The Symbionts of Murkor Page 17

  “Fair point,” Ellis admitted, though none of Stewart’s arguments would deter her from becoming the second person to attempt circumnavigating Zenith without a rebreather. Asking Stewart to be ready with a resuscitator only meant she was half as crazy as Anderson. Extending the comparison, Anderson had been compelled by boredom, braggadocio, and booze.

  Her reasoning was stronger. Apprised of the precise coordinates of Nadir’s water resources, there was little to prevent a crew member from “accidentally” straying across the border with Nadir. Except, perhaps, force of character. Her own. She would do what she was demanding of others—go “out and about.” Added to her match with Davis, the stunt would accrue to her persona. Apt words for her came to mind: Crazy. Gutsy. Fearless. Reckless. Bitch. All were better than Ordinary.

  Davis nearly got it right. She would risk anything to avert a confrontation between Coalition and Unión. Her compulsion was the equal and opposite of Anderson’s. Everyone has a backstory, abiding life experiences that influence, for good or ill, their present behavior. For Anderson, undoubtedly, the violent loss of a father figure.

  She would never forget what happened on Diverna, a small and peaceful farming colony who, finding themselves preyed upon by a rogue band of armed mercenaries, had been unable to counter—isolation being their principal form of defense.

  Responding to the colony’s urgent appeal for assistance, she had ordered the deployment of a sonic shock weapon. Intended as a low-risk, nonlethal deterrent, the concussive wave generated by the device had been unexpectedly amplified by the planet’s dense atmosphere, destabilizing and collapsing several old brick and mortar structures. Occupied structures. Homes.

  Scores were injured. A Divernian and his two young sons were found dead in the rubble. Learning of the tragedy, she had reached out to the mother, inconsolable in her grief.

  Later today she would take a small step in fulfilling a silent commitment made to that mother, and countless like her, by reaching out to Garcia.

  She would go on telling herself that there were times humans were obligated to circumvent the evil other humans create.

  In no other way could she continue to command.

  ***

  Most of Zenith’s population, having enjoyed watching Anderson’s failed “bareback” attempt at rounding Zenith’s two domes, were expecting similar results. Accordingly, they had strategically positioned themselves at viewports located along the last section of the course Ellis was to travel. Stewart, Davis, Cooper, and Schulman, on the other hand, stationed themselves at the portal she was to exit and, hopefully, reenter.

  At Stewart’s insistence, Davis had donned a rebreather and was holding another in his hands. “We can monitor your progress on the perimeter cameras, Commander,” he advised. “Run into trouble, I’ll be at the ready. If you’re unable to use the rebreather, I’ll carry you inside.”

  “That won’t happen, Lieutenant,” Ellis said. “This is one portal I intend to pass through before you. Now give me a moment. I’d like to calm myself before stepping outside.” Positioning herself directly in front of the portal, Ellis closed her eyes. Minutes elapsed.

  “What’s she doing, Captain?” Cooper asked, expecting the CO to hyperventilate to boost the amount of dissolved oxygen in her bloodstream.

  “Meditating,” Stewart answered. “To lower heart rate and slow breathing. It’ll improve her chances. Did you think I’d allow this otherwise?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Schulman complained. “I would have doubled my bet.”

  “Portal open.”

  There was a brief expulsion of pressurized air as an opening roughly equivalent to Ellis’s size and shape formed, then, sensing her passage, rapidly sealed.

  Outside, the blast-furnace heat and foul odor greeted her like a slap in the face; a first, shallow breath almost panicking her. There was no time to waste. Running the three hundred meters over loose and uneven footing would take forty-five, maybe fifty seconds. Doing so would be a huge mistake, dramatically increasing her body’s demand for oxygen. Maintaining firm control of respiratory and heart rates was the only real chance of accomplishing this insanity.

  Fighting the unbearable urge to sprint, she began jogging at a slow, steady pace. Already she could feel the effects of breathing in the thin Murkorian air, each hollow breath sending a spasm of pain shooting into her chest. Her legs, too, were beginning to ache, feeling heavy even in the low-g.

  Traveling beyond the pain, there was an undeniable fascination to being out and about on an alien world. Unencumbered by the clever artifices of humanity, the contact was more intimate, more visceral: The glorious blue webbing of a magnetic storm coursing through a dirt-brown cloud; a crimson sun winking in and out of view as it fought to break through the shimmering haze; the sting of windblown particles on her exposed skin.

  In the mid-distance, fumaroles lined up like sentinels, watching her progress.

  Krezakgrfel! Merfalger! Levishnuplef!

  She had not realized that they could be so expressive!

  And there, further out, a roller kicking up a tumbling spiral of glistening lava shards!

  Losing focus—running too fast.

  To prevent her mind from wandering she tried to refocus her attention closer in, to the rhythmic crunch crunch crunch of footfalls on granulated pumice.

  A cadence to mesmerize a mind starved of oxygen.

  Crunch Crunch Crunch, Crunch Crunch Crunch, Crunch Crunch Crunch.

  The muted conversation of an almost dead planet—and, almost indiscernible through the pain, the vague sensation of being watched, experienced by Jensen and others.

  At last! To her immediate left, a faintly visible indent on the luminous monstrosity of Zenith’s main dome: The personnel portal she had exited, now tantalizingly within reach.

  Seconds or an eternity away.

  She was in trouble. Her lungs were turning to ash; her legs, stone pillars.

  To end the pain, to be saved, she considered allowing herself to pass out, then reluctantly discarded the idea. Not out of fear. Out of fairness. Fairness to Davis and Stewart and to the image she must project as a stalwart CO.

  Stewart. Stalwart Stewart, Stewart Stalwart. Stewart…

  Rooted in place, the line blurred between delirium and selflessness, an idea floated to her.

  Stop moving. Calm her mind.

  The way to gain control—lose control.

  To become encompassed by whatever wished to pass into and through her, too elusive and transitory to be frightening.

  Inside Zenith, four crewmates stared at a split screen image that showed Ellis, rooted in place, framed by a list of her biometrics, ominously showing red.

  “What the hell are you waiting for?!” Stewart shouted at Davis.

  “She’s standing,” Davis responded, staring intently at her image. “We can’t let her fail. You’ve seen what she’s capable of.”

  Stewart had a different opinion. “Get out there, Lieutenant! That’s an order!”

  Davis was contemplating disobeying when several of Ellis’s biometrics suddenly flashed green. A moment later she took a surprised look around, then began to move. Incredibly, she began to jog.

  “She’s going to make it!” Schulman shouted.

  “Portal full open!” Cooper commanded, having the presence of mind to realize Ellis would lack sufficient breath to issue those three simple words.

  A second later, desperate for air, she stumbled inside, prevented from falling by Davis’s strong grip.

  “There’s a flask of premium scotch with your name on it, Commander,” she heard Schulman say.

  Ellis, nodded, looking up from an oxygen mask Stewart shoved on her face.

  “Say something,” Zenith’s physician requested, concerned that Ellis had not spoken.

  “Oxygen,” she gasped, “precious as water.”

  Whatever small benefit the stunt accrued to her was about to be short-lived, Ellis realized, when later that s
ame day Sergeant Cooper informed her that Nadir had terminated their planetwide com link. Until the link was restored, contact between the two bases, along with any hope of rapprochement and cooperation, would be impossible.

  Left with no alternative, she would have to set in motion orders to evacuate Zenith.

  10. Reaching Out

  JAHHHKATKERPOOOF-BERJING!

  Garcia watched as scores of boisterous fumaroles sent a noxious smoky pollution into the blazing late-day air. Trapped by a temperature inversion, the wispy black threads collected and flattened into a low-hanging blanket that effectively blotted out what was left of a retreating sun.

  In the distance, a parched patchwork of blacks, pale yellows, and grays: The salt and mineral remnants of an ocean that had evaporated into space.

  His attention was drawn away, to the south, where a flat section of lava was riddled with an intricate network of cracks and crevices. From a distance, the expanse bore a striking similarity to the drought-plagued regions of Earth.

  Darkness came on rapidly, snuffing out larger details. Three years’ accumulation of dust and grime obscured the view through a window that would never see the touch of a cleansing rain. It was said, and he knew it to be false, that it was impossible to cry on Murkor—that when tears formed they were immediately lost, evaporated in the hot, arid air.

  A remote seismometer recorded a series of small temblors, the constant creaks and groans of a massively injured planet. Inside Nadir, the strongest was felt by Garcia. Staring at the apocalyptic landscape, he was reminded of what scientists claimed to be fact, that Murkor was too damaged to heal itself, that it would forever be a forlorn and fractured world.

  One hundred years ago Earth had narrowly escaped a similar fate when, in a rare instance of global cooperation, a planet-killing asteroid had been deflected. Biomystic’s seeking proof of Earth as Gaia had to look no further: Our species had been nurtured along for just this saving purpose.

  It was the biomystic’s optimism, not their faulty reasoning, that was criticized by those who insisted mankind’s act of self-preservation had only evened the score for innumerable wounds—past and present—inflicted on the planet. Looking more pessimistically toward the future, they surmised, Earth was merely being afforded a reprieve from the insanity to come, the folly of meganations which would obliterate all.

  Unión and Coalition had acquired this damnable power—apocalyptic weaponry created by the same human intellect that had devised a way to deflect an asteroid. Are these aspects of our nature an example of the complimentary yin-yang of Chinese philosophy or nothing more than contradictions? Philosophical reflections, Garcia mused with one last look out the viewport, are like the product of two facing mirrors.

  All he saw was his own reflection staring back at him in the glass. Night, as it always does on Murkor, had come apace with the absoluteness of death.

  Feeling the effects of hypoxia, exhausted from the lack of sleep and stress, his bed made a tempting destination. Garcia chose to sit at his desk. He needed to stay awake. If Gustavo’s calculations were correct, a message from the Coalition shuttle would be received within the hour. There was little he could do except wait for a response.

  The decision to solicit help from an adversary had been a necessary evil. For Carlos it had the bitter taste of surrender. Amanda’s opposition, which had been vocal, had waned. No explanation given and none needed. The debilitating effects of breathing in a low-oxygen environment were manifesting themselves. That would scare the hell out of anyone.

  On every score, physical and mental, they labored. Despite his age, or maybe because of it, he appeared to be the least affected. Nevertheless, there were signs of his own decline: Loss of appetite, lethargy, (definitely lethargy), subtle impairments to the senses, minor loss of long-term memory and cognitive abilities.

  The symptoms they were experiencing were unlike what Mariana expected. More precisely, not every member of the crew was affected in the exact same way. Even the ability to think clearly seemed to vary, Roya and Gustavo chiding each other as to who was affected more. Although this was deemed subjective and largely discounted, it was harder to ignore or laugh about other differences, most notably losses to vision and hearing.

  To all this, Mariana confessed bewilderment, wondering aloud if her powers of observation were also being compromised. Stranger still, she had asked him to use the mindstor to confirm what their initial symptoms should be, concurrently suggesting there might be some unknown additive effect from living so very long in Murkor’s lower gravity.

  Curiously enough, and it was laughable that he considered it a temporary benefit, his libido was adversely affected, lessening what had become an injurious sexual distraction. Upon closer scrutiny, some of that outcome was attributable to Mariana’s intervention. She had bolstered his own resolve, at the same time sending Amanda scurrying off to prowl in another direction.

  He wondered what type of reception she received from Carlos.

  “We have an incoming message from the Coalition vessel,” Gustavo said, speaking on the internal link Garcia had asked his communications officer to keep open.

  “Accessing now. I’d like you to listen in, of course,” Garcia said. “I’ll need your opinion.”

  They waited anxiously as the automated eight-second delay timed-out, replaced by a tired, placid face: Pilot, and he got right to the point.

  “Comandante Garcia. Received your urgent request and I am returning with due haste. ETA forty-one Standard Hours. I concur that an overland trek to Zenith, given the hazardous environment and design limitations of the vehicle that would be used for this purpose, is inadvisable. Hang tight till my arrival.

  “In response to your other concern: Commander Ellis and I shared no special confidences during our transit to Murkor; otherwise, I would be a better judge of her character. My strongest impression can be distilled down to one word: Stubborn. I should append that. I observed her response to one stressful situation when we took the short way in. She does not get rattled. If you have to deal with her, which now seems unlikely, I suggest these qualities may just as easily work for as against you. Although not stated outright in your communique, I am left with the notion that this inquiry about her is partly driven by the fact that your emergency occurred shortly after her arrival on Murkor. From the little you have told me, a connection seems improbable. I say this knowing full well that as a citizen of the Coalition my words will be doubted. Your unease is understandable—we live in a boundless universe but we continue to bear the burden of our provincial prejudices. Ha! Upon entering the Varian System, I expect that we’ll both have some explaining to do to bureaucrats in our respective governing councils. Screw them. My one regret is that I will be several weeks delayed in seeing my wife and children. For that inconvenience, Comandante, you will owe me. Be rest assured, taking into account the obstacles our respective governments place between us, it is a debt you’ll never have to repay. Anyway, I hope you people get along well together. We will have a cramped, uncomfortable voyage ahead of us. Please advise your crew that all but the most essential personal effects must remain on the planet. It will be necessary for you to bring on board sufficient food and water to sustain each of you for the duration of our return to Varian.

  “Can’t think of anything else…

  “When I have reached the outer edge of Murkor’s debris field I shall communicate my imminent arrival. Out.”

  Pilot’s image faded, replaced by Gustavo’s.

  “Everyone shall be relieved,” Garcia said, reacting to the positive news.

  “Everyone?” Gustavo asked doubtfully. “I can think of one person who may react differently.”

  “Right, Carlos is beating himself up pretty bad about this,” Garcia replied. “I shall go break the news to him. What do you think of the message?”

  “I think there’s a shitstorm coming and we’ve been handed an umbrella,” Gustavo replied.

  “That doesn’t sound like Poe,”
Garcia commented.

  “Problem is, I’m having a bit of trouble remembering any of my Poe.”

  “What the hell, Andrés, is that true?” a worried Garcia asked. But it was too late for Gustavo to hear. Believing the conversation was concluded, the communications officer had terminated the internal link.

  Garcia’s apprehension was deserved. Gustavo was known to have committed to memory a hundred quotes from the works of his favorite author. Could he have forgotten them all? Maybe he was overtired. He would consult Mariana once again. Later. If he remembered. One issue at a time. For now—the message. He’d seek a second opinion regarding the sender’s credibility from a source he had scrupulously avoided using.

  “Mindstor. Analyze the last incoming message for speaker’s veracity.”

  Thinking… Subject’s veracity eighty-one percent. Analysis uncertainty thirty-one percent. Optimal criteria: Speech pattern; intonation; facial expressions; eye movement. Sub-optimal criteria: Unknown subject; unable to evaluate body language; unable to evaluate biosigns; duration and quality of transmission.

  That was useless, Garcia thought. Subtracting analysis uncertainty from veracity left an accuracy probability of exactly fifty percent. As always, he’d have to rely on his own judgment and instincts. They told him that the shuttle pilot (he never did give his name) was a truthful man.

  ***

  To conserve oxygen, strenuous exercise had been prohibited. Carlos was holding to the spirit of that promise, using the exercise room for one specific purpose: To test his muscle strength. During the last few hours he had begun to sense a change, a peculiar feeling of becoming progressively weaker. Maybe it was his imagination. The bench press was the easiest way to disprove the idea without unnecessarily worrying the Comandante or inviting another round of medical tests by Mariana.

  Lying flat on his back, he gripped the metal bar resting on the stanchions above him. Pushing hard, neck veins bulging under the strain, he was unable to move the combination of laden mesh bags used as free weights.