Crucible of a Species (18 page)

Paul began sorting through the tools under the overhang. I’m the one who has to go running all the way back here for the gear, then that great fossil that I can’t keep and now I have to lug everything a third of the way over towards the cut in the cliff.

It took another seventeen minutes to cart their gear out of the overhang, down the beach and tie each piece onto the rope. The suits were the biggest problem because of their weight and clumsy handling.

Eventually Braxton re-appeared at the top of the cliff, “All right Petrika, we’re all set. Come back up here and this time, do it a little faster. I’ve gotta watch for the Hunter.” Braxton disappeared behind the edge of the cliff.

As Petrika bent down to gather his things, he heard something shuffle behind him. He turned. A grey menacing shape was moving up the beach with others close behind and their eyes were on him. They had come up so softly he hadn’t heard a thing but there they were, a pod of plesiosaurs and they obviously weren’t as friendly as the youngster was. Paul leaped for the cliff but the soft walls of sand crumbled beneath him.

The larger plesiosaur’s head wove back and forth, examining this strange creature just like the one he faced in the ocean. Petrika spun around, praying he could move faster than the reptile when something touched his shoulder.

A rope dangled there beside him.
Braxton must have returned looking for me.
Paul thought as he stretched out to grab the rope,
Thank God, Braxton put a foot-loop at the end, it’s too thin to climb.
He transferred his weight over to the rope while wrapping his legs around it.

A jolt and he found himself rising. The pull up the cliff face was agonizingly slow, flashes of pain seared through his hands and legs with every yank of the rope. Paul feared to try to help because of the cramping in his arms. His rise stopped at the top of the cliff. Safety was so close but he couldn’t reach over and grab onto anything, it was all he could do to hold on.

Braxton leaned over the cliff edge, latching onto Paul’s arms, “Grab my arm, buddy,” he said as he locked hands on the ensign’s elbows. Braxton teetered out nearly halfway over the edge of the cliff, anchored by locking his knees into the base of two small bushes but he couldn’t lift the ensign up over the edge. Braxton grunted, “Guess … bad idea. Don’t know how long I can hold on like this. Can you crawl …”

A pair of hands suddenly reached out from the side, grabbing Paul’s arm as a second pair grabbed Braxton’s legs. Together they pulled the pilots up and over to safety.

Braxton rolled onto his back and saw Ensign Middleton’s smiling face. To his side, Tom Bradley stood over Petrika, gently massaging the knotted, cramped muscles of the ensign’s arms. The lieutenant lifted himself on one elbow, “How in the world were you able to find us in these bushes.”

“It really wasn’t a problem,” commented the journalist, “there’s quite a commotion going on at the base of the cliff.

“Looks like you just made it, Ensign. Guess this was your lucky day.”

Strange noises fill the darkened storage space
in the center of a starship even if the ship is not in flight. There’s the sound of air rushing through vents or the faint, occasional rattle of some small object lost deep within the tunnels and tossed about. The sounds of life also fill the vessel with distant footsteps, an occasional scratching, bump or strange unexplained squealing.

The center of this storage space held an open area where, until very recently, two transport chests had set. On the floor in the center of the space rested a small bowl filled with meat and cabbage. It had been sitting there for more than an hour with nothing but the sounds of the cargo bay to disturb it.

“Chief, this is embarrassing,” Specialist Tom Denon managed to whisper without moving a single muscle.

“No one’s gonna know unless you tell ‘em,” CPO Daniel Meecham replied. “Now shaddup and stop fidgeting.”

Tom didn’t like using the night-vision glasses. They weren’t supposed to bother his eyes and they weren’t uncomfortable. Still, they just didn’t feel right. Trying not to move his head, he scanned the open sections of the darkened cargo area moving only his eyes.

“I think you’re seeing things ….”

“Denon, shaddup or I’ll put you on report.” The Chief’s cut in was a loud whisper.

“For what, Chief? How are you gonna explain this in the report? You gonna tell them you’ve been seeing things out of the corner of your eye? Things sneaking around in our cargo hold?”

“How long have you known me?” Meecham hissed, “I swear, you shut yer yap or I can be real creative on the type of discipline you get.”

Denon could feel his anger rising but didn’t reply. He knew that he’d pushed it about as far as he could go. The bay was cold and uncomfortable even with the gray-cloak camouflage blanket draped over his shoulders. His legs ached from not moving but he’d be damned if he was going to give the chief the satisfaction of putting him on report.

Tom remained there, unmoving for almost another half hour, thinking about the card game they had last night when a deadly blow to the side of his head rolled him over onto his side. He shouted and flung his arms out hitting something boney and fuzzy behind him. The next thing that Denon knew the lights were on and Meecham was hovering over him.

“That did it, Denon. You’re on … shit kid. Your head’s bleeding and where’s your night glasses?”

“I …. I don’t …wait ... here they are.” Denon said as he pulled the glasses off the floor behind him. He lifted them up and saw that something had ripped open the optical bundle in the arm of the instrument. Shredded fiber optic strands dangled loosely from the instrument as the Chief held them up next to Tom Denon’s head. The deep scratch across the circuit extended from the arm of the glasses and across the cut in the side of Tom’s head.

“What’d you see, Denon?”

“Nothing. Honest. I didn’t even hear anything. Something just came out of nowhere and slugged me,” he whimpered while staring at the ruined tool. “What the hell hit me? Good thing I was wearing the glasses or I’d be sporting more than a scratch right now.”

Meecham replied as he examined the ruined instrument, “Yeah, maybe. Then again, maybe it wasn’t after you. Looks like it wanted to do a job on your glasses. I think that’s enough for now. Let’s get you over to Doc but you keep your trap shut. Let me do the talking.”

*~~*~~*~~*

Soft lights filled the room
as the gentle but majestic strains of Mussorgsky’s “Great Gate of Kiev” quietly played across its darkened furnishings. A model of the Argos floated above the small desk located in its center. Points on the modeled ship’s surface flashed into life and then faded as Captain Adrian Lee used his finger to scan through the summary data of the drive field’s tuning.

The sound of a small chime broke the captain’s concentration, causing him to look up towards the visitor’s image appearing next to the portal before speaking, “Come in Lieutenant.”

The door opened even as he spoke and Chief Engineer Lieutenant Robert Anderson entered after hesitating for a moment to allow his eyes to acclimate to the dim lighting of the office. Ensign Aaron Sassaman followed behind him.

Seeing the lieutenant’s hesitation, Lee directed the office lights to brighten, “Forgive my eccentricity. I’ve found that the lower lighting helps my concentration. Please, do come in.

“Before getting started, I wanted to mention that you should feel honored, Lieutenant. Dr. Thompson put a commendation in your file for what he described as an excellent job in the tuning of the drive fields. This is a rare accolade from the good doctor.

“Now, you’ve both seen the simulation results. Under normal circumstances, I would not question the ability of our drives to lift us out of here. However, I’m bothered this time because the attempt is unprecedented. No one, to my knowledge, has ever attempted to lift a starship with the hull of the vessel so deeply embedded in sandy soil. In your opinion, should we take the time to remove the additional sand? If not, then what are the risks of attempting an extraction in our present state?”

“The simulations all give us a go,” Lieutenant Anderson stated. “The field should be able to handle the extraction even with so many small particles in direct contact with the ship’s surface. My concern resides in the uncertainty of the field response calculations. We’re just not sure how violent the reaction with the surrounding sand will be.”

After a moment’s silence, the captain turned towards the ensign who was still sitting quietly in his chair, “Ensign Sassaman, you’re the helmsman. I’d like your opinion, too.”

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem, sir. We’re going to lose a lot of lifting power until we clear off the beach but I think she’ll be able to handle it. I’ll just have to pull her out nice and easy.”

Lieutenant Anderson broke in, “My concern is that we are constrained in our direction of travel during liftoff since the Argos is free to only travel away from the beach and cliff walls. The ship’s drive field will thrust the sand against the cliffs across the beach and most of it will deflect right back into our drive fields. Natural sand is very hard so the area will be full of sharp silicon particles whipping around between the cliff and the ship. Sand is very abrasive and we need to anticipate some portion of the cloud impacting the skin of the Argos.”

The captain commented, “All right, I believe we’ve carried the tuning and simulations about as far as they can go. We’ve nothing left to do but try it. Once we start, build up the drive field slow and easy, Ensign. If you start to feel you are losing control then just shut it down.

“Take precautions. I don’t want a recurrence of the injuries we experienced the last time so let’s move everyone into their emergency stations before liftoff. Begin the final systems check for liftoff. I’ll join you at the ten minute mark.” Captain Lee rose and escorted them to the door before turning back toward his desk. He took a few moments to clear his desktop of any sensitive materials before activating the communications tattoo behind his left ear, “Executive Officer, voice only.”

“Commander Dalmas, here. What can I do for you, Captain?”

“I just completed the briefing, Commander and I believe we’re ready to give it a try. I instructed them to begin the countdown, expect me on the bridge about ten minutes before liftoff. Keep me updated on our progress.

“Until then, I’m going to have a short talk with Chief Meecham about crew morale. We may have been focusing too much of our attention on getting off this beach. The crew has been under heavy pressure for the last few weeks and some evidence has come up suggesting they aren’t handling it very well. I’m beginning to believe that the problems uncovered in Dr. Thompson’s interview of the two seamen may be just the faintest ripple of something much deeper and the CPO is usually the best one to speak to in these situations.”

The captain signed off and then picked up his tablet, Dr. Nolen’s report was still displayed on it. As he went to close it he couldn’t help thinking once again about the part of the report that bothered him,
Dr. Nolen suggested that Ms. Stewart may be the saboteur, I’m not so sure. In spite of her attendance at some Earth First rallies, she hasn’t shown herself to be a problem for her superiors and this reported concern with travel into the past seems like a separate issue. Yet, stress does strange things to people and if she were our saboteur, it makes little sense for her to be so open about it.

The captain shut down the tablet and took one last sip of tea before starting down the passageway towards the Section C docking bays. He felt a little uneasy about not being on the bridge for the full countdown but knew from hard experience that, as difficult as it was, there’s always a point at which you have to pull back and let the crew do their job.

The chief was in Docking Bay C12, an easy walk with only one ladder to pass down. He opened the doors into the bay and saw Meecham examining something behind a console refurb unit at the edge of the bay. Meecham looked up as the captain entered, “Evening Sir. Did we cancel the liftoff?”

“No, I have a few free moments and wanted to speak with you. Say, what’s that odor? Smells a bit like cabbage. They haven’t been eating in here have they Chief?”

“I don’t smell anything, Captain. Anyways, we’re ready for liftoff. It’ll only take us a few seconds to strap in, sir.” CPO Meecham replied as he picked up a towel and began wiping his hands before greeting the captain, “I really think I’m starting to slip, Adrian. I could have sworn I saw something skitter across the floor and duck behind this cabinet. Yet, there’s nothing here and no one else has seen anything out of the ordinary.

“If I start seeing more of these things I may have to go and see the Doc, but that’s not why you came all the way down here. What can I do for you?”

“Dan, I’m concerned about crew morale. I sense our people are more worried about our being here than getting home. They’re afraid …”

“I’ll take care of that.” Meecham interrupted, “This is all fallout from Stewart’s ranting. You remember her, she’s the rating that transferred into Ship’s Services last month. Shit, seems like more than a month ago, doesn’t it?

“Anyway, I was holding off until we get to Argos Base. A few days of light duty and some fresh air outside on the plateau will be the cure for this. Then, if they don’t come around after a few days in the fresh air, I’ll get them together and work things out.”

“Thank you Dan, I’m glad you’re personally following the problem. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

Worried looks from the crew followed the captain as he moved back to the bridge and he could hear their low whispers after he passed by. Captain Lee had never seen anything like it. He noticed that some of them actually appeared angry.

*~~*~~*~~*

“Captain on the bridge,”
Echoed across the command center as he entered.

Captain Lee turned to look at the section of mini-consoles positioned behind and above his chair as he crossed the deck. Doctors Nolen and Thompson were there along with the journalist, Tom Bradley. In spite of the sand covering more than half of the ship, the crew had a clear view of the beach around them as the command bridge’s communications wall presented a seamless processed image brought in by their many sensors.

“What’s our status, XO?” The captain asked as he settled to his chair.

“We’ve just completed the checklist, sir,” Commander Dalmas, the Executive Officer of the Argos replied. “Main Drives have come up normal. All ship’s sections report ready.”

“Take her out but let’s see if we can dump some of the sand before we lift. Start the lift, nice and easy.”

“Aye, aye sir. Nice and easy it is.” The commander echoed. “Helmsman, hover in place at one-foot.”

Ensign Sassaman echoed the order and soon a low hum filled the ship. The external view showed an undulation of the mound of sand covering the Argos as though some great beast lay beneath, straining to gasp in its final breaths. Wisps and swirling funnels of fine particles played along the top of the mound as the eddy currents of the drive field folded along its surface. Occasional strands ripped free of the drive’s force and flung across the beach to crash into the towering cliffs.

Ensign Sassaman slowly raised the power, increasing the violence of the ship’s undulations until the mound covering the Argos churned like a pot of boiling water. Massive clouds of sand lifted into the air and the landscape faded into a dark, swirling storm as mighty forces flung pulsating veils of silicon particles like wind-tossed curtains before an open window to crash into the nearby cliffs.

The helmsman fed in even more power and the screen before them went blank. A smaller segment on the right side of the bridge screen opened to display an image from Hunter Recon Two, who was hovering a safe distance away from the liftoff. The image showed a pear-shaped object that throbbed as it slowly rose free of its sandy bed. The outer skin of the apparition was flowing and pulsing as though monstrous worms burrowed just beneath its wave-torn surface. As they watched, a dense shaft of white lifted to form into a rooster-tail of expunged matter that extended from the ship to the cliffs, blocking even the harsh rays of the sun.

The XO called out, “Helm, we’re drawing in too much sand, try and …” a tsunami-like wave of particles rolled back from the distant cliffs, crashing into the ship and throwing the command crew off balance. Strange, swirling cyclones coalesced in the area between the Argos and the cliffs. Their form resembled a pair of tornados spinning on their side above the beach with their wide funnel bottoms locked together in angry battle. Their spin increased in violence until streams of particles began whipping out, flailing deadly tendrils of sand out toward the ship. The hull of the Argos was crackling and pinging as if thousands of gremlins were hammering on the silicon-ceramic shell surrounding the crew. “… Helm, set her down …”