Proving True

We fly for about seven hours. I nap for most of it. The sound of the attention chime wakes me. “We’re entering atmosphere,” Shawna announces. “Please fasten your safety belts, seal your helmets and return any crew members to their original, upright position.” We’re all awake now at any rate and we all snug our restraints then don and seal our helmets. One never knows.

Through the forward view port, I see the planet creeping upward as our pilots increase the angle of our descent. The atmosphere is a decidedly unpleasant orange and apparently very turbulent. Our descent is not smooth. As we get lower we learn that what we had believed to be a smooth landscape is actually a planet-wide dust storm. “The concentration of suspended particles is four parts per billion and rising,” Athena reports. “Applying the polymer over coating was a wise move. A typical hull would be eroded at approximately one millimeter per hour.” I can’t take credit for that idea, it came from the astral science department. They spent a week painting a resin of some kind on the hull. My fear was that it would boil off as we came through the atmosphere. Hopefully, it will buy us enough time to finish here and return to Star Chaser.

“The sensors still aren’t responding though,” Shawna reports. “We’ll have to get lower before we can even hope to find Gallagher. Hang on, boys and girls, we’re going to angels thirty. Everyone prepare for depressurization, just for fun. Athena, launch the reference beacon.” Typically, depressurization is only done if there’s a concern of hull breach. I haven’t heard either of them say anything concerning such, so I presume she’s erring on the side of caution. My visor is already sealed. The pressure bladders inflate inside my suit. I don’t start the exposure timer, she’s not letting the outside air in, just the inside air out. The overhead lights switch from white to orange. The ship is now at effectively zero atmospheres. The ship shakes like a maintenance crew is pounding on it with sledgehammers looking for soft spots in the armor. There’s a thump as Athena launches the small rocket towards the surface. Once it makes contact with the planet, it will continuously emit a signal for reference. Once a starting point is established—which the probe will do—we’ll begin our search. Shawna pulls the craft out of its dive and into level flight.

“Angels thirty,” Athena reports. “The sensors are coming on line and are scanning. The reference beacon is in place and operational.” We fly a polar search pattern, searching bands of the planet from pole to pole, for what feels like half an hour. Without preamble, Athena announces, “Found it, 39 degrees 42.113 minutes north by 44 degrees 17.899 minutes east, 5,137 meters altitude.”

“Marked in the navigational computer,” Shawna declares. “Freddie, I recommend we get out of this soup. I can maintain a geosynchronous position without risking the SDB.”

“Do it,” he says then turns to me. “Take seven people, I don’t care who aside from Athena, I want her to fly for you. So her and six others. I want you to take the pinnace down and do an aerial recon of that area. You are specifically looking for landing zones big enough to accommodate this boat. If you find one and feel you can investigate the wreck, get it done. But if you need to return and regroup, that’s cool too. What are your questions?”

“I think I’m good. I know the basic parameters of the mission. Aside from me and Athena, I’m taking a medic, a computer type, two troopers in wraith armor, and two heavy weapons troopers in marauder armor.”

Freddie nods, “I’ll make an infantrywoman out of you yet. Make it happen.”

I call out the appropriate names over the intercom. The heavy weapons troopers are already in marauder armor but the other two will have to change to wraith as soon as we reach orbit and repressurize the ship. I don’t have to worry about teaching them how to use it. We all had plenty of practice while we were cross training in quarantine. Once we are above the atmosphere, Shawna does in fact order the boat repressurized and the indicated troopers strip out of their marauder armor trading it for wraith. While they’re doing the fitting and function checks, the rest of us are loading the pinnace with the two maintenance robots, the tool kits, individual weapons and the heavy weapons. Of course, once the big weapons are loaded, the marauder troopers verify that they will do what’s expected of them. I keep hoping they won’t be necessary, but I’d rather have them and not need them then need them and not have them. Athena is busy with preflight checks and engine warm-ups. Within the hour, the pinnace is loaded and we’re all ready to go. I make the decision that we’ll travel depressurized, it will eat into our loiter time a little bit as the armor doesn’t have a connection for external air, but after the rough ride the larger system defense boat had, this dinghy is going to get kicked around like nobody’s business.

The descent is worse than before, there’s no way for Athena—good though she is—to keep the ship from rocking. We all try to press ourselves into our acceleration couches but for Beebles, the computer tech, it’s not enough. I reach for her wrist controls and try to shut her coms down as the first retch hits. Her last meal is violently projected all over the inside of her helmet. I wasn’t fast enough. I avert my eyes hoping I don’t join her. But the sound of her vomiting is broadcast over the intercom, and that’s the lit fuse that triggers it for the rest of us. Athena is the only one of us not sick. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Da used to tell me that the only people who didn’t get seasick were the ones who didn’t spend time on the water. Sooner or later, it’s going to happen. And motion sickness is motion sickness, whether it’s on a boat, in an airplane, on a roller coaster, or in a rocking chair. Beebles gets a little excited before the life support system—which recognizes vomition—kicks in and sucks all the mess from her helmet. On my wrist unit I tap out a quick text message to the team that we’ll get an opportunity to rinse out our mouths and helmets after we touch down.

Which is mercifully quick. As soon as Athena shuts the drive down, she repressurizes the pinnace. We all have our hands on our helmet seals. Without being asked, Athena moves through the passenger compartment passing out bottled water and rags, which we all accept.

As soon as we’re all more or less cleaned up I address them. “Okay, you in the wraith suits, I want you to step out and do a hasty recon. I don’t expect you to be gone twelve hours. In fact I would prefer you return in no more than two. But that’s probably an unrealistic goal. And while I do want you in full stealth mode I also want situational reports every thirty minutes. If you run into any trouble, sing out, break contact and we’ll be on our way as quick as we can get there. Our primary concerns are any organic and/or unfriendly things in the area. Questions?” There were none. “Good. Keep your heads down and your eyes open. Athena, start the mission clock. Sound a recall at now plus five hours.” That gives us a two-hour cushion.

As soon as they’re out I move up to the Command area and do a system check with the helmet cams on the wraith suits. The cameras will be useless while they are stealthy. Their forearm computers are already loaded with the silhouettes typical of the Grazer science ships, hopefully they’ll be able to determine if the wreck we detected is a candidate for Gallagher or not. If it isn’t, we can cut this trip short. And we will have wasted a tremendous amount of time with very little to show for it. “I wish we could have gotten closer,” I mutter.

“There is an open expanse around the derelict,” Athena answers. “But it is ice and untested. If our ship becomes marooned as well, our mission is compromised.”

“Agreed,” I say, “but it still would have cut down on their exposure and our wait.”

The first Situational Report, or “SITREP,” has a golden lining. “Pinnace, this is Strider,” Jerry reports, “We’ve found it.” The video feed from his helmet cam fills the monitor on the flight deck. “Boss, this is one ugly wreck, are you seeing it?” He must have shut down his stealth system, the images and the audio are very clear.

“Roger,” I answer. Ugly is an understatement. The ship entered the ice at roughly twenty-five degrees and looks like it’s stuck at about the midpoint. “Any clue on how thick the ice is there?”

“Mean estimate is three meters,” Jerry answers. “And as much as I’d appreciate you moving the boat to here, I’m seeing cracks and fissures all over the place. It would be bad if the pinnace got mired in as well. Eyeballing the wreck, it is Grazer class. We don’t see any markings, so I can’t say if it is or isn’t Gallagher but the odds favor it.”

“Strider, walk around it as close as you can, see if you can find an entry for us. Although, I suppose if we absolutely have to, we can enter through the engine nacelles and cut through the…”

“Negative,” Athena interrupts me. “There is energy radiating from the nacelles, most likely the containment field for the propulsion or another system has degraded. I have plotted the effective downwind pattern based on prevailing weather conditions. While the protection offered by the wraith and SoniArmor—excuse me—marauder suits should be sufficient, it is being degraded by the toxic atmosphere.”

“Salient point,” I say. “Strider, find us a place to cut through. Put out a welcome beacon, we’re on the way.”

“Wilco,” he says.

“Saddle up, team. It’s time to earn the big bucks.”

“You mean we’re getting paid for this?” Beebles asks. “I would’ve done this for free!” She’s trying to put on a casual front, but I see right through it. She’s just as scared as the rest of us. We all seal up our armor and take turns cycling through the airlock. I’d like to have Athena with us, but if nothing else returns to Star Chaser the pinnace and what little data has been collected must, and nobody else knows how to fly the silly thing.

Outside, Jerry’s beacon appears on our visors as a dull blue icon. It’s bright enough to stand out, but dim enough to not be a distraction. We begin the walk to the wreck as I relay our findings and my intentions to Freddie. The cold, the wind, it reminds me of the trip I made that cost me Gwendolyn. I push those memories away, now is not the time. We’re able to make slightly better time as we have a beacon we can home on. I activate the tactical scanner in my visor. It paints an overhead depiction of Jerry and Drake as well as the rest of us moving towards them. The boys are stationary. I suppose they’ve taken up overwatch positions on the wreck. Satisfied, I turn the tactical view off. On the walk I start to think. Three meters of ice tells me this place has been very cold for a while. But looking around, I see there are trees here. They all look frozen, of course, but in this climate they shouldn’t be here at all.

I call Athena, “Is there any way you can tell how long the plant life has been dead?”

“Stand by,” she answers. A few minutes later she calls me back, “I estimate one year, nine months plus or minus one have passed since any photosynthetic activity has occurred in this region.”

“That’s shorter than I would have expected, thank you.” I activate the comLink channel to the SDB and share my concerns with Freddie.

“Let me get this straight, Squatter,” he says, “You’re in a toxic atmosphere, preparing to force your way into a wrecked ship and you’re concerned about the local vegetation?” The stormy atmosphere is interfering with the signal, but we can scrub it up a bit.

“Not exactly, I’m concerned about an anomaly. Something isn’t adding up. I’m not a planetologist, but for the climate to take this big a dive, something happened. I don’t know what, but my guess would be the planet got knocked off it’s axis of rotation or its distance to the star got increased. Whatever happened is unnatural and it happened recently. And it may coincide with whatever wrecked this ship, be it Gallagher or not. That’s all I’m saying, I want it noted so the smart kids back on Star Chaser can figure it out or pass it on to the smarter kids.”

“If there are any smarter kids. Those eggheads are pretty bright. Okay, we’ll add some more things to the impressive list of things we’re already scanning on this rock. Anything you need?”

“Besides a foot massage and a long bath? No, not at the moment.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. SDB out.”

We’ve arrived at the scene of the crash, so to speak. I scoop up the beacon, deactivate it and start to hand it back to Jerry. Then I realize we’ll probably need to find it again, so I turn it back on and put it back where he left it. “Did you find us a door?”

“Depends on how much work you want to do, ma’am. And whether or not you brought your climbing gear,” he points up to one of the landing skid doors, “we should be able to cut through the interior walls after we get up there.” He gestures to a part of the ship closer to the ice, “Or we can cut, maybe blast, a hole on the dorsal side and only have to worry about footing on the hull. I’d prefer blasting, as it’s faster and I don’t like being in this toxic soup any longer than absolutely necessary. But my concern there is we might jar whatever’s holding this beast where it is and it slips even further.”

“And if it slips far enough, we’ve created an access port for more water,” I add.

“If we don’t set fire to the atmosphere,” he adds. “And judging by the distance from here to where the edge of the lake is,” he points back the way we came, “it will slip down to the bottom and we all go back empty handed to face the music.”

“Not a pleasant proposition,” I activate the team channel, “Group conversation. We’ve been thinking that this ship hit the ice after it had formed. We’ll save the discussion about penetration versus obliteration for another time. The question now is, why is it still outside the ice? If it hit with enough force to penetrate the ice, it should have kept going. But it didn’t. Thoughts? Let me hear’em people.”

After a few seconds, Beebles puts out a thought, “What if it hit something that was soft enough to hold on to it? Something that would yield enough to keep it from bouncing off?”

“Like seaweed,” Jerry says. “Or a big pile of silt. That’s as good an idea as any, and it might be responsible for what we see.”

“So blowing a hole in the roof shouldn’t upset it too much,” Drake says.

“’Shouldn’t’,” I agree, “but that doesn’t mean it won’t. Okay, we’ll accept the vegetation as a working theory. Drake, put some boom clay on the dorsal area, ideally over an existing hatch, the plating may be a little bit thinner there. I’ll put you in for a bonus if you can blow the locking mechanism with minimal damage to the hull.”

“Wilco,” he says and sets to the task of placing the explosive charge.

Once he announces he has the charge set we all move off 200 meters in every direction, thereby minimizing jeopardy to the team if the ice shatters. “Boss?”

“Blow it,” I tell Drake.

“Fire in the hole!” he yells and triggers the detonator. The charge detonates with a satisfying boom. There is a brief flash and a cloud of smoke. And what looks like steam venting from the new hole. We wait, but do not hear the telltale sign of cracking ice or metal sliding on ice.

“Everyone stay where you are,” I broadcast over the net, “until I tell you otherwise.” I walk back to the ship and up the spine to the hole the charge made. The hatch cover has been blown inwards. There is nothing moving inside the corridor, but the frost is rapidly growing on the walls. “All clear,” I say on the team net, “approach.” Wait a minute! It was heated? I know it’s against the rules and I’m going to catch ninety credits worth of hell for it, but I drop into the hatch and activate my bioscanner. The emergency lights are on. The danger lights should be burning scarlet, but they’re down to a dull red.

Thirty seconds later, my headphones almost explode. “Squatter, what in the nine hells are you doing?” Freddie yells in my ear.

“Ratted me out, didn’t they?” I ask.

“As well they should have! When I see you again, I’m going to turn you over my knee.”

“And probably not in the good way,” if I can make him laugh maybe he’ll not be so mad at me.

“Definitely.” Nope, he’s still mad. “We have protocols and rules for a reason. Even engineers should realize that.”

No time to suck up, I’ll hit him with my best shot. “Boss, I’m picking up life signs, at least thirty.” The money spent on this ship went into the hull and the labs, not the interior walls. The bioscanner sees through them like they aren’t there. “And if we just blew away the insulation, they’re going to start freezing to death pretty soon.” I hear a pair of boots running up the hull and Jerry looks through the blasted airlock door. I wave at him and step to one side looking at the walls. It’s typical for a data plate to be installed at every entrance to a ship identifying it. The one on the bridge will be gold. The rest are brass. And there it is, “Good news, Freddie, I’ve found the data plate and this is Gallagher. We’ve found it.”

“That will make the Captain happy, but you’re still on my shit list for doing stupid shit. Get to the labs, secure the data drives, and get back here most rikki tik.”

“Wilco, landing party out.” The team has been entering behind us, Jerry dropped down as soon as he saw I was okay. Drake stays on the hull by the hole. We have no reason to expect there are any other life forms on this planet. He’ll watch our backs and make sure we aren’t surprised. Even if our warning is his dying scream.