Arrival (48 page)

We raised our children in the beautiful desolation of the Australian Outback. My wife worked day and night in the labs while I cared for our young. When the children grew more independent, I resumed my career as a chef in the facility’s cafeteria.

Surprisingly enough, when we were invited to join them on this voyage, our children, old enough to decide for themselves, chose to accept the invitation. So off we went for a wonderful week at the Hiroka orbital resort—supposedly as one of many recipients of an international sweepstakes. But when it came time for us all to return to Earth, we made off with the shuttle and made our way to the rendezvous point with the Daedalus, the ship that the Eden Underground had absconded with from Luna Station only twenty-four hours earlier.

So here we are, travelers aboard a stolen starship, hurtling through the blackness of space into the unknown. It is not an easy life, especially for someone who has spent the last eight years living in the vast openness of the Outback. The interior of this ship is cramped, and living accommodations are modest at best. Many of the essential systems are still being installed as I write. But my beloved wife believes in this mission with all her heart. And she believes that here, amongst the stars, free of the corporate blockades that have always succeeded in squashing her efforts, is the only place that she will be able to complete her work.

I have landed the position of Chief cook. Well, actually, I’m the only cook. The other members of the crew take turns helping me prepare meals for us all. But to stave off the boredom, I have taken it upon myself to try to develop interesting new dishes from the rather limited resources available to me. You would think that a few metric tons of salt would seem an extravagant amount in any kitchen. But consider that it has to last sixty-plus years! Our eldest son has taken the roll of educator, teaching the youngsters on board their lessons. Our daughter is a skilled nurse, and is working with Doctor Bell in the medical clinic. Our youngest has decided that she will follow in her mother’s footsteps.

I will keep this journal of our lives for posterity. I will chronicle our daily lives as well as the events of the mission. I will pass this responsibility to my son when I die, whom I hope will carry on the process, passing it down to his son after him. I have chosen to keep this journal by pen and paper. I have always loved books, and I fear this may be the only one to exist in our new world. Who knows, maybe it will be displayed in a museum someday?

Jack closed the journal as he finished reading the first entry. It was already making him feel better. Maybe it was only a distraction, but it was a welcome one.

* * *

Mission log; Day 72; Chief Engineer reporting;

I have read everything I can about RMS. As far as I can tell, there is nothing that I need to do for them. Their reduced metabolic state should keep the disease from progressing further before help arrives, at least for most of them. However, Mac and Maria were both close to death when they were put under, so they are probably at much higher risk.

Other than occasional maintenance chores, I spend most of my time reading medical textbooks from the database in hopes of understanding Maria’s theories about the disease. However, being an engineer, I find myself having to read each paragraph several times before I understand it. I seriously doubt that I will be able to make any headway in discovering a cure for what Doctor Gonzales nicknamed ‘TCS’, or ‘Tau Ceti Syndrome.’

* * *

April 9, 2113

Today, the Earth-Mars cargo ship Mazu, which was assumed lost weeks ago, finally caught up to us. How Captain Wilkins ever managed to convince the Mazu’s Captain to hijack his own ship is beyond me. However, the supplies and additional personnel the Mazu brings have given us a fighting chance once again.

Once unloaded, they plan to strip the Mazu and blend her systems in with our own. So much of the Daedalus was either unfinished, or had been altered for her new mission to Alpha Centauri B, that she was almost unlivable.

With the agricultural equipment and resources provided by the Mazu, we will be able to complete the ag-deck. In a few months, we may even have our first harvest. I cannot describe how excited I am about having fresh produce again. I, for one, have grown tired of MREs.

Along with the arrival of the Mazu came word that the Icarus was also successfully hijacked, and should rendezvous with us before we reach the Kuiper belt. Again, I am amazed at how clever the leaders of the Eden Project are, not to mention how felonious. To steal three ships, it boggles the mind. Although these ships had originally been the property of the Eden Project, legally, the Centauri Syndicate now owns this ship, as well as the Mazu and the Icarus. I cannot help but worry that they will come after us. If the hijack of the Ozu did not go as planned, the Syndicate could use her to come after us.

It is something that I try very hard not to think about.

* * *

Mission log; day 78; Chief Engineer reporting;

I finally figured out how to use the genetic scanners to analyze the samples that Maria left behind. But to be honest, I don’t really know what I am looking for. I recognize what I see, cells, structures and the like. But I can’t tell if anything is wrong with them. It’s like trying to assemble a puzzle that has no picture of the pieces put together.

* * *

August 17, 2115

We exited the far side of the Oort cloud today. It turned out to be larger than anyone on Earth could have expected. We were able to use the Mazu’s shuttles to collect raw materials from an asteroid we passed along the way. It was a tremendous effort, and unbelievably risky, but in the end, it was worth it. We are now rich in metals, some basic chemicals and gases, and even water, having found copious amounts of frozen water on the asteroid as well. This is of great relief to the entire population of the ship, since our hasty departure had left us with only the barest of necessities. The fact that the Syndicate had been secretly refitting the ship for a small mining crew instead of one hundred colonists only compounded the shortage.

Now, we head out across the vastness of space, on our way to the Tau Ceti system, and our best hope of finding a safe world on which our children’s children may live and prosper. Teams are rapidly working to bring the observatory online in the hopes that out here, beyond the reaches of our solar system, new discoveries can be made.

The most exciting of these contemplations is the Luyten system. Our course will take us within less than a light year of this star. We will have an observational opportunity the likes of which has never existed in the history of humankind. A relatively close-up look at another star. If even a lowly cook such as myself is this excited, I cannot imagine how the ship’s astronomer must feel.

* * *

Mission log; Day 85; Chief Engineer reporting;

I have been forced to all but abandon my attempts at researching TCS. I am finding that more and more of the equipment is breaking down. Without constant monitoring and maintenance, this place just keeps falling apart. Keeping the ship quarantined this way is a great drain on both myself and the ship’s life-support systems. This habitat was designed for use on an Earth-like world. It only has the ability to run on internal life-support for a few weeks, at best.

If this maintenance schedule continues, I will no longer have enough portable air left to use the bio-suits outside. I find it hard to believe that TCS could be contracted outside. It has to be from exposure to the alien creature they killed in the ag-hut. At least, I hope so. Because soon, I won’t have any other choice but to expose myself once again to the natural environment of this world.

* * *

November 13, 2120

We have been officially outside the Sol system for some time now, so we have truly become interstellar travelers.

Although the loss of the Ozu was unfortunate, at least we now know that there is no way for the Syndicate to catch up to us and reclaim their legal property.

We have begun our final acceleration push, and within a few months, we will be at our target cruise speed. As I understand it, from that point on, we will be coasting until we reach the point at which we must begin deceleration.

The expansion of the ag-deck is nearly complete, and the green light has been given by the council for us to begin increasing the size of our population. As a compromise, the council has agreed to allow each couple to conceive one child using that couple’s ovum and sperm, although they will still be required to use in vitro. However, no couple will ever know for sure, which of their children is from their DNA, which are from only one parent or the other, and which were conceived using both donor ovum and sperm. An odd ruling, to say the least, but a workable compromise nonetheless.

* * *

Mission Log; Day 97; Chief Engineer reporting;

The last few days, I have not felt myself. I don’t know if it is the boredom, the loneliness, or both. My appetite has diminished, but probably because one can only eat protein bars and dehydrated fruit for so long.

It has been nearly a week since I began conducting my exterior chores without my bio-suit. So far, I haven’t noticed any signs or symptoms of TCS, at least none that were listed in the medical logs.

I’ve grown tired of the mindless video-flicks that Laura and Maria found so entertaining. Instead, I spend what little free time I have reading some of the classic literature contained in the ship’s database. I had always thought it a waste of space, but now I am happy that someone thought to bring these collections along with us.

My latest scans of the crew show no substantive changes in their conditions. At least that’s something to be thankful for.

I’ve noticed that I find myself thinking less and less about Jack. I don’t know if I have finally accepted his death, or if my own situation has grown dire enough to keep thoughts of him from my mind.

* * *

Jack awoke in the morning with renewed energy and purpose. With any luck, he might reach the summit today. The weather was milder than it had been over the last week. Snow was falling, but the winds were calm, and the going was not terribly difficult. Even Jack’s load felt lighter, which hardly seemed possible as his load had not changed.

Nevertheless, his endurance seemed to increase, along with his strength and physical prowess. Jack concluded that long-term exposure to such a harsh life had served to improve both his physical condition, as well as his prowess. It seemed only natural. When life got hard, you had to get harder yourself, or die.

Jack ran mental calculations as he made his way up the last stretch of mountainside toward the summit. The Icarus’s position when they ejected, their trajectory, the position of the stars, and the speed at which they had made their way across the planet’s surface on their way back to the LRV—he had already run these numbers a hundred times. This
had
to be the last summit.

* * *

Sunrise found Frank on his knees, hunched over the toilet, vomiting for nearly ten minutes.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The vomiting had subsided for now, however, a glass of water was all Frank could get down. Food had little appeal to him at the moment. His mood was somber, since he knew the probable cause of his ailment. He tried to tell himself that it could be anything, bad food, some other virus like a cold or the flu. Hell, it could even be an ulcer. Considering what he had been through in the last few months, that wouldn’t be a big surprise. He hoped if he took it easy, he’d feel better in a few days.

* * *

Jack could see the summit now, only a few kilometers up and to the right. It would not be an easy climb. There were plenty of rocks and the incline was steep. But a few more hours, and he would be there.

He had not let himself think about being reunited with his friends since the day they had crash-landed on this world. He wanted to stay focused on the task at hand, namely, survival. Imagining what the reunion would be like would only distract him. But now, being so near to the end of his journey, he couldn’t help himself. He could see it in his mind as he climbed up the mountain at breakneck speed. The LRV, sitting in the lush, green valley. His friends running out to meet him, shocked and relieved by his survival and return. The warmth of the LRV’s habitat section. A hot shower, a haircut, and a shave. Real food instead of the tough, gristly meat of dead Cetian creatures.

He only wished that his wife and children would be there to greet him as well. But they were still several months away, hurtling toward the Tau Ceti system, on board the Daedalus. But soon, they too would arrive. And once he rejoined the others, he would be there to greet his loved ones when they landed.

* * *

Frank woke two hours later, feeling somewhat better.
Maybe it was just a bad batch of dried fruit,
he thought as he lied in his berth. He slowly got up and headed for the galley. But a few steps away from his berth, the nausea swept over him again.

* * *

The next fifty meters was up a nearly forty-five-degree slope. A step at a time, Jack made his way up the incline, grabbing whatever rock or shrub he could find to keep from slipping and falling back down. Digging his toes into the soft areas whenever possible, he gained altitude little by little.

He kept thinking about getting back to the LRV. The stories they would trade, the meals they would share. They would all grieve together over the loss of Will. And even that would be welcome, since Jack would no longer have to bear that grief alone.

Finally, the mountain began to flatten out a little more. Jack was exhausted after the climb, and found a rock to rest on.
Still a few hours of daylight left
, he thought as he drank some water and chewed on a piece of two-day-old goat meat.

* * *

Frank sat in the med-lab, connecting bio-monitor sensors to his body. The nausea had all but incapacitated him, and at times he felt almost too weak to walk. A dose of anti-emetics was the only thing keeping him going at this point.

As much as he feared the readings he was about to see on the monitors, there was no sense in putting it off any longer. He had to know for sure.

Not that I can do anything about it
, he thought as he flipped on the bio-monitors.

* * *

Jack had only needed a few minutes rest before starting out again. Any other day, he probably would have rested longer. But the summit was so close now; he could practically reach out and touch it.

Jack panted as he ran the last few meters toward the summit, the air growing thinner. The sky was a brilliant topaz, brighter than he had ever seen it before. A few more kilometers up, and he felt he could touch the sky.

Thoughts raced through his mind as he approached the summit. His wife and children, his crew, Will. How he wished Will could’ve been here to share this triumphant moment with him. Together, they had worked so hard to get here.

The sky seemed to fall away as he reached the summit, until finally, it disappeared into an endless blue-green sea stretched out before him into the distant horizon.

Jack came to a stop, looking down at the crescent-shaped valley below him. It was beautiful and green, just as it had appeared on the probe scans. Waves of seawater gently lapped at the white sands along its edges. The crisp, ocean air filled his lungs with its unique aroma. The smell was totally foreign to him, but pleasant nonetheless. He finally made it.

* * *

A distant beeping beckoned. Frank did not respond at first, instead chose to lie still on the med-lab exam table. Three short beeps, repeating every five seconds, calling for his attention. Finally, after several minutes, Frank slowly rose to a sitting position, struggling to discern the readings on the bio-monitor through tired, unfocused eyes.

Frank squinted several times, trying to focus. He squinted as he studied the display, rereading the values several times to be sure.

* * *

Jack let his rifle and pack fall to the ground, as he reached into the side pocket of his pack and pulled out his data pad. Within seconds, the unit powered up and was ready for use. Without the slightest hesitation, Jack set the unit to scan for a signal from the LRV, just as he had done every morning, and at every summit.

He watched the display as the unit scanned for the signal. One second, then two, then three. A full five seconds went by without any results. Jack waited.
It’s been so long since it’s seen a signal; it has probably forgotten what it looks like.

It hadn’t forgotten. There was simply no signal to be recognized. Jack frantically began scanning for any kind of a signal. HF, VHF, UHF, Laser, Doppler pulse wave, anything at all that was man-made. But still nothing.

Jack’s mouth hung open, partly in disbelief, partly in despair.
It can’t be! The ocean is right there, I can see it!
“It has to be here!” he screamed. “The valley is right there! It’s right down there! I can see it!” Jack double-checked the valley below. It was the right shape, and was facing the right direction.

Jack reset the scanner to geographical mode and began scanning the valley. Once the scan was finished, he compared the valley to the map of the tertiary landing site, the one where the LRV should’ve landed. It didn’t match. It was similar, yes. But the valley below was considerably smaller, with differences in both shape and elevation.

Jack stumbled backward a step, nearly tripping over his pack in the process. For months he and Will had fought to get here. And now, the destination offered no salvation. He had reached the coast, so he must have come out either north or south of the landing site. But how far north, or how far south? Which way was he to go? And if he chose the wrong direction, how far should he travel before he gave up and reversed direction? What had begun as a day of hope and triumph had ended in despair and defeat.

* * *

Mission log; Day 101; Chief Engineer reporting;

Today I confirmed that I too have been infected with TCS. What I don’t understand is why it took so long. The others were infected rather quickly after exposure, but it took me weeks, assuming that I was exposed the minute I set foot inside the LRV. I only hope that whatever kept me from developing symptoms as rapidly as the others, will also keep me from succumbing to the disease as quickly as they did.

There are still too many chores to do around here. The power plant is showing signs of needing maintenance, and the air filters that Lynn rigged need to be cleaned. I will try to remain healthy long enough to complete as much maintenance as I can before I have to go into RMS like the rest of the crew. If I can complete these tasks, we will have a much better chance of staying alive until help arrives. If it arrives.

* * *

Day 103;

My name is Jonathan Matthew Bell. I am not a member of the Scheller family, so I apologize for this intrusion. But I felt compelled to carry on my friend’s tradition until such time as I might give this journal to his son. I am the Mission Commander for the Eden Project’s Advance Survey Team. We were sent to the Tau Ceti system ahead of the Daedalus to survey three potentially hospitable planets. After completion of our surveys, we were to transmit our findings and recommendations back to the Daedalus so they could decide which world to colonize before entering the Tau Ceti system.

Jack paused for a moment, starting to choke up. The campfire was burning full force during this unusually calm evening on the summit.

William Scheller was my mission Planetologist. He was also my friend. He saved my life on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, he was killed by a stupid and tragic accident while we were escaping yet another threat to our survival. As best as I can tell, he did not suffer. I know that he loved his wife and his children very much, and I know he would want this journal to be given to his son, in the hopes that he will carry on the family legacy.

Again, I apologize for my intrusion. But I have reached the lowest most desperate point in my life. And without Will, I have no one to talk to. I am hoping that writing in his journal will give me strength to carry on.

I have reached the last summit. Beyond this lies nothing but ocean. Yet, I have received no signal from the LRV. I can only assume that I have come out either above or below their landing site. Any other conclusion would be unthinkable. Tomorrow, I will have to decide which way to go along the ridge. But in the absence of data, it’s a fifty-fifty proposition at best.

I really wish Will were here to help me choose.

Frustrated, Jack tossed the journal aside. It had been a strange sensation for him, writing with pen and paper. The feeling of the pen’s tip as it slid across the clean, white paper was vastly different than that of a stylus on a data pad. It seemed such a wasteful way of storing information, so resource-intensive, so bulky to store.

Yet, he had to admit, it had a sort of
magic
to it.

Jack was tired, but somehow his mind was wide awake. He knew he would have to continue on at first light, but he didn’t know where he would get the drive to do so.

He reached into his pack and pulled out Will’s little wooden flute. Trying to remember how Will had held his fingers, Jack carefully placed his own over the holes, held the instrument to his mouth, and blew through it. A shrill whistle leapt out, causing Jack to abruptly withdraw the instrument from his lips.
There was nothing musical about that!

He tried again, this time blowing more softly, and evenly. It was still shrill, but better. He tried lifting different fingers as he blew through to tiny wooden tube, the tone changing with each movement of his fingers.

Jack felt something he had never felt before. A unique pleasure, something satisfying. The noises he made were still shrill, almost earsplitting.
This is gonna take awhile
, he thought as he continued to experiment.

* * *

Mission log; Day 105; Chief Engineer reporting;

I still have recurring bouts of nausea and vomiting. On the advice of the medical database, I have increased my consumption of fluids to combat the dehydrating effects of frequent vomiting. The problem is that it is difficult to keep food down. And without proper nutrition, I find my productivity has fallen.

I have completed the maintenance on the power plant. Tomorrow I will begin cleaning the air filters that Lynn rigged up. I do not know if they have made any difference overall, but it cannot hurt.

* * *

Day 113;

I have been making my way north along the ridge for nearly a week now. But still, no signal. There have been a few valleys below me along the way, but nothing even remotely resembling the tertiary landing site. With each failure, I find it more and more difficult to carry on. It is cold up here, and the weather only seems to get worse as I go farther up north. Perhaps I should’ve headed south instead.

I have settled into a routine. I break camp at dawn, hiking until early afternoon. After pitching camp again, I hunt small game for my evening meal. After dinner, I practice on Will’s flute before sleeping. I haven’t improved much, but it is my only source of entertainment. I am determined to produce a melody.

* * *

Mission Log; Day 115; Chief Engineer reporting;

I’ve noticed occasional blood in my urine. I give myself intravenous feedings every other day to keep my strength up. If I can last another week before going into stasis, I’ll feel better about our chances of survival.

The most difficult thing about my situation is the loneliness. I have found myself talking to the other crewmembers in stasis. I know they can’t hear me, but I feel slightly less crazy than if I were talking to myself.

In the evenings, I have been working on rewiring the Doppler Pulse Radar. I think if I can wire it into the comm-system, I may be able to send a warning message. As much as we need them to rescue us, the colonists need to be warned about this virus.

* * *

Day 117;

Tomorrow, I will head back south. My calculations show that I am already too far north to still be south of the landing site. It has to be south of where I arrived at the coast.

* * *

Mission Log; Day 127; Chief Engineer reporting;

I have grown tired of my daily protein bar. All I ever do is vomit it up anyway. If I’m going to vomit my food up an hour after I eat it, I might as well enjoy it on the way down.

Tomorrow, I will go outside and try to hunt some small game. I rather like going outside now. And since I’m already infected with the TCS virus, if it is outside the ship, who cares? Besides, the fresh air seems to help. If I am going to die, I don’t want to spend my last days in this high-tech, metal coffin. I may have been born and raised in a spaceship, but I’m sure not going to die in one.

* * *

Day 132;

I’ve reached the original point where I came across the summit. Tomorrow, I will continue south along the ridge. I figure I’ll give it another ten days. If I haven’t found the LRV by then, I will have already traveled farther south than the landing site could possibly be.