Field of Orbs
“Look beyond the present. What really matters were not the animals, the plants or even the specific people you saved. Overall, they are only here for a blink. What you did, was save the heart and the soul of the universe’s sentience.”
“Do you really consider sentience the most important reason for being here?”
“I do, Sir. Life itself is such a small beginning. Life is pointless unless it can look at itself and say, ‘I’m disgusting’. Isn’t the spark of sentient life all that really matters?”
“In that context, my friend, you are correct. Intelligence is a significant step in the evolution of life.”
“Now you understand. We’ll never quit. Given that thought, we have the intellect. We have the skill. We can find resources. We have the drive to do anything we can visualize. Now is our opportunity to prove it.”
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Field of Orbs
By Gregg Mattson
Copyright 2011 Gregg Mattson
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Field of Orbs
Table of Contents
Zero: “Artifact”
One: “Mission”
Two: “Orb”
Three: “Outing”
Four: “Establishment”
Five: “Translating”
Six: “Credibility”
Seven: “Covers”
Eight: “Confirmation”
Nine: “Sage”
Ten: “Discovery”
Eleven: “Game”
Twelve “Appointments”
Thirteen: “Cause”
Fourteen: “Leaders”
Fifteen: “Request”
Sixteen: “Frustration”
Seventeen: “Desert”
Eighteen: “Solution”
Nineteen: “Cantina”
Twenty: “Passage”
Twenty-One: “Stress”
Twenty-Two: “Arcadio”
Twenty-Three: “Toes”
Twenty-Four: “Rim”
Twenty-Five: “Surgery”
Twenty-Six: “Retrospect”
Twenty-Seven: “Stun”
Twenty-Eight: “Reunion”
Twenty-Nine: “Marshal”
Thirty: “Crack”
Thirty-One “Flux”
Thirty-Two: “Emprise”
Thirty-Three: “Crusade”
Thirty-Four: “Reclamation”
Thirty-Five: “Catapults”
Thirty-Six: “Deflection”
Thirty-Seven: “Intentions”
Thirty-Eight: “Inwardness”
Thirty-Nine: “Angel”
Forty: “Pilgrimage”
Forty-One: “Epiphany”
Forty-Two: “Challenge”
Forty-Three: “Convert”
Forty-Four: “Dots”
Forty-Five: “Arrival”
Forty-Six: “Exhausted”
Forty-Seven: “Retrocede”
Forty-Eight: “Chrysalis”
Forty-Nine: “Concession”
Fifty: “Moirai”
Fifty-One: “Tubes”
Fifty-Two: “Stupor”
Fifty-Three: “Fealty”
Fifty-Four “Press”
Fifty-Five: “Knowledge”
Fifty-Six: “Corporal”
Fifty-Seven “Severed”
Fifty-Eight “Embark”
Fifty-Nine: “Abandoned”
Sixty: “Tongues”
Sixty-One: “Congé”
Sixty-Two: “Dedicate”
Sixty-Three: “Mystic”
Sixty-Four: “Grave”
Sixty-Five: “Passing”
Sixty-Six: “Time”
Sixty-Seven: “Sighting”
Sixty-Eight: “Ringside”
Sixty-Nine: “Annihilation”
Seventy: “Telos”
Seventy-One: “Static”
Seventy-Two: “Debris”
Seventy-Three: “Insurgent”
Seventy-Four: “Stragglers”
Seventy-Five: “Sabotage”
Seventy-Six: “Commence”
Seventy-Seven: “Approach”
Seventy-Eight: “Orphans”
Seventy-Nine: “Standpoint”
Eighty: “Exodus”
Eighty-One: “Crossings”
Eighty-Two: “Transition”
Eighty-Three: “Reconnaissance”
Eighty-Four: “Anachronism”
Eighty-Five: “Aegea”
Eighty-Six: “Conversion”
Eighty-Seven: “Alight”
Eighty-Eight: “Landing”
Eighty-Nine: “Anew”
Ninety: “Collapse”
Ninety-One: “Archive”
Ninety-Two: “Maps”
Ninety-Three: “Truth”
~~~~****~~~~
Zero: “Artifact”
[The Beginning]
“Digger,” I say into the two-way.
“Digger,” I try again.
The radio is silent. Its squelch doesn’t even make the familiar static burst when I release the transmit button.
I press and release the key a few times. Only a quiet squeak from moving the transmit key comes from my radio.
“Damn batteries. They die just when I really need them.”
Frustrated, I drop the radio into my belt pack.
“Digger!”
I yell his name this time, from beside a towering tree at the hilltop, trying to raise my voice above the screeching of the Spider Monkeys and Macaws high above me in the jungle’s canopy.
In reaction to my sudden shout, the sounds made by the nearby birds and other animals, go silent.
Only distant animals answer my call.
I cup my hands around my mouth to cast my call farther down the slope. “Digger…Diiiiiggerr!”
I stop to listen, a little annoyed that the animals didn’t remain silent.
Then from the distance, I hear his faint answer.
I look intently down the slope through the jungle’s moss-dripped branches. I notice the path I cut while climbing to reach the top of this hillside was already gone with no evidence of my passing. I looked beyond my starting point at the bottom of the slope, and I see Digger, framed by thick layers of dangling moss, looking up the hill in my direction. I wave my arms in big arcs over my head until, finally seeing me, Digger waves back.
Over-exaggerating the emphasis on my words, I yell to him, “O-ver here. On top. There’s a clearing!”
He waves again and begins his climb to meet me.
“That climb will take him a while,” I mutter.
Confident he will find his way up the hill, I turn away from the edge. I lift the brim of my hat to peer into the clearing through the mosquito netting that drapes before my eyes.
Stomping around in the jungle isn’t how I started. Actually, I look out of place here with moss dangling from my head. In a previous life, I was a model. Being a tall, trim, auburn-haired woman, I have an appearance better suited to more stately living, as do the city elite. However, the sophisticated life is a little too superficial for me. I get claustrophobic in the city and consider the people pretentious, if not just obnoxious.
The ten million dollar question is why am I here? The easy answer is that I travel to these rugged places to be with Digger, simply for the excitement I get from such a unique experience. On the other hand, I can be with my husband, as his assistant through times when his exploration work would have him away from home for prolonged periods.
While waiting for Digger to arrive, I analyze the details of the clearing. Since I first arrived here, I found this small area in the jungle strange, in that it is clear of all trees or brush. In fact, at roughly ten meters in diameter, strangely circular, and covered only with low growing grass, I wonder how nobody discovered it from the air. I don’t even remember seeing anything like it in my own study of Digger’s aerial survey. Even more surprising, this place didn’t happen recently. Judging from the decaying leaves and branches that surround the clearing, it has been bare of anything but the grass for a very, very long time.
The open space is not all that attracts my attention. Directly in the clearing’s center is a rock. Its existence, as well as its shape, is unusual. The rock stands almost a meter tall and roughly a meter and a half in diameter. It reminds me of a dining table covered with a large cloth hanging to the ground. Standing no closer than the trees at the edge of the unusual area, I study it carefully, taking in every detail and photograph the rock and surrounding area for later study.
Satisfied that I have observed all I can from my location, I repack the camera and dig through my backpack until I find a snack bar to enjoy while waiting for Digger. While eating, I continue to study the area. I still question why there are no trees in the clearing and look for clues that can provide an answer.
Digger finally arrives at my side, breathing heavily from the exertion of climbing so quickly, and lowers heavily to one knee.
His words are interspersed between heavy breaths as he asks, “What…did you…find, Sharon?”
I look at him, noting the apparent over-exertion from his rush up the hill. I put on my best indignant look and say with an annoyed tone in my voice, “I’m out of snack bars.”
Digger stares at me in disbelief, almost as if I struck him with a stick.
He responds, almost in a whisper, “What?”
I can’t keep a straight face any longer and break into a smile from my joke. I shake my head, nod toward the peculiarly grassy meadow and say, “See for yourself.” Then I point to the rock at the center of the empty space.
Digger sees the rock, “Photographs?”
“…of course.”
He reaches into his pack and pulls out a map. Unfolding it on the ground, he locates the hill where we stand.
“We are in the Southwest quadrant of sector seventeen. I don’t remember seeing anything like this in our aerial survey or the satellite images. How could we miss something so obvious?”
Without waiting for a reply from me, Digger stands and looks up.
“Hmmm, the trees do nearly cover this area.”
He looks at, and then walks toward, the rock. I follow as he digs his voice recorder from his pocket so he can make notes.
To avoid disturbing the area, he carefully watches the ground where he will step, and moves slowly until he is about an arm’s length away from the rock. Digger looks at his watch and then holds the recorder to his mouth.
“Fifteen thirty-eight, Sector seventeen, Southwest quadrant,” he says. “We are on top of a moderate hilltop where Sharon discovered a peculiar clearing with a cylindrical rock in the center that measures approximately one meter high by one and a half meters in diameter.”
He stops recording to examine it more closely, dwelling on all the details as if he will later diagram the rock from memory.
Again pressing the recorder’s button, “All the surfaces are highly polished but the top does show some slight weathering.”
Digger stops recording and walks around the rock.
“Check this out, Sharon.”
I walk around to look at where he pointed. He discovered a cylindrical hole in one side of the rock, about 6.0 cm in diameter, drilled at a shallow upward slant.
Lowering himself to his knees to study the exposed features of the drilled shaft, he looks up at me and says into the recorder, “The surface inside the shaft is also highly polished.”
Pulling a small penlight from his shirt pocket, Digger directs the light into the hole. He shades his eyes against the light from the sky, and then peers inside. He continues recording, “A highly polished six dot zero centimeter diameter shaft on the South side of the stone penetrates to about mid way through the rock where it ends in a small hollow, carved near the top surface.”
While he records his observations, I remove my camera from my pack and walk around the rock, taking several pictures of the rock, the opening and Digger near them.
“I can see the other side of the hollow area. There is …,” his voice shows his sudden excitement, “…something in there!”
He pauses to concentrate on the object. “I can’t see enough to tell what it is but its surface is shiny.”
Digger reaches into the hole but finds it is too small for his hand to fit.
Turning off his recorder and rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, he whispers, thinking aloud, “How did that get in there?”
Standing up, he looks all over the surface of the rock for any indication of another way into the hollow.
He continues recording, “The object appears too large to fit through the shaft. I find no fractures, seams or even mineral inclusions. There is no outside indication of how the object got inside the hole.”
While Digger looks around the rock for another possible opening, I rummage through my backpack until I retrieve a set of leather gloves. I put one of the gloves on and then press my hand into the rock’s opening. My arm goes almost all the way in.
Staring into the distance, I concentrate on the object in the hole.
“I feel it. The object is loose…and it is too big to fit back through the hole.”
Digger repeats what I say into the recorder. Since it is going to stay in the hole, I continue to feel the object with my fingers so I can build a mental image of it. The glove doesn’t help with fine details. However, I wasn’t going to stick my arm into a hole that could be full of…well, who knows…without something to protect my hand.
Satisfied I can sense no more detail about the object, I pull my arm out of the rock. “The object is fairly heavy. It feels very smooth and symmetrical. It’s a casting of some kind.”
“…It’s a casting of some kind?” Digger stops his recorder and asks warily, “Like the other?”
I can feel my emotions swell from the excitement I have longed to feel for so many years. I simply smile and nod in reply, briefly containing my exhilaration.
Digger’s joy at this discovery is obvious and he instantly explodes with a whoop, throws a few quick shadow-box jabs toward the rock and then begins laughing. “Finally…finally, after all this time, we found the original location.”
Returning to business, though his smile doesn’t fade, he takes a locator device from his backpack to get a satellite fix of our position. He also makes a notation in his logbook to back up the device’s stored latitude and longitude information.
Finally looking at me, and only then does he notice the excitement now showing on my face, “We still have several hours of daylight left and I’ll bet this rock isn’t going anywhere. Let’s see if the other location is nearby.”
~~~~****~~~~
One: “Mission”
[Merc’s flight log]
>> The Approach:
He sits silently. Dark haired and clean-shaven, wearing a grey, loose-fitting coverall and sock-like footwear, he hovers closely to, but not completely into a form-fitting lounge with its restraining straps attached loosely around his body.
Without a blink, his alert green eyes target a spherical helmet suspended motionless over the console. It is poised so close to his face he could pluck it from the air by its visor with his teeth.
With his voice just loud enough to overcome the sound of the fans circulating air through his ship’s equipment, he whispers sharply, “Sam.”
“Yes?” Sam responds.
Moving cautiously, obviously trying to avoid creating a disruptive eddy near the helmet, he slowly cinches his restraints to draw himself against the seat’s cushions. He is now farther away from the floating helmet. Nevertheless, continuing his effort to avoid the possibility of upsetting the delicate balance that maintains the position of his floating headgear with his breath, he speaks softly, though no longer in a whisper.
“Personal log, append. Set date and time.”
“In addition to the standard mission, system and science logs, I’m keeping a personal expedition log. This is, however, unusual. I’m keeping this log as a nearly continuous record for my own use, in addition to those normal logs.
“I have a different feeling about my mission here. I anticipate this trip will reveal some of the greatest discoveries in the history of our world. If I’m correct, I will need every detail of my activities saved where I can be certain nobody can scrub them. This will give me a separate record I can use for validation and future reference.
“I shouldn’t have to do this. Our contracts should protect us. Unfortunately, while most of the citizens back home support our research, a swelling number of them want us to fail. Those vocal few, many of them in positions of power, seize any opportunity to discredit our research. Since I have a strong feeling that I might discover something here that they may consider controversial, I expect their resistance to force me into relying on every resource I have available for substantiating my discoveries as indisputably authentic. To that end, this log will contain a continuous, expanded and, unavoidably wandering, monologue of my personal thoughts and experiences.”
The man pauses, observing information from the console display over which the helmet hovers. The console is simple. It clusters a few buttons and switches, a joystick style lever and a single touch sensitive display with its stylus anchored in its nearby receptacle, in front of the man’s seat. Directly beyond the console, is a large circular window. A cover outside obscures the view.
The helmet continues to hover, frozen, at the position he placed it to drift.
“Nearly time,” he says moving back into his lounge to better orient himself, by pushing against the straps. Just like his helmet, which hangs immobile, he too sits motionless. He watches it intently, his eyes watering from not blinking, as if focusing his concentration keeps the helmet poised over the console.
Moments later and almost imperceptibly, the helmet begins to drift toward the console. Once moving, however, the free-floating headgear accelerates.
The grin that appears on his face reveals his growing excitement. “Ah-ha...Here it comes.”
The helmet touches the console and bounces from the surface in a slow, graceful arc. He snatches it from the air and with one flowing motion, fits it to his head, latches it in place and then grabs the adjustment cinches of his seat restraints for one last tug. The latch pawls emit a sharp staccato sound from the ratchets as he pulls the straps hard to assure he is firmly belted.
“I feel it now. I’m beginning to enter the atmosphere.”
Tipping his head back, he presses it hard into the seat’s contour to snap his helmet’s catch into its receptacle. He grips the armrests tightly to brace for what is coming.
Then he waits.
“Merc,” says Sam. “Deceleration procedure is initializing now.”
“Acknowledged,” answers Merc.
A few moments later, Merc turns his head at a slight angle. “I can hear it. I can also feel a subtle vibration on my back. Everything is normal.”
The faint hissing grows louder as his ship begins moving through the thin upper air.
“Sam, Status Report to control, set date and time.”
“Report open,” Sam responds.
“I am approaching our mission destination. I am now initiating aero-breaking protocols, per normal operating procedures, for this planet. I have one procedural exception to report. On my own authority, I followed a significantly more direct route here to cut my inter-planet travel time in half. However, my velocity on arrival is much higher than normal and mandates a steeper angle of insertion to force an altitude drop into the lower levels of denser atmosphere, which will allow me to shed the excess energy. By operating so closely to the upper thermal and pressure design extremes of my ship, I’m concerned that any normally inconsequential manufacturing flaws could result in potential malfunctions by exposing the surfaces of my ship’s protective shielding to increased stresses. My projections do show the shielding should withstand the elevated pressure and temperature levels through the duration of this prolonged maneuver. My mission simulations show a slight margin in both those extremes so I anticipate no issues.
“I will communicate my success on maneuver completion.
“Sam. End report…send.”
“Send successful,” Sam replies.
“Acknowledged.”
The initial hissing sound has grown louder. Orange-yellow light begins glowing through the cover outside the window beyond the console. The flickering brilliance of the glow increases, synchronized with the sound’s climbing pitch.
Merc, now pinned to his seat by the drag-induced force that slows his ship, yells above the noise, “This is different. At this insertion speed, I feel a sickening, side-slipping motion when the automatic airbrake-panels open and close to control my ship’s attitude while traveling through the planet’s atmosphere.”
The shifting forces are evident as they cause Merc’s body to roll noticeably from side to side. The restraints and the curvature of his seat hold him in place.
In this short time, the once-faint hiss of the air brushing against the hull is now a screaming roar. As the ship literally pierces a hole through the planet’s upper atmosphere, the buffeting continues to grow significantly stronger.
The equipment within the ship rattles loudly, nearly drowning out Merc when he says, “The soothing vibration I first felt is now a fierce pounding.”
His body lunges into and then recoils from the seat-restraints with brutal force as the pounding from the atmosphere against the hull relentlessly tosses him sharply forward into the straps and then snaps him back into the seat padding before he can fly away. Each time he hits the straps, the force knocks the wind out of him with an explosive groan expelled by rudely hitting their limits. His face involuntarily reacts, jaw clenching tight and eyes pinching shut, echoing each sharp stab of pain from the blows dealt by the unyielding straps holding his hips and shoulders. The pain he obviously endures is an insufferable compromise to not having the restraints, which would be unquestionably fatal.
Staccato flashes of blinding, blue-white, light now radiate through the edges of the blast-cover, indicating the ferocity of the inferno burning just outside the window. The noise of the air disintegrating against the hull deafens. The wild motion of Merc's body shows the erratic pitching and swaying of the ship as it struggles to maintain the necessary orientation for a successful deceleration maneuver.
The sound of the aero-braking reaches its crescendo as the maneuver begins feeling endlessly long. The ship appears it could disintegrate into a thousand sparkling pieces of charred debris trailing from the flashes of flame now licking the outside shell.
Then the roar begins tapering in amplitude and Merc’s hammering subsides, he screams above the roar, “I must hold on just a little longer. This is almost over.”
Only moments later, the pounding, the flashing, the swaying and the roaring noise, diminish at a rapid rate and then subside altogether.
Suddenly, where there was cacophony, there is now silence. Where there was uncertainty, there is now success. Where there was commotion there is now serenity.
Merc loosens his constraining harness and floats weightless again. He removes his helmet, shakes his head and reaches for his ears.
“That was exciting. I love the exhilaration I feel arriving at a planet where I can slow my ship this way. Braking maneuvers are never boring. Of the few planets where I can brake this way, this is definitely the best one for this method.
“I was worried I might be pushing my little ship to its limit this time, but it performed exactly as designed. I still see spots from the bright flashes of the inferno that engulfed my ship. Next time I try this extreme maneuver, I’ll need to close my visor. That would also help my ears. They are ringing from the unexpected intensity of the sound. Personal log entry completed.”
Merc toggles the lever on his harness and the restraint straps retract into the seat.
“Sam, Status Report to control. Set date and time.”
“Report open,” Sam responds.
“Orbit insertion maneuver is in progress. I successfully completed the high velocity aero-braking maneuver. Using the approach I indicated in my earlier report had mixed success. The maneuver itself was successful. My instruments show my ship is undamaged. However, I must find a better way to secure myself in the pilot’s chair. Though I suffered no serious injuries, my neck, shoulders and hips sting from the belts. I have nothing more to report. Expect my next report in a few days.
“Sam, Status Report complete. Send report,”
“Send successful.”
“Acknowledged.”
>> Another World:
The blast-covers slowly retract. As they move aside to reveal the planet below, Merc floats from his pilot’s chair to look outside his ship. He moves against the circular window and hovers, almost touching it. Beyond him, part of the planet’s narrow crescent, rich with intense colors, sharply contrasts the unlighted side where occasional flashes of light give dimension to the planet’s shape. Filigree lights form a crown of colors that dance slowly at the end.
“Sam, Personal log.”
“Open.”
“Looking back, my ship is well beyond the edge of the atmosphere and moving away from the planet as indicated by the thin, and narrowing, blue haze seen above the horizon. Even from this distance, this planet is beautiful.”
Merc repositions for a better view.
“I can still see the faintly glowing remnant of the ion trail left by my ship in the dark atmosphere. Even though nobody was there to see me go by, that had to be an impressive show.
“I really wish I could see one of these braking maneuvers from the surface. I imagine this pass was visible as a brilliant white fireball moving across the sky from horizon to horizon, punctuated by a very loud clap of thunder shortly after my ship passed.
“A show like this will never happen back home since there are severe penalties for aero-braking there. The program administrators consider it too dangerous to do over populated areas.
“Contributing to that event being unlikely, watching an aero-braking maneuver from the surface of any other planet won’t happen until we develop technology to let us land and leave a planet’s surface. That capability is far from available, so it won’t ever happen in my lifetime.”
Merc returns to hover above his chair. He stops there to watch the planet shrink, entranced by the splendor of his view.
“What a view. Traveling between planets can be long and tedious. For a short time after a long trip, the first view of a planet makes me feel like I’m in a fantastic dream. I never get tired of the images I witness through this window when I arrive.”
Merc diverts his attention to study the pilot console’s display for a moment.
As he works, he narrates to his personal log, “I’m turning off the Particle Shield. I use the protection that surrounds Sam when traveling in open space. It could benefit me here as well, but the shield uses a very strong field that interferes with the systems that sense and record information while orbiting the planet. While collecting these detailed observations, I can’t use it.”
Merc glances outside again before he turns away from the view and looks at the device that is recording his personal log.
“I hope this log captures the view from this window. I have traveled a great enough distance in this short amount of time since the braking maneuver to see more than half of the planet's disk.”
Merc’s effortless push glides him to an observation hatch near what a sign identifies as his small ship’s science station. Stopping his drift with a deftly placed foot on the edge of the hatch, he pauses a few moments to check the station’s display.
“The outward bound portion of this new orbit will take awhile as Sam’s velocity continues to drop. Adjustments are already in progress to nudge our orbit circular. The corrections to establish that orbit at the correct altitude will continue for several days. That will position the survey equipment over the areas of interest.”
Merc watches the planet from the window by his console as he works.
“I am releasing four survey and communications satellites from their storage bays on the outside of this ship. Once they reach their orbit, they will collaborate with Sam to be in contact at all times with the research probes I’ll send to observe the surface. I’m also directing most of my on-board equipment toward the surface, as well as engaging the routines for preliminary observations. That will give my database more information that I can use to establish the actual location of my probes.”
Merc appears engrossed with deploying the systems to collect observations. After a short time, he reaches a point where he resumes talking to his personal log.
“That should capture what I need. Personal log entry complete.”
“Personal log closed,” acknowledges Sam.
“Sam?”
“Yes?”
“Status of mission-recording cameras.”
“They are all working. Continuous available recording time exceeds two solar orbits. Automatic data relays to Central are paused.”
“Good. Status accepted. No changes.”
Merc continues, “Sam, personal log.”
“Personal log is on.”
“For anyone who cares to listen to me babble, most of this setup work is second nature to me. So, while my hands are busy, I shall solve the world’s problems.
“Every excursion has idle time, and plenty of it. Being alone with my work gives every Explorer a lot of time to think. Years ago, psychiatrists discovered that maintaining a tight schedule of activities throughout those lengthy periods between destinations was, though vital, impossible. The solution was a fill-in task they call ‘Thought-Exercises’.”
“The idea is simple. They create one or more new tasks for each mission where we must philosophically evaluate all aspects of the topic as thoroughly as possible. We must submit our results on our return. The degree of our effort determines the level of our compensation. They require more analysis than research so a substantial amount of contemplation is necessary. The results exceed the obvious benefit of keeping Explorer pilots from going crazy with boredom. Many issues of the world are resolved by having a viewpoint from true vacuity.
“I was given two subjects to ponder on this mission. Since my arrival here, most of my preliminary work is now complete, so I can begin my second subject for this project. I intentionally saved this ‘Thought-Exercise’ subject for here. It has immediate impact on my profession. They asked me to analyze the present state of machine intelligence and its impact on society. I have some initial thoughts I’ve put together. I’ll note some of them now and refine them later.
“Many people at home, even many working within the space program, are asking why the present level of manned exploration is still funded when robotic technologies have evolved significantly and their use is much more cost effective.”
He looks out at the planet. Where bright white clouds don’t obscure its features, the planet beyond him reveals a rich texture of patterns in shades of blue, green and brown.
“To put that question in perspective, assume for a moment this is a robotic mission with a machine in my place. While it observes the same visions of all that surrounds me now, what would it feel about this view?”
After a moment’s hesitation and hearing nothing but the normal sounds of the ship at work, Merc shrugs his shoulders and answers his own question.
“Nothing at all…”
“Sam.”
Sam answers, “Yes?”
Merc states, “Science log. Begin new chapter. Set date and time. Planet observations, day one.
“Large areas of surface are visible but cloud cover is at about seventy percent. As has been the case in the past, this makes visual observation of the land and ocean surface difficult. The clouds themselves are visually striking. Like streamers around the planet, there are obvious bands of clouds that trace out the patterns of the winds circling the planet. Those patterns reveal how the winds twist, turn and spin in circles. Information collected by following their motion will help me decide where the probes will go to observe below the clouds. Entry completed.”
“Science log closed,” confirms Sam.
Merc gazes at the planet below, apparently engrossed by the magnificence of the view he just described.
“Out there is a vision no machine is able to appreciate, while I am mesmerized by this view.”
He returns his attention to the science console, continuing his work in silence, as the cloud patterns pass.
A short time later, Merc floats away from his science station then stops to look out another window. He lingers there and watches.
“I am fascinated by the lights dancing over the darkest pole. They are beautiful. Stunning visions like this make me wish I could share these experiences with someone.
“The images I send home generally represent the subjects of my research well, but they never seem to capture the vibrant images I actually see. Are the images I see and record beautiful because immersion within the experience influences my perception, or does the collected data lack something that carries that wonder? Maybe both conditions true.
“For example, I frequently look at the data I collect after each mission and find I don’t have quite the same feeling I get when I am there. All Explorers use simulations to study new destinations and I find that experience lacks substance when compared to my actual impression on arrival.
“Technically, the simulations are very good and serve their purpose well. Only when a direct comparison can occur, is there a notable difference. Obviously, when that data is used in a simulation, though convincing, it lacks some ingredient that carries the full impact of reality.”
Merc floats quietly by the window. His ship is very peaceful now. Only the cooling fans of the ship’s equipment make a mind-dulling drone that never stops. He takes a long slow breath.
“My profession exists to seek those differences. We collect information to help make those simulations realistic enough for researchers to study and learn about distant worlds. Unfortunately, getting to those worlds is tedium.
“I never get complacent on my missions, even though they are all similar in many ways. I never suffer from the repetition, since there are always differences to savor. The journeys are important and occupy my full attention. Many Explorers I consider normal, don’t easily see the subtle differences that I appreciate.
“I like believing I am different from most Explorers. I also like to consider my differences as advantages, even if believing that only keeps me from feeling like some kind of freak.
“I must be doing something right since I do lead the way in this business. I was one of the first Explorers and I have explored our solar system longer than anyone else has. I owe more than forty years of successful exploration to my constant awareness during the parts of journeys that others feel are very slow, unproductive and extremely boring.”
Merc goes silent. He appears to ponder what he just said. After a few moments, he shrugs, and then continues articulating his thoughts.
“Sometimes I worry that I am too content with being isolated on long excursions. I can’t remember the last time I was comfortable around people back home and my indifference grows stronger every time I return. My world feels so crowded and each homecoming illuminates my growing impatience with indecisive or superficial people. Worse, following each excursion, I notice even more of them appear to be that way.
“Maybe my preference for being alone with my ship, far from my home planet isn’t right. When I have a choice, I opt to live where there are few people. Until I have a good reason to rebuild my tolerance for others, I feel no need to change that preference. With the way I‘m treated after each homecoming, I can’t see when I’d EVER find a compelling reason to change.
“Given my somewhat paranoid disposition and caustic character, other Explorers are quick to remind me that I should interact as little as possible with ANY other people. They laugh at what they perceive is a fine joke, and then tell me it’s for my own good. I ignore the jabs. The other Explorers think they know me, but truly, we build our business on isolation. Even though we share that, it is our only common ground.
“When I’m with them, I’m all show. I don’t even try to make them understand that I’m not just another one of those confused castoffs with limited social ability. If I let them see below the surface, they’d find my antisocial exterior is actually hiding and protecting a charitable, caring person who has taken some hard hits in life. Those hard lessons forced me to assume the tough exterior they see as me. It is my shield from pain, as I trust nothing and I question everything. I also live in the moment, as if there is no future. Maybe that is why I am so good at what I do.
“Do you think anyone will believe that Sam?”
“Restate your query?”
Merc smirks and commands, “Cancel inquiry.”
“Done,” responds Sam.
He continues, “Actually, exploring requires some degree of anti-social attitude. It is a lonely existence. Excursions are always lengthy. Few sociable humans are capable of enduring isolation like this for long. Explorers spend many working years just drifting from place to place. We live alone in a metal box with no up, down or sideways. Technology gets us to our destinations and back. People don’t believe me when I tell them that space travel is not exciting. It is absolutely anesthetizing. Even considering the potential rewards, boredom and loneliness are the greatest dangers.
“Many Explorers have left home with grand dreams of amazing discoveries, only to quit sailing after one or two excursions. For some, their feelings take a path from the original excitement that turns to boredom, then loneliness, then depression, then hopelessness and self-destruction. They say the silence gets to them worse than any noise. With few distractions, I think they learn a lot about themselves they don’t like. When they spend that much time in isolation, there is nowhere to hide. Because of the great distances and time to traverse them, from any point of the mission, looking ahead at the remainder of the excursion can humble the strongest of us. Time feels like it passes so slowly. The lull of the fans can wrench a man’s sanity from its foundation and cause his mind to experience events that never happen.”
He watches the changing crescent for a while in silence.
Merc mumbles, “Then the second day begins.”
He looks quickly at his console, regroups his thoughts and continues. “These problems can be overcome by developing a disciplined mind. The Thought-Exercises and running personal logs are part of achieving that control.”
“What's more, exploring is simply a dangerous business. Many Explorers never return from excursions. Mistakes are easy to make and can be costly. You often pay the price with your life. Many times, the destination seems hardly worth the trip. It is usually just another piece of dust, cloud of gas, chunk of rock or ball of ice.”
Merc looks longingly out the window at the splendor of the planet below.
“For me, though, destinations like this one make all the other trips worth doing.”
He pauses, longer this time while observing below.
“Yeah, what a view.
“Anyway, one more check and I’m finished here.”
Merc tests his equipment again to be sure everything is functioning correctly. Satisfied that it is, he floats through a door labeled ‘Storage’.
The image shifts to the storage bay, following him automatically.
“I keep a number of research probes here. Orbiting missions using manned and robotic-probe observation have reached a point where the research they return isn’t worth their cost. Our inability to land on and leave the surface of a planet is evident since we have had little luck with robotic landing craft. To overcome that difficulty, I have a new research tool that combines a robot probe with my direct control.
“My next task is to prepare one of my three airborne probes for launch. They are an exciting new direction in our research. This will be the first time the flying probe concept is used in real research, on any of the planets and we are optimistic about the success we should have with them. Many of us are convinced these devices are critical to broadening our observations.
“Even though they are not mission tested, the probes have performed beyond expectations back home. They are an agile and versatile platform for observing close to the ground, and they are almost unbreakable. They can resist high impacts, strong acids and extreme temperatures. Depending on various properties of the subject planet’s gravity, atmosphere and environment, the probes can fly for durations ranging from hours to weeks. Here, on this planet, I can fill the tank with more liquid hydrogen and they could stay airborne for many days.
“They are smart, too. The autonomous system design of the flying-probes allows them to function without any more than a selection on the planet’s surface of a desired area, yet they are capable of direct control from a pilot who can fly ‘live’ from the orbiting ship.
“I am eager to deploy these flyers, especially when I think of the potential for the research we can collect from the variety of sensors they carry. This ship collects and stores the images and other data transmitted from the probes through the orbiting satellites.
“The flyers are expensive. Even with the Experimental Device discount, I had to incur considerable debt to purchase them. Retrieving them after their mission is not possible, so they are for one time use by design. I will launch just one for now because each one I send down is lost forever. If this first one fails, I can get my investment in all three back. Sam will monitor it until it expires from mishap or fuel depletion. Until then, it should send back some precious and fascinating views of the planet below.
“As I mentioned before, I believe there is something special about this planet so I am optimistic the flyers will have a great return on their investment. Using them, the potential for startling discoveries on this mission could be substantial. I’m certain because we already know there is life below.
“It’s true. A few years ago, scientists were shocked when an unfortunate stationary probe soft-landed on the surface.” Merc laughs, “Soft-landed is a matter of opinion. This is another solid reason for manned expeditions instead of potentially doomed robotic missions. Damaged on landing, the probe had limited focusing range and no panning available from the imagers. Still, it discovered a live plant clinging to existence in the waterless wasteland surrounding it.
“It was a strange looking little plant situated just in front of the probe’s lens. As far as the image showed, it was alone. However, since the rough landing crippled the equipment, scientists could only assume there were probably more of the plants outside of the imager’s range. The plant was small and did not change size noticeably for the life of the probe, yet it withstood long periods with no moisture. The probe’s environmental data confirmed what the scientists expected to find due to the planet’s distance from the sun. Its climate was very cool at night and not much warmer during the day, barely melting the ice that covered the ground at night. The probe tested the soil. It was dry, sandy, and nutrient starved. That led us to conclude that the planet could be a tough place for life to flourish. Challenging the climate’s brutality, the plant clung to existence for the duration of the probe’s operating life.
“On the next excursion to this planet, a mobile probe was dropped to the surface to wander and learn more but it returned no information. Control detected a carrier signal but there was no information on it. The official cause of the failure was another defect in the landing system. The operators blamed the landing, possibly from alighting awkwardly on rough ground and damaging the probe beyond use. The orbiter that dropped it was unable to resolve a detailed enough image to find the probe from orbit by the time it quit working. The probe remains missing. Observations by a subsequent manned mission placed its landing zone near high altitude cliffs but never located the probe. Given that information, Control decided the probe could have rolled down a steep grade upon landing.
“Until mine, there have been no other robot, and only the one manned, expedition here since that landing. That left us with almost no information about the plant life on this planet except that it can survive with little water, cool yet widely varying temperatures, poor soil and, similar to the plants at home, probably uses the weaker sun for energy to exist.
“Even though the first probe observed a harsh environment, there are other signs that indicate better conditions for life in other areas and a potentially diverse range of plant types. The improved prospects come from theories based on information gathered from previous orbital visits and observations from ground based systems at home. The scientific team who contracted me for this mission is in agreement that there are very likely many other forms of simple plant life here.
“So why send me all the way here in such a hurry to observe a few mundane plants? Who really cares?
“Even though another planet with simple plant life is interesting, why spend such a large portion of the space program’s budget to visit some other garden? To all who are not involved in planning, my excursion, this trip appears routine or more likely, a waste of resources.
“Routine, except this trip is really much more important than that. Finding other plant life is not all they hired me to do. What they did not advertise about my mission is that there is also the possibility of discovering some kind of animal life. Obviously, we do not know for sure if we will find any, so Control is impatient for the results of my visit. All they have to fuel this excitement is a glimpse of something that caught one scientist’s attention.”
Merc selects a thumbnail image from the display on his science station and it expands to fill the screen. It is a blurry image but it shows what appear to be waves in water.
He continues, “A member of the science team for whom I do contract work was doing routine post-mission processing of data from the last manned excursion and found an intriguing image. The records came from the Explorer’s automated long-range camera on its last orbit and captured a few fascinating frames. In them, they saw a brief, blurry view of the ocean surface in those images. A shadowy group of objects at a location that had been previously uniform in color excited the scientists.
“What did they spot just before the Explorer left the planet? Nobody is sure. Carefully reviewing all the records from previous orbits, and even records of that area from other visits, they found nothing remotely similar. The researchers have all ruled out the possibility that the images are waves on the surface or even optical artifacts. Because they saw the dark features on that pass, but not on other passes over the same location, the scientists believe the objects are alive.
“Additional image enhancement and analysis leaves most of the team believing there is a high probability that they discovered some primitive animal life. Whatever the images show is difficult to determine because atmospheric refraction makes them very distorted. With such vague information, however, nobody can tell if the images show actual life forms, and even less so, what they could be.
“Scientists disagreeing with my team’s conclusions think they could be, large yet simple water-borne plants resembling huge airbags floating at the surface. A life form like that could efficiently use the diminished power of the sun to survive. Another suggestion is that they might be large colonies of single celled animals in the early stages of evolution.
“This last possibility is the most exciting because discovering animal life on this planet, especially at this infantile point in their existence, will mean we can watch animal species developing toward more advanced forms. This is the hope of my sponsors. I’m not so sure that the dark shapes in those images are animal life, but I am eager to find out, and that is where the flyers play a significant part in this mission.
“By using these flyers, my team will receive surface details they have never before collected. The capability of these flyers has me looking forward to discoveries that will make those blurred images look as if someone created them for the gossip news media.
“Confirming, locating, and then studying life on this planet is the primary purpose of this mission. At my team’s insistence, I am to execute it with extreme delicacy, especially if I’m correct about my own feelings of the possibilities for this planet. My team doesn’t know what I expect to find.
“Maybe I’m fooling myself, but I do believe in the potential for animal life on land. That concept is completely unfounded, considering the lack of any evidence beyond the possibility of simple water-borne colonies. Discovering land animals is a significant leap over all expectations and my effort to find them influences how I will begin exploring.
“The first flyer will start its reconnaissance by looking on land. Unless the life is underground, locating and studying life there will be easier than looking over the ocean. If I do find any animals on land, I anticipate that they are probably very small. The flyers are able to fly very slowly so once this flyer is near the surface, I configured it to follow closely to the ground to find any small life down there. If this first flyer fails to find anything of interest, the next flyer will explore over the ocean.
“I believe that being only a few hundred lengths of its wingspan above the terrain will allow the flyer to collect some interesting images and observations.”
Merc inserts the flyer probe into the launch bay.
“Sam.”
“Yes Merc.”
“Flyer is prepared for release.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Sam will monitor for the optimum moment to release the flyer and then send it toward the surface. I have nothing to do now but wait for the ship to inform me when we reach the destination orbit. Personal log, entry complete.”
Effortlessly, he coasts back to the pilot's lounge and slides into the restraining straps, leaving them loose. He looks outside.
“What a view.”
He watches the planet pass overhead. A nearly continuous covering of clouds over the daylight side makes details on the surface difficult to see. He leans back into the lounge to watch and wait.
~~~~****~~~~
Two: “Orb”
[Krolier’s Dig]
>> Orientation Day:
“Mosquitoes suck!” Dr. Krolier curses as he slaps his neck. At nearly two meters and well muscled, he is an imposing man yet he appears comical as he struggles against his tiny foe. Even with the curtain of mosquito netting hanging from the broad-brimmed hat to cascade around his shoulders, it tends to dangle too close to the skin on his neck. When he leans over just right, that is when the nasty little monsters can enjoy a feast in spite of his efforts to deter them.
Dr. Richard Krolier is an archeologist. He prefers everyone calls him “Digger.” He has a keen interest in ancient civilizations. For the last ten years, he and his team have excavated this one area deep in the jungle of South America. In those ten years, they found nothing, though at any moment, he expects to uncover something fantastic. He doesn’t know what he will find beneath their painstaking digging. He simply “knows” there is something amazing to find below the mysterious rock.
I am his wife, Sharon. His conviction goes back twelve years, to when he and I began prospecting this area for ancient stone ruins. We never found ruins. Instead, following months of wandering the jungles and mountainsides, we found a secluded native village nestled at the foothills of a valley surrounded by steep clay cliffs. The villagers were friendly and treated us well as guests, providing us a place of our own and generously sharing their food.
During our stay, one of the senior tribal members showed us something interesting.
When he saw the artifact, Digger couldn’t be sure, but felt it was a creation from a very ancient, yet advanced civilization. Asking about its origin, the villagers could only tell him the story of the item’s discovery.
Their story began a few generations earlier, when part of their jungle burned from a ferocious fire. Though the fires didn’t reach their village, the nearby animals were frightened away and food was difficult to find. Hunters traveled far from the village in search of more animals and one party became lost. While wandering deep in the jungle, they found the artifact. Being curious, they took it with them. On their return, many days later, they had the relic with them but no clear recollection of where they had found it. The tribe’s members still considered it a curiosity. Since it served no purpose, it meant nothing to them.
As we prepared to leave, Digger traded with the elders for possession of the artifact. The elders would have probably given it to us but they shrewdly negotiated for some sad looking chocolate candy Digger carried as a snack and an “all-in-one” survival tool that intrigued one of them. The transaction thrilled Digger and he was impatient to return to the university where he teaches so he could begin analyzing the artifact in his labs.
Over several months, his team ran many different tests and repeated them many times. The results always brought them to the same conclusion. Their discovery was beyond comprehension. Detailed microscopic images of the artifact’s structure showed them that its present shape wasn’t from carving, grinding or chipping. It was grown. They could determine neither its age nor its origin. It resisted all of their efforts to unlock its secrets.
In concluding their tests, they gained no significant increase to the knowledge they already had of the artifact. Digger was convinced that some advanced civilization had to be responsible for creating it. He had to know its secret. He decided, at that point, finding the artifact’s original location was his most important mission. Digger understood the search could be a waste of time. It could have been lying on the ground, far from its original location or anything else like it. However, he was convinced that his only hope to uncover more clues to this mystery was to discover where the hunters found it. He felt an item as unusual as this artifact meant something. He was convinced it wasn’t alone nor an isolated example. He was determined to find the location.
For two years, Digger and I explored the jungles near the village where the hunters found the artifact. In an apparently hopeless effort to find more clues about the civilization that created it, Digger’s determination to discover the artifact’s original location bordered on fanatical. The more we searched, the more obsessed he became of discovering anything about the ancient people.
Near the end of our second year expedition, I was climbing a small knoll to get a better look at the area we were prospecting, when I found the stone block centered within the clearing where no trees grew. At the top of the block, inside a hollow at the end of a drilled shaft, I found another artifact.
The first one was fascinating enough to give Digger cause to spend two years looking for its original location. The second artifact was compelling enough to make him commit the rest of his life to uncovering the ancient people’s secrets. Never in his life had he felt so close to discovering something so wonderful.
That was then.
Today, the pile of satellite infrared and radar maps, he was lecturing over when interrupted by the little blood-sucking creature, have Digger’s attention. “See these depressions here and here?” he asks aloud while pointing at the maps. “We are nearly in the middle of this one.”
He looks up at the people gathered around him. They are students who have just arrived from the university where he teaches.
“We have a group digging along these lines, hoping to cross the edge of what I predict are the buried remains of a very ancient community.”
Digger looks up and points through the mist at a large canvas tent surrounded by smaller tents and lean-tos. “One of the two artifacts we studied in class was found just over there. Under that tent, sits the stone block we originally discovered at the very center of this depression. It was more of a mound when we found it and the block turned out to be the top of a stone pillar.”
“We haven't found anything else like the artifacts in the ten years since we started excavating this site. My feeling is that we haven't yet dug deep enough to find anything.” Digger pauses, taking a deep breath. The group around him remains silent in anticipation of what he has to say.
Digger breathes out with a long sigh, “Sadly, we are beginning to have some problems with funding for this project. Our benefactors are convinced there is nothing else out here. Sometimes I can almost convince myself they are right but I keep coming back to this question: Why were these two artifacts situated within these unique pillars located in the exact center of these two basins?”
He looks at his new team members as if he expects an answer. After a moment, he begins to answer his own question in an effort to prompt a response, “It’s simple, really. They were mounted where they were mounted so....”
He pauses to see if anyone would fill in the rest of the sentence that he uses so often in his classes. When nobody does, he finishes, “…so we would find them, of course. Do any of you attend my classes?”
“Hey Digger.” interjected one of the students, “If you were someone in that ancient civilization, why would you bother to leave these things to be found by someone? Old civilizations usually just collapse while everyone futilely struggle to survive. Nobody within those collapsing civilizations cares about future generations since they are in fear of losing their own life. Following the conventional line of belief, shouldn’t you then conclude that the pillars are part of some crude temples? The artifacts were offerings to some god of agriculture, or god of water, or some pointy-headed bird, or maybe a sun god. Yeah, the Sun God, that’s always the fallback position when they have no clue. Other archeologists usually put a discovery like this in that light.
“They would tell us the artifact was used on the altars of an ancient sun worshiping clan of heathens during bloody sacrificial rituals intended to improve hunting, fishing, longevity or maybe sex by naked proto-human savages. You however, are trying to convince us things here aren’t so innocent.”
Digger replies, “Those are tough questions. You also make very good points. We don’t know why a civilization capable of such extraordinary materials science creations would collapse or even bother to leave a legacy. At this time, we simply continue digging carefully until we reach the bottom of the pillar. As much as I would like to speculate, the truth is that we still know nothing of these people, except the incredible quality and durability of the artifacts and the fascinating stone pillars.
“Look at this,” Digger pulls up and projects an image with his computer. “Each pillar appears as though quarried in one piece and so far, we have excavated nearly 20 meters of this one and it has no breaks. It is solid. A bigger mystery for us is from where they quarried them. We don’t know. Look at the artifacts. Until forty years ago, where in the world could you find technologies that can form the shapes we see using these specific materials? Then add that their mass is precisely the same, which is no small feat, at nearly 5,000 carats each. You can only conclude these aren’t superstition based religious icons created by some bored aboriginal dart-blower with a stone hammer. Their very existence gives cause, strike that, implores us to read so much more into them.”
The student responds, “I admit, your scenario does paint a perplexing picture. However, we make new discoveries every day of technologies that were lost and reinvented.”
“That is true. Consider the degree of technical sophistication and understanding necessary to create, or even shape the artifacts to this detail. In addition to the technologies they represent, a person these days would have to be deluded to believe them to be the work of ancient indigenous tribes. By the way, contrary to some of the rumors I’ve heard, I am not one of them. My tribe lives in Boston.”
Sporadic laughter rolls through the group of students.