The Nexus Colony (10 page)

When Lightfoot finished jotting down his message, he turned around to see Gittleman disappearing into his office. Judging by the look of anger on the face of the other man, it hadn’t been an amiable exchange between the two.
Who cares?
Lightfoot said to himself. Beckoning, he managed to get the man’s attention. As he approached, Lightfoot read the man’s name tag.

“Morning, Ramstead,” Lightfoot said, smiling in a friendly tone.

Ramstead acknowledged with a grunt.

“I got an urgent message I need sent out right away. I mean, like right now,” Lightfoot said. “What can you do for me?”

“Put you in line,” Ramstead replied indifferently, and then said aside, “everybody’s got an urgent message…” He looked up at Lightfoot. “You know the rules, bud.”

“Better yet, Mr. Ramstead,” Lightfoot responded, leaning over the counter. “What can
I
do for
you
?”

Ramstead looked at him coldly. It was evident from the tone of his voice that he was an angry man and didn’t care who knew it. “What do you mean by that?”

Lightfoot, not backed off easily, replied, “Let me say it once, Ramstead. You send this message out for me right now…not later in the day, not tomorrow…but right now and I’ll make it worth your effort. You don’t have to question my making good on the offer.”

The man looked at Lightfoot. It was the moment of truth.
Either the son-of-a-bitch is going to accept the offer, or come over the counter and beat the shit out of me
, Lightfoot thought. He stood stern, staring Ramstead down.

There was a moment’s hesitation before Ramstead replied, softly, “It’s against the rules. You know that.”

I’ve got him.
“Fuck the rules,” Lightfoot said softly.

“If Gittleman finds out…”

“Gittleman won’t find out if nobody tells him.”

Ramstead replied, “It ain’t going to be cheap.”

“I’ll pay it,” Lightfoot whispered, winking.

“It’s gonna cost you a ‘C’ note.”

“Deal.”

Ramstead lowered his head, keeping his eyes locked on Lightfoot’s. “You say anything, and I’ll break you’re fucking arm,” he said.

Lightfoot leaned forward again, not revealing his intimidation. “Don’t break mine, break his,” he responded, nodding toward Gittleman’s office.

Ramstead took the message from Lightfoot’s hand and read it. “You going out on
The Ice
by yourself?” he asked with disbelief.

Lightfoot placed his elbows on the counter. “
You
say anything to anybody about this message and I’ll break
your
fucking arm.”

Ramstead looked up at him. It took a moment for the man to smile, and Lightfoot was sure he’d gotten the message across.

“Deal,” the man said softly.

“I’ll catch you at the officer’s club around lunch,” Lightfoot said.

“Cash.”

“Of course,” Lightfoot responded. “Oh, by the way. That includes contacting me the minute any response comes in. I mean immediately.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Right. See ya,” Lightfoot said, clicking his fingers.

Lightfoot left the communications center and headed back down the long hallway that led to outside. There wasn’t much else he could do at the moment until Ramstead sent out the message and got back the response from ANI. So Lightfoot thought he’d snoop around some more to see if he could find out anything else about this mysterious journey out to
The Ice.

Before opening the door, he pondered his next move.
The Quartermaster’s supply depot.
Lightfoot stepped into the frigid wind, the iciness shocking him back into the reality of the Antarctic landscape. He scurried along the path that led to the Navy logistical complex. For sure he’d get some information there. After all, if Ruger was headed out this afternoon, and he’d just talked to Ruger in the club lounge, then all the gear must already be packed ready to go. Besides, he was probably waiting to bang Bryson before he went back out on
The Ice
anyway.

The wind blew Lightfoot along the path. If ANI didn’t respond, he’d have to come up with a plan ‘B’, although at the moment he hadn’t the slightest inkling what that plan would be.

In the days to come, John Lightfoot would question his own motives for wanting to even try and find out what was going on out there. Some things are better off not investigating, even if the story proves to be too extraordinary for anyone to even
want
to believe.

I
t
was not the only encounter that was going to be reported in the month of February, but it was the one that was going to have the greatest significance. And controversy. Oddly enough, the strange events following the discovery of the alien artifacts would not start in the sky.

It was evening, and most of the on-deck activities had ceased for the day waiting to be resumed the following morning. The United States National Science Foundation Research Vessel
Penguin Princess
was floating listlessly in the bitterly cold windblown fog of the Ross Sea, far out from the icy escarpments of the mainland where most of the fishing trawlers sat wallowing in the swells to wait out the fog. It was safer out here, away from the fishing activities.

Captain Gamage, too, had opted to wait out the fog, which hopefully by morning would be dissipated enough for the ship to move off to the next pre-scheduled location in the study program itinerary. The next trawling area for the
Penguin Princess
was only a short nautical distance away. The big icebergs were mostly dissipated by this time of year, having long been captured by the currents and moved farther out to sea. But still, there was always the chance a late season rogue iceberg would be lurking in the density of the fog despite the sensitive radar detection that the ship carried. There was no reason to take the chance and sail tonight. But what was about to emerge from the fog, however, would make any iceberg a welcome accompanist.

The ship was assigned to the NSF Division of Polar Programs, sailing out of the U.S. Palmer Station, a major research facility specializing in the study of Antarctic marine biology. Krill—small shrimp like crustaceans—were the primary life forms studied at Palmer, since krill was the primary food source for a great preponderance of sea life in the frigid waters of the south polar region. The marine ecosystems were bountiful, and they were as diversified as any on the planet.

The
Penguin Princess
would trawl with her nets for thirty minutes at a time, then haul in, dropping the contents onto the open deck area where the team of research marine biologists would sort through the plethora of marine life deposited there. It was a veritable underwater neighborhood—jellyfish, spiked sponges, corals, starfish, octopuses, strange invertebrates that resembled human intestines, fish of exotic appearance having savage teeth and exuding an offensive slime. Catches that were bountiful were then sorted and shoveled through the open hatchway for further arrangement and cataloging. The remainder was shoveled back into the sea. Many of the creatures were unique to this part of the world, existing nowhere else. The last haul of the day that was deposited on deck was when the strangeness began.

When Dr. Coughenour was first summoned to come take a look at the pile of slimy marine life that had just been shoveled below deck into the holding tank, he thought he was seeing things. When he pulled out one of the creatures to inspect it more closely, his colleagues, equally speechless, gathered around. They had all collectively come to the same conclusion that Dr. Coughenour was about to conclude. Impossible as it may have been, Coughenour was holding up a tropical Angelfish.

“Dr. Coughenour,” one of the researchers called from the other side of the tank. “I think you’d better come take a look at this, too.”

In the holding tank, there came the unmistakable snapping hiss of a young crocodile whose head was peering out of the water.

“This is some kind of a joke,” Coughenour replied angrily, out of character from his usual lethargic demeanor. But no one responded. No one spoke for several more minutes while the whole team began sorting through the tank, which suddenly had become like a tropical aquarium filled with familiar easily identifiable warm water creatures—all of which should have been dead, not able to survive in the frigid waters of the Ross Sea. More accurately, shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

Yet they were there, flopping and splashing in the shallow steel holding tank. It took that long for Dr. Coughenour to recover from his initial shock that the impossible had really happened. “Water! Get some sea water into this tank! Now! Warm it! Get warm sea water.”

The crew and researchers alike jumped at Coughenour’s command, trying to keep the fragile creatures alive. In the course of the next half hour, they were able to save about half of the more hearty ones. The Angelfish all died off, but many of the other identified species, by all indications, looked like they were going to survive, at least for a short while. After an hour had passed, they were able to positively identify twenty three different creature varieties, including the lone baby crocodile, several banded sea snakes—extremely venomous—and twenty one other species of tropical fishes.

It took a while before the team could narrow it down as to where on the planet Earth a trawling ship could cast its net and come up with this very conglomeration of creatures that the
Penguin Princess
had pulled from the frigid waters of Antarctica. There were several potential locations, most likely the Indian Ocean since the reptile was a saltwater croc, except that the Angelfish were still out of place. But it was immaterial which one was right. All the potential locations were within fifteen degrees of the equator. The
Penguin Princess
was at seventy six degrees latitude.

When the initial shock and excitement of the strange discovery began to ebb, the scientific minds commenced to find a plausible explanation for the strange phenomena. Everything from the rain of frogs on Egypt to Edgar Rice Burrough’s
Lost Word
was discussed.

“This is getting preposterous!” Coughenour bellowed at his staff, disgusted. “I want an explanation. We’re scientists. Not storytellers.”

The most plausible explanation was that somehow a huge underwater vortex had been created that managed to retain the nutrients and maintain the critical temperature to sustain these creatures as the vortex traveled along the ocean underwater river system. “That’s fine,” one oceanographer researcher commented, “but there are no known underwater systems that would bring this vortex to this exact location.”

“Even the strongest currents would take months at the fastest.”

“Not only that,” another commented, “but where did the croc come from? This variety may be salt water aquatic, but they still breath air.”

This most plausible of all explanations, however, wasn’t that far from the truth. Only it wasn’t a vortex that had transported the pocket of tropical marine life to the Ross Sea. At that very moment, the
Penguin Princess
was about to find out the answer.

The call came down to Dr. Coughenour rather abruptly from Captain Gamage on the bridge. Could he come up there right away? Coughenour and several of his staff hurried to the bridge where they were told that sonar had just picked up a huge underwater object off the port bow that was heading directly for the ship, range 2,000 yards, depth about a hundred feet. It hadn’t been there a minute before Gamage called. It just suddenly showed up. The operator reported that it was too large to be a single animal—the variety of whales in the region weren’t that big—and promptly suggested that it might be a pod of Minke whales so closely compacted that they appeared as a single entity.

They watched through the dense fog which barely reflected enough ambient light to make out objects in the water.

“Are you certain it’s not a berg?” Coughenour asked the Captain.

“Positive,” he replied. “Radar shows too symmetrical an image. It’s no berg.” Gamage barked an order to the Chief Engineering Officer. “All ahead, slow, Mr. Geddes.”

“Aye, sir. Ahead slow,” came the response.

The ship stirred to life and the vessel began moving slowly through the water to get out of the way, the subtle hum of its engines the only revealing sound that there was even a ship on the water. The vessel bobbed in the swells, while on board the silence of the crew and the team members was as hushed as the ocean surrounding them. Everyone on board was peering off the port bow into the fog.

“Two hundred yards,” Captain Gamage reported. “It’s turned. It’s still heading towards us.”

“It’s got to be a sub,” somebody said.

Gamage shook his head. The crew and most of the others knew it wasn’t any submarine.

Gamage called out an order again. “Right full rudder. All ahead three quarters, Mr. Geddes.”

“Right full rudder. All ahead three quarters. Aye, sir,” Geddes responded.

The water churned and the
Penguin Princess
lurched through the water. Several more minutes of stillness went by. Gamage finally said what everyone suspected. “It’s still following us. It’s staying parallel to port.”

“Hundred yards, sir,” the operator said.

“Full stop, Mr. Geddes,” Gamage ordered. The engines grew silent again, and the ship’s momentum continued to propel it through the murkiness for another few minutes.

More time passed in silence before the ship was again floating listlessly in the swells. But the object had also stopped, this time maintaining the same distance.

The stillness had become overwhelming. Someone soon noticed that they couldn’t even discern the lapping of the ocean against the small chunks of ice that floated perpetually on the surface of the Ross Sea. At first the glow in the water off to port was subtle. Within several minutes it became apparent that whatever was sitting out there beneath the surface and under the shroud of fog was now giving off a tremendous amount of light. The glow, which at first had been white, turned to a multi-color display that began reflecting off the chunks of ice floating all around the
Penguin Princess
.

Out of the obscurity of the freezing mist, they heard a
woo--oosh
, like the suction sound when something large is rapidly pulled from submersion in water up into the open air. Captain Gamage anticipated the after-effect, the residual waves rocking the ship as they passed in succession under the vessel. Coughenour saw fear in Gamage’s eyes, but it didn’t take a ship’s captain to tell anyone that whatever could make sudden waves that huge on a relatively calm ocean had to be of enormous size.

“It’s surfaced,” somebody on the bridge said, breaking the silence.

It was at that very moment that everyone began to comprehend what was going on. The whole ocean off to the port side of the ship was unexpectedly lighted by an eerie glow. Through the fog, it could now be seen what had been following them. Whatever it was had not only surfaced, but had risen up into the air from a hundred feet below in the depths of the Ross Sea.

Total fear gripped every man and woman on the
Penguin Princess.
The object began to move ever so slowly toward the ship, not making a sound. The strobing colored lights ringed a cupola prominently jutting out from the bottom of the giant craft. It took a full minute for it to arrive into position directly over the deck of the vessel. There was no mistaking what each human being on board the ship was witnessing. The massive girth of the alien manifestation was equal to that of the
Penguin Princess
itself.

The ominous craft—they could all now distinctly see the saucer shape—hovered about a hundred feet directly over the vessel. Despite this being the greatest fear that most all of these men and women had ever experienced, everyone was suddenly compelled en masse to walk out onto the deck into the frigid temperature to see the thing that had risen from the depths of the Antarctic abyss. It loomed in the foggy mist like a portent defying all human logic.

Before the strange craft abruptly blinked out and disappeared straight upward into the sky—disappearing both visually and from the radar scope—it left a final calling card. A blue beam projected downward from the center of the cupola, touching in the midst of where everyone was standing in a circle. It was the place on the wide deck where the humans routinely emptied their fishing nets.

Fortunately, the twenty foot crocodile that emerged from the beam almost instantly was subdued by the frigid temperature before the monstrous reptile was able to inflict any harm on the unprotected humans surrounding it.