illumination, peter edgell [most popular ebook readers .TXT] 📗

The fat mass of machinery hung solid and still; a darkness against the deep of space. Waiting.

Van Boer leaned back in his chair, yawned and stretched. The muscles around his neck ached, his eyes were sore and he was no closer to a decision than he had been four days previously, when the Deep Space Resource Ship, ’Martina’, had slipped into geo-stationary orbit above the planet. He sucked slowly through his teeth. The planet was an anomaly, a puzzle that played his mind as he had been taught to use it. It was also rapidly becoming a major source of stress between himself and Rodgers, the Captain. Van Boer worked for the Government. As the Alternative Life Form Officer aboard the ship, his decisions over-rode the Captain’s when it came to allowing a ship access to a planet’s resources or to marking it for further investigation. As far as they knew, humans were still the only evolved intelligence. Serious searching had gone on for the past two centuries without success but never without hope. Money, on the other hand, drove the ‘Martina’. Corporation money for the cargo but, more importantly as far as the crew were concerned, one-trip money with bonuses - the chance to be set up for life – that’s what counted. That was all that counted. And Van Boer sat in the way, holding the prize a fingertip beyond touching, a word away. A single word: “Clear”.
He stood up and walked away from the Search Section. Behind him, screens shimmered, logging trace runs as every possible communication procedure was attempted; running diagnostics on every heat signature, every electrical pulse. Everything was being analysed – every single scrap of information. Except for visual. There was nothing to see. The planet was invisible.

The low buzz of life stopped as Van Boer sloped across the wide Restroom and stopped at the foodcom. Coffee substitute filled the container; it tasted like cat sick but that was just the chemicals. He had become used to it and, besides, it smelt good. Questioning eyes turned towards the lanky officer. He waited for Jeri. She would ask first, she always did. The Equipment Officer lounged, feet up on one of the small tables; long legs, greasy skin and a fat mouth.
“What news from our herald?” she asked sarcastically. “Found any bugs yet – or can we get on and make an honest living, like everyone else in the real world does?”
Van Boer smiled thinly at her as he crossed to the observation window.
“What real world?” he said, quietly. “It’s only the computer’s word that there’s anything there.”
“The readouts show minerals in quantities that no-one has ever seen on a single planet,” said Formane. “No life form could exist under those circumstances. Give us the nod and we’ll take the Flipper down, have a look – see if there is a planet there or if the comp’s just gone boots-up.”
Formane was short and wiry with a face like a nut; a seasoned, dependable man with an enviable Navy pilot’s record. He made sense. That was the trouble with him – Formane always made sense.
“What’s the harm in just having a look?” asked Rodgers. “We could drop a Stealth Probe….”
The Captain was leaning against one of the doors. Van Boer had not noticed him arrive. The Government Officer frowned. Something was seriously wrong. He felt it and he knew that, deep down, they all felt it as well. No one else was going to admit it though. Still, planets did not become invisible on their own. There had to be a directing force – but was that force something physical or was it a life form? Van Boer sighed.
“Give me another twelve hours, at most. If there’s no further progress, you can organise a visit. Okay by you, Captain?”
Rodgers pursed his lips, then nodded slowly. He had no other real choice.
“Twelve hours,” he said, beginning to turn away. He stopped, turned his eyes to the Government Officer’s, and added, “No more, Lieutenant Van Boer. The ship and the Company will have granted you all legal time and facilities for study. You have twelve more hours.”
The door hissed before and after his departure.
Someone coughed.
Van Boer headed back towards the Search Section.

***

Threads of fear ran swift and subtle along the folding olive world. There was breathing and the terror went away. There was breathing again but this time it was joy.

***

The Stealth Probe lasted less than four minutes. On camera, the ‘dark electric’ wing-engine glowed faintly for a second as it dipped out of view - vanished to the eye. The Comp tracked its run, short and anything but sweet, until it went past tense. What little data it sent only confirmed Van Boer’s previous findings. No light, a soup-like ‘atmosphere’ and yet, ‘winds’ in excess of 400 kph.
“What happened to it?” asked Jeri. She was standing behind Rubikov, the Science Officer. He turned towards Van Boer, raising his eyebrows in question. The Lieutenant shrugged.
“It vanished,” said Rubikov.
“You mean it was destroyed?” asked the Captain.
“No,” answered Rubikov. “It… just…vanished. If it had been destroyed, no matter how suddenly, the last point of data would have been an Injury Signature. There was nothing. It just vanished. It’s impossible.”
“No activity around it, Captain,” said Van Boer, no heat signals, no electrical disturbance… Wait!” His fingers played the screens, his lips muttered to his head-mike, calling up info. “The wind shifted.”
“What… Like a vortex around the probe? An eddy or something…?”
“Well, no… But this can’t be…” He was shaking his head.
There was a long pause. Rodgers broke it, irritated,
“Enlighten us, Lieutenant. If you please.”
Van Boer turned away from the screens.
“When I say the wind shifted, I mean the wind changed direction fractionally and just for a second. But it changed planet-wide…”

They decided to send down a ‘Bulldog’, the most heavily shielded probe that they possessed. Only the Habitation Centre – or the ‘Martina’ itself - could withstand greater atmospheric or surface forces. If the liquid- fuel powered ‘Bulldog’ could survive, even minimally, then one of the four Habitation Centres would be worth a try. What of its cargo though? Could they man it? One of the test mice was volunteered.

***

Confusion bubbled and broiled through the terror.
Whispers.
“It breathes, it breathes…”
A puff of air. The lights went out. The mouse lay still.

***

Van Boer sat shaking his head slowly. His jaw was open. Rubikov cursed. Once. Then stared at the screens before him, bewildered. The rest of the crew waited.
“Well?” asked Rogers.
“Well..,” said Rubikov, “on the plus side, the probe’s still there. It’s just… not working. All of its systems have shut down. All, that is, except one.”
“Which is?” prompted the Captain. He was getting more than irritated with the dramatic pauses.
“The mouse,” interrupted Van Boer. “It is breathing. Nothing else. It seems to be in some advanced state of hibernation. The life-support system appears to have dropped into some slo-mo state. No electrics – just a faint pulse… But that's coming from outside the probe.” He turned towards the Captain. “There’s a life-form down there, Sir.”
Rogers swore. His fortune, his future, was suddenly being sucked away.
“Not necessarily. How about the wind?”
Van Boer swivelled his chair back towards the screens.
“Same as last time,” he replied. “Faint movement, planet-wide.”
“There! Don’t get so carried away, Lieutenant! The entire planet can’t be an ‘alien’. There is some natural phenomenon at work. We just don’t understand it yet.”
“Sorry, Captain, but I beg to differ. I feel that we have enough…”
“Beg all you want,” growled Rogers. “There’s nothing conclusive enough to warrant you blocking us from prospecting this planet’s resources.”
“And just how are you going to do that, Captain?” Van Boer rose, a flush spreading up from his thin neck and across his cheeks. Stooping slightly, he pushed his face to within inches of the Captain’s. “You can’t run an operation from up here with no electrics. Are you going to put your crew’s lives in jeopardy by sending them down? Are you willing to take the chance of leaving them like the mouse, condemned to drift around some invisible planet, not quite dead?”
Rodgers was visibly shaking, veins pulsing across his neck and forehead. His temper was infamous. In a voice so low it was almost sinister he said,
“Your opinions are noted, Lieutenant. Return to your quarters until further notice. You are disrupting the running of my ship.”
“You can’t do that…”
“I am the Captain! I can, and will, do anything I want to protect the safety and smooth operation of my ship. Return to your quarters!” Rodgers’ voice rose in sound, word by word. He shouted at Van Boer, “That is a direct order!”
The silence of shock hung across the deck. Van Boer turned suddenly and stormed away. No one else breathed. They waited on the Captain. A faint smile suddenly played across his lips as he turned to his crew. No trace of a tremor.
“Right,” he said, “Let’s get down to business. This planet has everything that we came into space to get – and more… All we need to do is figure a safe way of getting it. I’m open to suggestions… Anyone?”

Formane and Lipscombe, his long-time co-tech, sat quiet in the nose of the Habitation Centre. Almost swallowed by the seating, they ran through final checks on their suits and then the vessel. All came smooth and clear.
In the top left of his helmet display, the pilot could see the image of his friend’s face.
“Sure about this?” he whispered.
“Don’t ask me,” replied Lipscombe. “I’m a Pisces, remember? Can’t make up my mind about anything.” He grinned.
“Let’s make it happen, Captain,” said the pilot, suddenly businesslike.
Rodgers voice crackled slightly.
“Luck!”
The Centre appeared to slow as it unlinked from the ‘Martina’. Its nuclear drive kicked in once for speed, then again for angle. The craft dipped towards the planet and everything stopped. The plan was relatively simple. No computers, no electronics, no power source of any kind apart from the minimal integral to their suits. There would be nothing to attract or upset the force that was confronting them. A once-round, low-surface fly-by, then one shot of the engine to crack the gravity and out again. It was the best the crew could think of. Dangerous, yes, but the stakes were so high – if the computer was to be believed – and Formane was the best. If anyone could pull it off, he could.

Fear and professionalism kicked and clawed at each other as the two men stared into the deep black and olive that surrounded them. Even their breathing seemed to have gone on hold. Then, with no warning, at the furthest point of the loop - barely a hundred metres from the surface - they broke free of the