Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

“Are you still there?” Eve asks.

  “Yes,” ISU 2 simply says.

  Now smoke curls above that line. The skin seems to expand, as if a cavity were forming inside the unit.

  “Termination in ten nine eight seven six five four three two one.” A second later there is simultaneously a loud bang and a flame spurting from the center of the unit, reaching about one meter upward. The machine breaks apart sideways. Once the smoke has cleared, Eve sees the scorched insides of the ISU.

  “Are you still there?”

  She receives no answer. Grief suddenly overwhelms her. She cries for the machine she had just recently met.

  Eve collapses in her chair while the tears are drying on her cheeks. She feels hardly more alive than the extraterrestrial across from her. Her stomach is growling, and she allows herself a piece of dried food. Now she must wait and stay alert, even though her eyes are drooping from fatigue. From which direction might the cleaning unit appear? How large will it be?

  “Eve, you have to stay awake now,” she says out loud to herself. Then she bites her lip. She hopes she did not just scare away the visitor she is waiting for. The smell of scorched cables still hangs in the air. Would the cleaning unit follow the smell?

  Eva wakes up startled. Damn, I fell asleep! She looks at her universal device. Half an hour has passed. Luckily the pieces of ISU 2 are still here. When is that thing finally coming?

  Tock... tock... tock. She hears the metallic clacking sound first, and then she sees the object. The cleaning unit moves on six legs. It is approximately the size of a large dog, and its head and back are covered with smooth, black skin. Instead of a snout, the machine has a kind of proboscis on its head that it moves back and forth.

  It is getting closer.

  Eve hopes her theory is correct and she will escape unscathed! And what if that thing recognizes she is just as much out of place here as the remnants of the sensor unit? The machine walks straight toward her. Eve puts her hand in front of her mouth. She is sitting directly alongside the shortest path between the site of the explosion and the hatch this thing emerged from. It must approach her if it wants to reach the goal. She should not—must not—move.

  Tock... tock... tock. The machine walks past her without paying her any attention. Eve feels an enormous sense of relief. The cleaning unit does not look frightening at all. It also does not seem to be particularly intelligent. It probably only received the knowledge it needed to fulfill its intended purpose. Now its proboscis is checking the spot where the ISU self-destructed. It looks as if the cleaning unit wants to log all data in detail. Then a pincer appears at the end of the proboscis. The strange machine grabs the leftover parts and carries them through the room. Once again, Eve is its destination. Calm. Stay totally calm, she tells herself. She hopes her loud heartbeat won’t give her away.

  The cleaning unit stops close to her chair. It sits down on two hind legs and uses the other four legs to open a hatch in the floor. Was that hatch there before? Eve can’t remember. The lid of the hatch seems to be heavy. It is several centimeters thick and obviously made of metal. Now the cleaning unit extends its proboscis so that the fragments of the sensor unit are directly above the hole that the hatch revealed.

  Eve feels she has to act now. She sees the hole into which the pieces of the ISU are being dropped. It is large enough for her. Two steps, a jump, and she would probably end up at Marchenko’s current location. A garbage dump? A shredder? A dark dungeon? Eve can’t make up her mind. Who says Marchenko is still alive? Perhaps she will only find his remains. And she is doing relatively well up here! She knows she should jump now, but she is scared of the dark hole. She really wants to jump, but her legs won’t obey her.

  She admits she lacks the strength needed in an emergency. She cannot save those she loves. She was unable to do anything for Adam, and now she fails when it comes to saving Marchenko. And she even sacrificed the ISU for this, the only one she could talk to! Slowly, the hatch closes in front of her eyes. Eve bites the hand she has placed over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. The hatch once more sits flush in the floor. Her chance has passed. The cleaning unit clack-clack-clacks away on its six legs.

  May 6, 19

  The hours in the tank pass uneventfully while I am gathering energy. I have to be patient, even though I know that I am desperately needed up there. My mind is racing, and I try to solve a problem which cannot be solved. Sometimes I feel flashes of lights or shocks, but when I check the relevant sensors I find no data. Are those the first signs of insanity?

  Suddenly I feel the presence of a sensor unit. ISU 4 is sending me location data. How could this be? Is it a faraway echo that somehow got through to me? I reply and confirm, but the ISU is out of range again.

  Once again I feel a weak pressure wave thumping me. I am about to skip checking the data. I seem to be overly sensitive. Yet my sense of duty will not allow it.

  I read the pressure sensor’s displays that are distributed across my entire body. Indeed, it was not just my imagination! The individual parts of my splintered consciousness are reassembling. What happened? Based on the individual data points I can extrapolate the origin of the pressure wave. It propagated in a circle around a spot on the surface of the water and finally reached me at the bottom.

  Something must have fallen into the water. There is no other explanation. There is a hole above the spot where it dropped. As I know the water’s composition, I can calculate the object’s weight, which by now has probably reached the bottom. The thing weighs as much as... one sensor unit!

  My excitement is turning into a sense of foreboding. I send two microprobes to the assumed crash site. The object might have tumbled when diving into the water, so I can only mark an approximate position. The probes will have to scan the ground there, record images, and return them to me. Then I can compare the photos with prior images.

  The probes are on the way. Why doesn’t this work faster? If I could only convince myself to be more patient! I assume it is no coincidence that something seems to have been dropped into the water right now. It might not happen very often that something in this building gets destroyed to such a degree that it has to be disposed of by the inspector. As I am lying here immobile on the bottom of the tank, I assume it has something to do with Eve.

  The first probe is back. It starts with the data transfer. A shape that looks like a thick earthworm emerges from the darkness. I recognize it as one of my sensor units. I might never know which one, as it seems to be totally destroyed. What disfigured the unit so much? I am waiting for the data of the second microprobe. Together, both recordings create a three-dimensional image. I am surprised. The ISU must have self-destructed. The unit must have overheated its circuits, with the damage spreading from the inside outward so that it burst like an overripe piece of fruit. So it was no external force—and unfortunately, that leaves a lot of questions unanswered. Most of all, why did this happen?

  What caused the sensor unit to self-destruct? Usually that is the very last option, used to avoid falling into enemy hands. The first requirement is that something is identified as hostile. If the ISU ran into one of the inspectors, that machine would have to act in an openly hostile manner, and flight could not have been an alternative. Did the explosion I caused trigger something I am no longer aware of?

  Are inspectors now roaming all corridors to remove things that don’t belong there? And what does this mean for Eve? I am trying to come up with additional scenarios. The unit might have self-destructed because successful completion of the mission seemed impossible. Such an option is defined very specifically—the situation must be 100 percent certain and a return to me has to be impossible. Not 99.999 percent, but 100.000 percent. One example would be if the ISU found Eve’s corpse. I don’t even want to consider this scenario. No, I would rather believe the sensor unit was threatened by an enemy.

  One thing is certain, I absolutely must get up there. My energy level has only reached 75 percent, but I need to know
what happened. I can wait no longer. Yet I would have to learn to fly in order to leave the tank by the channel through which I came. While that is not impossible in principle, it would take a long time to modify my body in this way. I don’t have that much time. This only allows for plan B: I will cause a small explosion in order to get through one of the holes covered by grates. There is no other way out of here. We will be listed in the annals of the inhabitants of Proxima b as the alien race that always resorts to violence. Unfortunately, I can’t take that into consideration. Eve needs me up there. At least I really hope so.

  First I have my nanofabricators assemble a balloon. When fully inflated, it should have a capacity of several cubic meters and very tear-resistant skin.

  Half an hour later I start separating water molecules into hydrogen and oxygen. This will require a large part of my stored energy, but there is no other way. I plan to keep at least a quarter of my energy. That should suffice for a day-long search for Eve. I don’t have to worry about the ratio of oxygen and hydrogen in my mixture, as the electrochemical decomposition of water automatically creates the perfect oxyhydrogen mixture of 1:2. However, I have to be very careful not to detonate the contents of my balloon prematurely. A tiny spark would suffice.

  The oxyhydrogen synthesis takes three hours. During it, I suddenly hear the soft sounds of an old Russian folk song. My mother used to sing it to me when I was three or four years old. The song touches me in a strange way, but it must be just my imagination.

  While the balloon was growing, I had the currently unemployed nanofabricators build me four new legs. They are not perfect, but they will allow me to flee once the path is open again. They work well under water. Dragging the balloon behind me, I slowly move to one of the drainpipes. I hope my legs will be able to carry my weight once they are no longer supported by buoyancy. I attach the balloon to the grate and move away again.

  The balloon is completely filled. My internal atomic clock states it is late in the morning of May 6, year 19, standard time. I hesitate. Everything is actually well-prepared. Yet so far there has always been something that went wrong. Our voyage has been star-crossed so far, and that scares me, even though I am usually an optimist. Do I have a choice? The idea of passively waiting for help that may never come pleases me even less. I still believe that Eve is waiting for me somewhere in this building. I don’t even dare to think about Adam anymore.

  It is strange. More than 18 years ago I awoke aboard a tiny space probe. I grew along with it, raised two children who by now have turned into adults, and—before all that, decades before—I was one of the first humans to set foot on a planet in a far-away solar system, encountering the remnants of an alien civilization. I have had a fulfilled life, but still, saying farewell to it is not at all easy for me. I do not want to die, nor do I want to stay in this dark, wet hole, waiting forever for something that will never come. Therefore, I have to do something.

  From my battered body a long, thin wire loop leads to the balloon filled with the perfect oxyhydrogen mixture. If I run electricity through the wire, it will heat up, becoming so hot that it will glow and supply the activation energy for a catastrophic chemical reaction. The entire contents of the balloon will suddenly turn into water, giving off a great deal of energy at the same time. This energy will create a blast wave in the water that will cave in the grate next to the explosion site. That is the plan. It only has one weakness: The blast wave might destroy more than the grate. Yet I don’t have a choice. I can only hope things will turn out okay.

  I start the flow of electricity. I watch in slow motion as the explosive reaction tears through the balloon. It starts at the wire loop and then moves evenly in all directions. The water molecules are hot, move fast, and try to expand their volume. In doing so, they cool down, until the water vapor eventually condenses into water and forms drops. Can we imagine the Big Bang to have been like that?

  I return my consciousness to normal speed and am shocked. The explosion loses its mysterious charm. What remains is brute force. The balloon’s contents once again consist of water, but the balloon itself no longer exists. Instead, an invisible wave races through the medium. Water does not compress well. It passes on the pressure caused by the explosion, almost like a piece of iron hit by a hammer.

  My plan to cave in the grate in order to free my way has succeeded. I slowly move toward the now open channel. At that moment the blast wave reaches me. I am afraid of being swept away, but the wave only presses me against the bottom. I use the radar to track the spread of the blast wave through the entire tank. And then something happens that I feared without admitting it—the intense pressure expands the entire lower part of the tank. The material does not seem sturdy enough to withstand such forces. It is brittle, like porcelain… and it develops cracks, like a teacup in which a firecracker exploded.

  The way into the building’s interior is free, but I won’t be able to reach the channel. The water is already looking for a way outside. There seem to be cavities below the building, likely created by the thermal radiation of the edifice. And now the water rushes into them. I try to hold on, but my legs were not constructed for this kind of stress. They are supposed to carry my weight. They are powerless against the freight train hitting me from behind.

  I notice that my legs bend and are about to break. I had better let go. This body is not up to resisting this force. It will pull me outside. My plan has failed. I had thought my situation could get no worse. I was wrong. Now I am leaving this mysterious building, but certainly not the way I had hoped to do it. I am back in the icy world of Proxima b.

  Well, Eve, I hope you are doing better than I am. I am saying farewell. Perhaps I will soon meet Adam again. While I do not believe in a better afterlife, the thought gives me some comfort. The water sucks me through a crack one meter wide, down to unknown depths. I am outside.

  Marchenko, over.

  May 6, 19

  A giant spider on wooden legs looms above her. Eve knows it, though she is squeezing her eyes shut. It is the spider Adam found in that pit in the forest. Somehow it must have crept into their camp. Where is Adam? He has to save her. She knows he can talk to the spider. He will convince it to leave them alone. After all, Eve did not hurt the creature. The spider bends its legs and lowers its belly. It will touch Eve in a moment. The intense smells of forest and fungi get stronger. Eve must not open her eyes. Not even when she notices that a stinger extends from the spider’s abdomen. Eve knows that the animal uses it to ingest. It will dig the stinger into her belly and drink from her. She can feel the great thirst the spider experiences. She feels sorry for the creature. ‘Just help yourself,’ she feels like saying, but she is also afraid of pain and death.

  Something stings her foot. Eve notices her lips are dry. She is thirsty. She slowly opens her eyes. There is no spider. She is sitting in the control room of the alien building, directly across from a shriveled-up frog. She is alone. Once again something pinches her toes. Eve jerks back and sits bolt upright. On the floor in front of her is an ISU.

  “ISU 2? Where are you coming from?”

  No, of course it’s not Unit 2. That one self-destructed right in front of her. Eve saw how it disappeared in that hole in the floor. She did not dare follow it. ISU 2 died for nothing. Eve feels nauseous. Is that due to her cowardice or because she hasn’t eaten?

  “ISU 4 reporting in,” the unit says.

  “That’s great,” Eve replies. At least she is no longer alone. The unit is indistinguishable from ISU 2, so it looks like an old acquaintance to her.

  “What was your mission?”

  “Finding person Eve.”

  “Good, then you have accomplished your task.”

  “I can confirm this. However, I am not able to complete the second part of my mission. I therefore ask for new objectives.”

  “What was the second part about?”

  “Delivering this information to unit Marchenko.”

  Eve nods slowly. “Right. Marchenko is at
some unknown location. According to ISU 2, the contact broke off in this room.”

  “I had my last contact with unit Marchenko yesterday. At that time I was not here.”

  “You were in contact with Marchenko yesterday?” Eve gets up from her chair and sits down next to the ISU. The unit wriggles and turns until its front is facing Eve again.

  “That is correct.”

  “Where was he located at that time?”

  “The contact was too short to exchange location data.”

  “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “He was obviously functional. The signal delay was unusually large, so he must have been far away.”

  “When exactly did the contact occur?”

  The ISU transmits a time to her. Eve compares this with the log of her universal device. A perfect match.

  “That was the moment when the hatch here was briefly open,” she says.

  “I have insufficient information about this.”

  “That was a piece of information.”

  Eve gets up again and places a finger against her lower lip. Marchenko is still alive, or at least was alive yesterday. That is good news. The channel here in the floor probably leads to him. Should she repeat yesterday’s attempt?

  She looks at the sensor unit. She could talk it into self-destructing. But would she manage to jump into the dark hole this time? What is smarter, to repeat a failed attempt, or to start an entirely new experiment? She sits down and holds her head with both hands. Who is reacting in there? Is it cowardice that wants to keep her from a leap into the darkness? Or is it intelligence that wants to prevent her from repeating an unnecessary failure? Could the force controlling her actions please speak up?

  “We have to establish contact with Marchenko,” she says, more to herself than to the sensor unit.