Stars Rain Down (8 page)

When the gauge flashed zero, the round outer door popped inward, rolled to the side and revealed the vast iridescent wall of Zebra-One, so large that Marcus was struck by vertigo, as if dangling fifty meters above the ground.

His discomfort must have been apparent because he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Faulkland's voice in his ear. "Everything alright, Doctor Donovan?"

"Fine," he said as he regained his composure. "Haven't gone EVA in a while." That wasn't true. "Donovan to Base, we're exiting the bay now."

"Roger that, Donovan. Good luck."

The pressure suit read his body-language and engaged its cold-jets, thrusting him out away from the Shackleton. The other astronauts followed they all slowly drifted out into the void, while one of the ship's life-rafts automatically detached and moved to intercept them. They all hooked up to the raft, then its own engines lit up and carried them over the last leg of the journey.

As he approached, Marcus formed different theories about the ship's surface. He'd long believed it to be some sort of metal, but at fifty meters, he started to entertain the idea of a metamorphic silicate shell. Ten meters after that, the translucency became more pronounced like quartz. Yet another ten meters on, he began to notice patterns swirling within the surface, like viscous fluid in a clear casing. In the final stretch, he finally admitted that he didn't have a damn idea what it was.

The life-raft came to a halt a short distance from Zebra-One's hull, and Marcus couldn't unhook himself fast enough. While the rest of the team were still detaching their umbilical cables, he was free and floating towards her. After all those long years, he was finally there beside her. He knew it was reckless, but it didn't matter... he had to touch her.

The color of the wall shifted as he approached, so subtly he thought it was just his imagination. The surface was flawless, without seams, panels, scratches or any other imperfection.

During the survey, his team detected grooves and protrusions laid out in geometric patterns, but on a vast scale separated by hundreds of meters. They assumed they'd find similar patterns on a smaller scale, but there were no such details, no signs of anything mechanical nor any hint of the artifact's manufacture. For as far as Marcus could see, it was simply a wall of clear glass with subtly swirling colors trapped beneath.

His thrusters brought him to a graceful stop mere inches away from her, and he reached out. Without any jitter or hesitation, his hand rose up with his fingers spread, and he touched the unimaginably large creature in front of him, just as a diver might dare to touch a passing whale.

Nothing happened.

Marcus wasn't sure what he'd expected. He didn't know if his hand would sink in or be repelled, or if she might crumble at his touch like a mummy rashly exposed to air. He had a small worry he'd wake up back home in bed, covered in sweat, with only a vague recollection of his strange adventure. Instead, there was no response other than the feeling of his gloved hand against something solid. And with that, he was satisfied.

"How's she feel, Marc?" Rao's voice crackled over the radio.

"Real," he said. He looked at the wall directly in front of his face, and now he was sure it had changed. On their approach, Zebra-One had been the same dull yellow-green she'd been since they arrived. Now, the wall in front of him had become a vibrant, living green. It was the green of fertile hills after spring's first rain. And there was something else.

"The color's changing, Doctor," Faulkland said.

"Yeah, think you're right," Marcus replied, while something even stranger had caught his attention. Around his hand, there was a flickering pattern that branched out from his finger tips. He waved the hand back and forth, and the pattern followed, pulsing and waving, slowly growing in strength. It reminded him of the chintzy plasma globe he used to keep on his desk. "Now that's interesting."

"What?" Rao asked.

"I'm not sure. Galvanic skin response maybe. One way or another, she's reacting to me."

The rest of the crew were finally unhooked from the life-raft, and Rao came up beside him. As he approached, the rich green colored area expanded to surround him as well. He reached out his hand toward the wall and lightning-like patterns appeared around his fingers, their ends disappearing into the mysterious depths of the alien material.

"Surface temperature is rising," St. Martin said with a touch of worry. Marcus looked over his shoulder and found her nearby, with a multifunction probe in hand. The pen-like metal device was attached to her wrist by a thin cable, and transmitted information directly to her helmet's heads-up-display.

"How quicklyis it rising?" Marcus asked.

"You're not going to be barbecued anytime soon, if that's what you're wondering. In fact, it's leveling off now at... thirty-six degrees centigrade."

"Human body temperature," Marcus said.

He thrusted backwards and watched the color of the artifact fade to dull green-grey again, while the vibrant circle around Rao persisted. He stopped a few meters away. "Ideas?"

His question was met with silence. "Alright then. Donovan to Base, still reading us?"

"Clear as crystal, Doctor. We're receiving mission data from all units, five-by-five."

"Good. We're proceeding to the iris."

"Roger. We'll be watching."

The structure dubbed Iris Charlie was one of the smaller irises; all of them were identical in shape, but differed in scale. They were elliptical, and this one measured twelve meters by a little over seven. Its dome protruded out from the smooth surface by four and a half meters. These features, just as every part of Zebra-One measured so far, related to each other by the golden ratio.

As they moved toward the iris, finer details became apparent. It was surrounded by a convex ring broken into five equal sections, each covered in a tiled pattern of overlapping scales. Marcus couldn't decide if the pattern was biological or mechanical, or if such a distinction would even make sense to the race that designed it.

The iris itself was the same color as the wall and was just as smooth. It was so smooth, in fact, that it might as well have been a bubbling liquid frozen in place.

The team stopped in front of the iris and waited. Marcus searched everywhere for clues, and it occurred to him after a moment that everyone else was waiting for his move.

Rao broke the silence. "Well?"

"I don't know," Marcus said. "Should I say
open sesame
?"

He was hugely glad the door remained closed. He'd already had plenty of
strange,
alien
and
amazing
; he wasn't in any mood for
ridiculous
to join the party. Options started running through his head, and before he noticed, he was brainstorming out loud. "If it's a door, there'd be some way to open it. A handle, a button, maybe a remote control we don't have. If it's an eye, it's watching us right now. Not much of a show, I'm afraid. I guess it could accommodate some internal equipment that needed the extra space, but when the damned ship is already most of a kilometer wide, I can't imagine another four meters making much of a difference."

"Maybe," Hector Pacheco said, breaking Marcus' rambling stream of consciousness, "you should try knocking." As usual, the grizzled crew chief had managed to be serious and joking at the same time. It was a fine talent, and one of many that Marcus envied.

Fighting against the stiff shoulders of his pressure suit, Marcus Donovan shrugged, then maneuvered toward the structure. He raised his hand and curled his fingers, then reached out to rap on the surface.

Just as his knuckle was about to collide with the iris, the glossy material shrank away from his hand and raced toward the edges, like hot wax poured over glass or a soap bubble popping in slow motion. Inky darkness waited inside.

Marcus was glad no one could see the look on his face. "Or maybe it's automatic, like every damn door on our entire planet. Should we go in?" he asked.

Before anyone could answer, the decision was made for them. The doctor and his fifteen companions were all drawn into the cavity at once, and the force that attracted them was oddly familiar. It was the feeling of falling. They were falling into the ship.

"I hope this isn't their idea of hospitality," Hector said in his gravelly voice.

Old Caldwell replied, "Never mind that. I just hope this isn't how it eats."

Then the iris shut behind them and all was dark.

It was pitch black inside, and the first thing Marcus Donovan noticed was something thumping all around him. One-two, it beat slowly, rhythmically, like he was trapped inside a massive water drum. He could feel it thumping in his chest, where his heart echoed the beat. One-two, one-two.

"Base to Donovan, what's your status? Please respond."

"We're alright. Just a little disoriented. Let's get some lights on," he said, and their pale blue head lamps flicked on, illuminating helmets and precious little beyond.

The lamps were only on a moment before the walls around began to glow. They were dim and red-orange at first like a finger in front of a flashlight, then gradually brighter until the light settled into the warm amber of an autumn sunset.

"Was that in response to the words or the lamps?" Faulkland asked.

"Or something else entirely?" Marcus added.

Before he could invest himself in that question, he noticed another puzzling thing. They were in a long corridor with glowing walls, broken into equal segments by an interconnected lattice work of curving, molded columns that might have been structural supports. The puzzling part was that Marcus and his team were sitting on the floor.

Rao looked to be mulling over the same thought. He detached the lamp from his helmet, held it out at arm's length and let go. The lamp fell down with a clatter.

Marcus' mind raced. Maybe there was a simple answer he couldn't see from his perspective. "Mason," he said into his microphone, "Zebra-One didn't start... I don't know... spinning, did she?"

"No, sir. I'm looking at her right now, and she's as still as a stone."

"Artificial gravity," Rao said in a reverent voice. He sounded like he was whispering the secret name of God.

"How?" Marcus asked.

"If I knew that, I assure you I wouldn't be here right now. I'd be sitting on a solid gold toilet, sipping cocktails and counting all the pretty decimal places on my bank statement."

"Always with the gold toilet," Marcus said as he climbed to his feet. It felt just like Earth gravity, and after five months of simulated half-gravity in the Shackleton's habitation pods, that was too heavy for his taste. His legs felt weak and unsteady, and he thought he might collapse at any moment. Then he grew lighter until it was just right.

"St. Martin, get some environmental readings."

She stepped up beside him and drew out her probe again. "Atmospheric pressure at a hundred and one kilopascals, temperature steady at thirty-two degrees centigrade. I'll have spectrographic results in a minute."

"She's bending over backwards to make us comfortable," Faulkland said. "I'll bite."

Marcus turned just in time to see the ship's commander crack the neck-seal of his helmet and lift it off. He blew out and took one hesitant whiff, then began to breathe normally. Then he lipped something Marcus couldn't hear and gave a thumbs up.

"You reckless son of a bitch," Marcus said, well aware that Faulkland couldn't hear a word he said. Not to be outdone, he unlocked his own helmet and did the same.

The air that rushed in was warm and moist, and when he took his first sniff, he detected a faint hint of something metallic. It smelled of fresh blood.

Commander Faulkland flagged him down after he'd had a chance to take a few breaths. "I said it smells kind of funky, but it's not bad."

Marcus inhaled deep and filled his lungs. He was already growing used to the smell. "Not bad," he agreed. "A little oxygen rich, but not bad. My freshman dorm smelled worse."

He looked at Juliette St. Martin through her clear mask, and wasn't surprised at the furious face she was making. It'd been years since he'd seen that expression, and he didn't need to hear the words to appreciate the message.

Marcus plucked the headset from inside his helmet and hooked it over his ear. "Should I be glad I missed that, Doctor St. Martin?"

"Nothing I haven't called you before. Damn it, Marc... I haven't even tested for microbiology yet."

"When you do, I've got a hunch it'll turn up positive. Draw up a quarantine procedure when you get a chance."

"Done. I'm also going to check you two every ten minutes, whether you like it or not."

"Understood," Marcus said. "Everyone else, keep your lids on until further notice. At least we know this stuff's breathable if we have an emergency." He glanced around, and decided that this spot looked as good as any. "Let's set up base camp here," he said, and the team began unpacking their equipment.

"You put a good spin on that," Faulkland said to him after a moment. He was affixing his own headset.

Marcus unloaded the mission transponder from his back and set it down. "Thanks. You've got me wondering, though... how the hell have you survived this long?"

The commander chuckled. "I steer boats, Doctor. This walking around alien spaceships business is new to me. What's your excuse?"

"I'm competitive and prone to fits of idiocy," he said, and they both laughed. "Just do me a favor. Gimme a heads up next time you plan on doing something stupid."

Faulkland snapped a salute. "Aye aye, sir."

Juliette finished assembling her med station and walked over to the two men with her probe firmly in hand. "Do either of you feel different? Warm, short of breath, light-headed?"

"No, no, and no," Marcus said.

Faulkland said, "Ditto.".

She waved the probe in front of Marcus' face, and used the light to test his pupil response, then did the same to Faulkland. "The first sign of anything out of the ordinary... and I mean
anything...
you will tell me. No more cowboy bullshit, understand me?"