Eve walks back all the way. The closer she comes, the stronger the smell.
She stands once more in front of the couch with the dead alien. Should she push the creature off the couch? Then it might roll away a short distance, and the stench would not be as strong. She begins, but then she doesn’t have the heart for it. The extraterrestrial does not deserve this. When she awakened the creature, the light was not violet. Without her, the alien might have lived to be rescued. Was that the meaning of the call for help received on Earth?
The water. Eve kneels down and examines the design of the chamber. The couch moves on two rails. There is a gap of about 20 centimeters between the rails and the floor. On the rear wall she can see a few air-exhaust ducts, but no other technology. She should look for a source of water in the upper part. To do so, she has to step on the couch. In her mind she asks the extraterrestrial for forgiveness and then pushes his front part slightly to the side. The skin feels different from the way it was right after the awakening, slicker and colder.
Eve flinches, but there is no other option. The plan works. Now she can kneel next to the corpse and crawl to the rear of the chamber. The cavity is lit from the side walls. She steps off the couch. Here she can only crouch. Now she sees that she was right. Back here are the technical systems she has been seeking—short metal pipes sticking out of the wall, ending in rubbery arms. These arms are flexible and hollow. They probably contain artificial muscles that help the creatures move. Does one of them provide drinking water, and if so, which one? And how could she get it to discharge some water?
What if one of the occupants woke up and was thirsty? There must be conventions for marking sources of water—blue color, certain symbols—but they would certainly be too foreign for her to recognize them. But what would be the most comfortable way a just-awakened creature could drink? How would it signal its intention to get fluids into its body?
Eve imagines a baby who knows nothing about the world or its conventions. Yes, the baby would possess a sucking reflex. You need to create suction to move water in a certain direction. That is a mechanism that should work anywhere where drinking water and gravity exist, including on Proxima b. Could it really be this simple? Eve takes the first hose into her hand and puts it to her lips. And then she sucks on the hose, very carefully. After all, it might deliver some nutrient solution that could be poisonous to her. Nothing happens, even when she sucks more vigorously.
Second attempt: the next hose also remains empty.
Number three leads to the same result. Eve wipes the sweat off her forehead.
She suctions harder from the very start on the fourth attempt and is clearly successful. A liquid materializes in her mouth before she can tell what it is. She is panicked and spits it out, but she notices her mucous membranes have not come into contact with anything corrosive. The liquid still flowing from the rubber tube is completely clear and does not smell of anything. While she has no analyzer, this could only be water. Finally, a success after all this time! This really perks her up.
The water flow stops after 20 seconds. There is obviously an automatic shutoff. Eve takes off her suit and her underwear. This is the opportunity she has wished for after she awoke today—a shower! The water is lukewarm, but at least it is refreshing. She has to suck on the hose several times to keep the water flowing, can only take a shower while crouching, and can’t avoid splashing her nearby clothes, but it is still a fantastic experience that she enjoys with her eyes closed. This way she manages to block this bizarre situation from her mind—a meter and a half away there is still the alien’s corpse whose death she might be responsible for, while she is naked and splashing herself with fresh water in its sleeping chamber.
To finish things off, Eve replenishes her water supply. After she has crawled back out she is so exhausted she feels like collapsing right next to the chamber. However, the stench reminds her of another task. She has to get to the central control room! She picks up her clothes and walks down to the control panel. Then she presses the key with the reversed S that will move the couch with the dead alien back into its chamber. The window closes and becomes opaque. Only the blinking violet-colored lamp and the trail of wet, naked human footprints indicate something extraordinary must have happened here.
She cannot slack off now. It feels good to be active. She can’t go further down in the shaft. Yet walking back does not make sense to her either. What about the air vent she noticed? She stands next to the rear wall of the shaft and feels for it. Yes, this is the structure from which she heard noises yesterday. Today, there is nothing to hear.
Eve has to stretch her arms to reach the edge of the vent. The curvature tells her that the diameter of the pipe must be about two meters. That should be more than sufficient for her. It seems almost oversized for ventilation purposes, but perhaps it also fulfills another function. She tries to pull herself up with her arms, but she is not strong enough. She makes a second attempt, gasps, and wiggles her legs, but she has no chance because the wall is too smooth. A stool would be good, a table or a chair. She wonders what she could stand on. She can only think of her backpack. Eve sighs. That would need to be the next farewell.
She places the backpack on the ground right next to the wall and steps on it. Due to the integrated frame it can carry her weight. Then she tries to pull herself up. The added 50 centimeters are sufficient. She manages to push off with her forearms and crawl into the hole. A new victory—and also a loss, because she won’t be able to take the backpack with her. If Marchenko only could be here! He could have easily lifted her with his third arm. The pain of this loss rises in her mind. She quickly suppresses the feeling as she climbs back out.
In the dim light of the lamps on the honeycombed wall, she checks what she might still need from her backpack. Surprisingly, many items. She puts on her clothes again, not because she feels cold, but because the pockets in the jacket and the pants offer a lot of storage: the toolset, just in case; the universal device, even though it is almost out of energy; and as much food as possible. She eats what she can’t stow, even though she still does not feel hungry.
“Let’s go,” she calls out into the silence. No one answers. Shouldn’t she try to wake another one of the aliens? If anybody knows how to find the central room it would be the creatures sleeping in those chambers. She might have a better chance if she chose a honeycomb with a light still glowing yellow. But what if the revival system is failing in general, due to lack of energy, for instance? No, she does not want to make the decision about the life or death of another creature.
“Goodbye, backpack,” she says. When she hears her words echoing through the shaft they sound odd, as if the backpack were a living creature. Yet for Eve it is a very emotional farewell. She has the impression she is taking one of her last steps. First Adam, then Marchenko, then the alien, and finally the backpack. Afterward there won’t be anything or anyone else she can leave behind. Fate cannot demand more of her now except for her life.
She steps on the backpack, grabs the edge of the vent, and pulls herself up. Then she puts her weight on her forearms, pulls the right leg after her, and moves it over the edge. She lets herself fall forward and lifts the other leg inside. She has made it! After pulling herself forward with both hands she cautiously gets up on her knees. It is dark in here. Her hands reach upward. The pipe is in fact at least two meters wide and high, so she can stand up without any problems.
She can still see her way vaguely for the first few meters, but then... darkness. Not even her infrared perception can help her. Eve thinks about this. Blackness by itself is not threatening. She has already spent weeks in complete darkness, and she doesn’t think there are any dangerous animals here. Nothing is alive here
, outside those chambers. There is also no danger if the pipe were to curve.
The only thing she worries about is the possibility of holes in the floor. Perhaps the builders included a drainage system—or the pipe might suddenly turn 90 degrees downward. Walking upright is risky. She will have to crawl, her hands cautiously extended. That way she should be safe from such surprises. If she is lucky the pipe won’t be too long. She can manage to crawl on all fours for a few meters. Eve crouches and then sinks to her knees. At least the floor does not appear to be muddy. She can live with a few smudges on her pants. She starts to crawl.
Eve quickly notices that humans are not designed for crawling. If she only had kneepads! Or at least nice, soft mud. She imagines crawling through the soft sand at the shore of an ocean. Waves touch her hands and the sun shines on her back. She has never experienced this, only seen it in pictures. Yet her imaginings feel real. She manages to distract herself from the harsh reality.
Then she hears a rustling noise.
Eve stops and holds her breath. Or did she just imagine it?
There it is again. It sounds like a leaf that the wind blows in her direction. Yet there is no breeze, and certainly no leaf. She has to listen very closely. It might be far away, amplified by the echoes in the metal pipe. There is definitely something, and it is coming toward her. On Earth, as she learned, all kinds of animals run around in sewers—rats, for example, that live off garbage. Yet there is nothing here such an animal could feed on. She remembers those mini-frogs that had been about to use her as food. A shiver runs down her spine. Did it just get colder in here?
“Hello,” she calls out, attempting to sound calm. Some animals are easily impressed if you act self-confident, she knows. What might be considered self-confident behavior here on Proxima b? She stands up. While she still does not see anything, this might not hold true for whatever is causing the rustling sound. On two legs she might look less like potential prey than on all fours. After all, the inhabitants of this building moved as bipeds.
Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction Page 43
