CHAPTER 12. UNFAMILIAR SURROUNDINGS.
Six hours later the sleep slipped smoothly away from Michael and instantly he was awake and alert. Kandras had moved away from the bunk and was standing by the wash basin bathing his face. For the first time Michael took a close look at this alien life form; strangely there was no sense of repulsion, only a sense of kinship.
Kandras was a biped and roughly humanoid in shape. The torso was thick set and muscular with a perfectly proportioned balance between the legs and body. The body was clothed in a short-sleeved, ornate, tight fitting garment without trousers; the exposed legs rippled with muscles but the great difference occurred at the feet. Instead of a single foot the ankle split into two with a foot on each portion. The feet were flattish and appeared to be webbed between each of the three long toes. The most startling difference came in the arm structure.
The upper arm was heavily muscled but at the elbow, again, there was a division. The creature had two forearms on each side and each forearm had an extra joint giving a great dexterity to each of the three-fingered hands.
The head was well proportioned and had widely set, slightly bulging eyes. The nose was diminutive but the mouth was perfect with white, evenly-spread teeth. There were no ears as such, but the facility existed in the form of two small holes to the side of the eyes. Behind these orifices there was a kind of deep red, delicate, lattice work of flesh attached to the side of the neck.
It reminded Michael of some of the fan coral he had seen on Earth. It came to him in a flash, they must be a kind of gill structure, the Alien was amphibious; the double webbed feet would be superb under water.
As Michael watched, he realized that the creature was not breathing through its mouth. He looked more closely and discovered that there were respiration points just above the angle of the neck. On the skull just above the eyes were two deeper red protrusions, they were like a smooth bulge and Michael guessed that these were the keys to the Alien's telepathy.
Between the bumps and the eyes were two cat's whisker type structures; they looked like antennae and, again, Michael wondered if they were transmitters or receivers. As Kandras turned round he noticed that there was no facial hair at all, but the scalp bore a flaxen coloured hair of a comfortable length. Michael had always imagined that Alien forms were going to bear some kind of resemblance to the insect world.
He was relieved that this one, at least, did not; it was not even an arthropod. The skin was smooth and without blemish and was coloured on the red side of pink. Kandras, decided Michael, was a beautiful, powerful creature with an intellect and a background far superior to his own, if the ship was anything to go by.
Kandras detected Michael's scrutiny. “Do you like what you see?” he asked cautiously.
Michael grinned self consciously and replied, "Yes... I'm sorry I did not mean to offend, but as far as I know, I am the only man to have ever seen a life-form from anywhere except the planet Earth.”
"You may very well be right.”
“Are you amphibious?"
"Only in emergencies, my species is slowly losing this facility.”
“Where are you from?" persisted Michael.
“It would be too difficult to explain at this moment because we have no notion of each other's overview of speed, time and distance. Let it suffice to say that we are not of this galaxy.”
“Why are you here?”
Michael felt a wave of sadness overpower him, slowly it passed and Kandras continued. “Our world is doomed, our Sun is expanding and is close to engulfing our planet. The process has started and is irreversible, it will eventually happen to your world, but not for a long time. We are searching for a new home. Your own planet is very inviting, but it is out of the question; we could not interfere with your civilization.”
“Then why stay here?" asked Michael who was being inquisitive and not belligerent.
Kandras was startled by the question, “Why do you ask?"
"I have seen this vessel twice before during the last few years, " ventured Michael.
Kandras raised his antennae in mock horror. "You have seen us before? I thought we were undetectable."
"You are, on our instruments, but I saw you with my own eyes and so did my Crew.”
“Aah… I remember an incident near to the sixth planet…. Was that you?”
“It was and that sighting completely changed my life. It is rather strange, but I am here on account of this vessel.”
“This is very fascinating, please could you explain.”
Michael quickly told his story and its consequences. He held nothing back and even included the suspicion that this very vessel may have had something to do with the disappearance of the Hercules and Titan.
There was a moment of silence at the end of his story, Kandras stared solemnly and said, "Michael I assure you that we have not attacked any ships, nor would we, unless we were physically threatened ourselves."
"I know that now," replied Michael. “I, too, was tricked by them and lost my ship and my crew. They cast me adrift in space after I refused to join their gang, I even attacked their Captain but was disabled before I could get to him. One of my Crewmen backed me up and worked him over, but one of the guards killed him. It seems that my handling of the Mission has failed my Crew, my Ship and my Company."
"You are a man of great honour, Michael. Do not distress yourself we will recover everything using my vessel and we will do it together.”
“Thank you, Kandras, your help is gratefully received... but you have still not told me why you remained in our Solar System."
Again came the flood of grief and despondency. “The answer is simple we had nowhere to go. Our signals have never been acknowledged and we have seen no others of our species since we left our home a long time ago. I fear that I am the last surviving member of my species now that my crew is gone. I am no danger… there will be no invasion. It is true that your planet with all its water would have made a wonderful home, but the resident population, no offence intended to you, would have been extremely sceptical about sharing their planet with an alien life form. I have also witnessed your willingness and capabilities to defend yourselves we would not have stood a chance. As it is now, I simply need some company to live out my days; I don't think they would begrudge me that... I have a lot of knowledge which could help your people.“ Kandras paused and reflected for a moment then said, "Are you well enough to eat, Michael? I’m starving. We will feed and then start on our repairs.”
“I'm yours to command,” smiled Michael.
They left the cabin and proceeded back to the Command Area, Kandras took one look at the death and devastation and a black cloud of sorrow invaded Michael's mind and simply swamped him, causing him physical pain. He dropped to his knees and cried out. Kandras turned and saw what his emotional outburst had done to Michael. Immediately the pain disappeared leaving Michael gasping and weak at the knees.
"I'm sorry Michael it was just seeing all this carnage, I could not keep control it will not happen again."
Michael nodded and struggled to his feet. "I’m alright now, but I couldn't handle that amount of telepathic power... my poor, old brain feels bruised.”
They walked to the two dead aliens who had changed colour with the return of the atmosphere. Already the bodies were in the first stages of decomposition and starting to smell. In spite of this, they looked at peace and strangely beautiful.
Kandras went back down the corridor to a store room and returned with two bulky body bags. Together they gently lifted the corpses into the bags and sealed them.
“Do you have a ritual for your dead?” asked Michael softly.
“Yes, we believe in a God. It goes back a long time but we pray to our God through his Son who was sent down to our Planet in our form to establish a system of worship and an administration.”
"This story sounds familiar, what did you call this Son of God?”
“He chose the name Jesus.”
Now it was Michael's turn to be emotional. “That is the same name which is used on Earth for the Son of God He must visit all civilizations in their own form, perhaps trying to unite them. It’s…. It’s……..” Michael’s voice tailed away as his mind wrestled with the enormity of his revelation.
“Do you believe in Jesus?" asked Kandras.
“Yes, I always did deep down, but there were nagging doubts from time to time… but not any more.”
"Please will you pray for the souls of my Crew members with me?”
"Of course I will.”
Both men said their silent prayers and then loaded the bodies into the airlock; Michael realized that the aliens were very heavy. They were also very big about seven feet six inches tall. Although they were both weakened, they managed the task, eventually. Kandras ejected the bodies, crossed to the observation panel and gazed sorrowfully at the remains of his former companions.
"Watch with me a moment, Michael,” requested Kandras.
Michael came and stood by him and watched the pathetic bundles drifting aimlessly away. As he watched, both bags started to glow simultaneously, first pink, then deeper red. Soon the whole bags were a fiery red, then came the sparks. Slowly an aura of gases built up round the flames, then the flames really took hold and they danced and changed colour with wild intensity, getting bigger and more awesome by the second. Finally with a blinding flash of intense white light the display finished and there was nothing.
There was a respectable period of silence before Kandras spoke. “One of the great creations of an advanced civilization... self-cremating body bags spectacular, don't you think?”
There was more than a hint of cynicism in his remark. “It was like a miniature super-nova," replied Michael.
“You are very perceptive; Michael... that is just what it was intended to be. Now it is done, I think that I can eat. I am desperately hungry... could you eat something? I'm pretty sure the food synthesizer can come up with something palatable for you."
"It's going to be a long painful death if it can't," mused Michael. "Let's give it a try.”
Ten minutes later they sat down to a strange, steaming, stew-like bowl of food and a vaguely pink, sparkling drink of some kind. Michael hesitated, crossed his fingers, stuck in the triangular eating utensil and, very gingerly, lifted some food to his mouth, held his breath and shovelled it in. To his amazement it was absolutely delicious.
They both ate in silence and drank their drinks, Michael could feel his cheeks going a little numb and a warm glow swept through him. At first he thought that he was reacting against the food, but a moment later he realized that it was not the food but the drink which was causing the trouble. He was getting tipsy………. he chuckled inwardly as the notion occurred to him that they weren't so different after all.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Neville Johnson was cold and hungry; he was alone and a fugitive. He was trapped and getting desperate and had failed to formulate any kind of plan to exploit his freedom. In the confusion which had surrounded the fight at dinner, Neville had simply slipped under the table and had crawled to a locker where he had managed to conceal himself. David Boothman had seen him go and winks had been exchanged. It was debatable whether he would be missed straight away and, in the event of a search, he did not want to be retaken.
When the room had finally been cleared, Neville had acted quickly. He had quickly slipped out of the dining room and stealthily worked his way into one of the outer hulls. Fortunately it was a big ship and the Crew was small so it was easy to avoid them. As he looked round he saw a porthole and peered through it. The Atlas was under tow and floating gently behind them at the end of a long latticework girder. They were moving relatively slowly and Neville wondered if there was a Crew aboard or if it was totally empty. The longer he waited the more he realized that he needed to get back on board the Atlas if he was to be of any use at all.
He accepted that his Captain was dead and it grieved him. Neville had liked Captain Stephens, he had respected him and that respect had been returned. He had also lost his new found friend, Gary. Neville was hell bent on revenge and he was determined to get satisfaction before he, too, was killed.
With an effort, he pulled himself together and considered his position. It was obvious that he needed a space suit, without one he could not hope to make the journey across to the Atlas. He would have to find one and quickly.
The hull that he was in did not appear to be used very much. In fact it looked very much as the original prospectors would have left it. He decided to search it to see what he could find. The smaller hull was firmly welded to the larger hull and entry was gained through a large tube which connected to the hold. At that moment Neville was hiding behind two large packing crates and had sat there for many hours without any disturbance at all.
Stealthily, he emerged from his hiding place and began a thorough search of the hull. It was very dark and he groped about until he found a door. It was some kind of sixth sense which persuaded him not to barge straight through it. It was a very old fashioned airlock which had been fitted to the ship.
It was optional whether the cargo hold was pressurised or not, depending on what was being carried. Consequently it did not have the safety precautions associated with the main airlock. To have opened it would have been disastrous, it would also have been the end of Neville.
Instead, he felt round the door and found a dimmer switch for the lighting. To his amazement it worked and a comforting, dull, yellow glow slithered into the hold. He kept the lighting down to a minimum to avoid detection and when he realized what he had nearly done he suddenly felt much warmer, in fact he broke out into a sweat.
He crossed the hold and located the door in the bulkhead. It was manually operated but was well oiled and in good repair; it swung open easily. Neville then entered what were the living quarters of the original crew. It was still in its original condition apart from some obviously additional thick cables at high level. Neville guessed that these were for the remote controls of the engines to the bridge. He went into the first of the four small cabins, again using the dimmer switches. He looked into the large locker and found that there were some clothes. Gratefully he slipped into some warm clothing and then found another treasure; a pair of old space boots. They were a little on the big side, but he put them on any way.
With growing confidence Neville resealed the cabin and moved on to the next. At first glance it appeared to be empty, but a more thorough investigation yielded a pair of space gloves: not the answer to his problem but essential enough. They were a little perished in places but adequate for the short journey he intended to make.
The third cabin was larger and had probably been the Skipper's. The first locker was bare, the second contained some ordinary clothes. In the opposite corner of the cabin was a third locker. Neville quickly crossed to it, swung open the door and caught his breath; hung up inside were three well-preserved space suits.
Neville took one down and examined it carefully, particularly the seams. Everything seemed to be alright but there was something very unfamiliar about the suit. Suddenly the penny dropped, Neville laughed inwardly as he realized that the suit was a Russian made garment.
“Thank God for good old Russian thoroughness,” he said aloud.
Everything was there, even the helmet, but there was not a tank. Neville reasoned that they must have a store room where these things were kept and he continued his search. He ventured warily onto the bridge of the vessel, but felt very exposed in the glassed-in nose panel. A quick glance confirmed that it had more or less been stripped apart from the remote engine controls, so Neville quickly withdrew to avoid detection.
He returned to the hold to make a more thorough search. He eased up the lighting again and had a look round; no cylinders were in evidence. There were a series of lockers across the rear bulkhead which were the last remaining places to be searched. The first one contained a supply of hand tools and the second one was empty. Inside the third there was a puzzle: three different coloured cylinders with the contents scribed in Russian. It could have been Double-Dutch as far as Neville was concerned, it meant absolutely nothing to him.
Neville opened the valve on the first one and decided it was not air, or even oxygen. It was possibly acetylene, he remembered seeing a welding torch in the tool locker and dragged it out. He tried the union onto the tank, it fitted but would not fit the others, so he realized that he could not possibly use that cylinder.
He tested the other cylinders and they were both odourless. Picking up the cylinders he returned to the cabin where the space suits were. He tried the union on the first of the tanks but it would not fit; he tried the second and it fitted like a glove. Again Neville thanked the simple logic of the Russians. Quickly, Neville went back to the hold taking the space suit and cylinders with him. He took time out to leave everything neat and tidy in an effort to cover his tracks.
He inspected the outer door inside the hold and realized that it was a single door. He also found a switch which would operate a warning light when the door opened. The pertinent question was whether this light would have been transferred to the main bridge console. Neville was of the opinion that any intelligent Captain would wire a telltale light on his airlocks; he remembered the mass of wiring from the bridge and decided to jam it.
He looked around for the means to do it. Back in the tool locker he had seen some thin metal strips and some insulation tape; he found them and crossed to the door. Neville bent the metal and wriggled it inside the door seal until it trapped the micro-switch. He then taped the metal firmly to the door surround, it would have to do, it only needed to hold a minute or so. After the hold had been sealed to prevent depressurisation of the whole ship, Neville slipped into the borrowed spacesuit.
The gauges showed that there was little air left in the tank, about an hour if he was careful. He sealed his helmet and took a few breaths; it was a bit fusty but breathable. He knew it was dangerous to go outside without lifelines but he did not have any choice. On a whim he went back to the tool locker and armed himself with a small hand-pick which was normally used for chipping off rock samples.
Very gently he opened the door a fraction and was relieved to see that the micro-switch had been retained by his do-it-yourself burglary kit. There was a slight hiss as the air gushed out of the slightly open door and when the movement stopped and the pressure was equalized, Neville checked his space suit, confirmed that it was working and opened the door fully. He gently floated through and quickly closed the door behind him.
The door was on the outer side of the hull and therefore he was undetectable from the bridge of the main rocket. His big problem was how to transfer from the outer rocket onto the towing gantry. Using handholds and whatever else he could find he worked his way down to the fins at the rear of the compact, Russian rocket. Frantically he clung on, there was no easy way to transfer. He had no lifeline or jet pack, so he would have to jump for it. If he missed he would suffer the fate of his Captain but, at least, it would be over quicker. Neville lined himself up with the gantry then smoothly pulled himself forward and let go.
There was a dull metallic clunk as his air bottle hit the fin. It was only a small collision but it altered his trajectory. Instead of heading straight for the gantry it seemed that he was going to miss it by a few feet. Slowly he floated across unable to do anything, he was only just out of reach and it was agonizing to miss by so little.
Suddenly he remembered his little hand pick. He unhooked it from his belt and fastened the short lanyard to his wrist. Keeping his cool he threw it at the gantry and was lucky first time, it hooked on and he swung in a tight arc to land in an undignified heap on the latticed structure. He took a deep breath and thanked his lucky stars, then unhooked the little life-saving pick and scrambled inside the lattice work of the gantry. Slowly he worked his way up the middle until, at last, he was able to touch the Atlas.
He looked at his gauges and it was a shock to see that he had only fifteen minutes of air left. There were three airlocks on the Atlas and the nearest was on the side close to the bridge. Neville thought that this would be too obvious to an observer, so he decided to try for the one furthest away on the opposite side near the motor room. The third lock was right on top of the centre of the forward section and was in full view of any observer.
He worked his way along the grab rails which ran along the belly of the vessel and approached the lock. He glanced at his gauges and was perturbed to see that he had only two minutes of air left, no time for any kind of caution. There was no hesitation, Neville hit the button, opened the airlock and entered, quickly shutting it behind him.
At this moment his air ran out and the airlock was still going through its cycle. He gulped a large breath and held it as long as he could, which was not easy after his recent exertions. It seemed an eternity and his lungs were at bursting point when, at last, the red light turned to green and he fell out of the airlock and ripped his helmet off. He laid there for a few minutes enjoying the clean fresh air of his own vessel.
By the time he had recovered his composure Neville knew instinctively that the vessel was deserted. He still did a thorough, cautious search of the ship which only confirmed what he already knew. He was totally alone.
In the subdued emergency lighting which was ever present in the Atlas he headed for the galley, hoping against hope that it had not been stripped bare. It was soon apparent that all the fresh food had been taken but there was still a good supply of tinned and pre-packed food. He chose a can of stew, enough for four persons, gave it a few minutes in the microwave then slowly and meticulously ate the lot. He followed this with a full pint of coffee and a portion of rice pudding. At the end of this plentiful meal he felt a lot better and could feel his morale returning to normal.
By this time exhaustion was taking over and as he tried to formulate his next move he realized that he could not put two rational thoughts together. Sensibly he turned the audio airlock alarms up to full volume to warn him of unwanted guests then he went and laid down on his bunk. He was asleep in seconds.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Come on in, Fred,” said Sir Richard, without any trace of emotion. Fred Ford entered the room and made no effort whatsoever to cover the fact that he was visibly distressed. He crossed to the low table in the centre of the room and sat down.
He nodded briefly to the other occupant, "Morning Clive."
“Morning Fred,” replied Clive.
Sir Richard Crest crossed the room to his own desk and placed the office in its secure mode. He then joined the others and sat down.
“Gentlemen, I have called you here, as you have probably guessed, to discuss the Atlas mission. In particular we need to bring you up to date, Clive."
Clive raised an eyebrow, "I trust everything is going well, Sir Richard?” There was an awkward silence which was finally broken by Sir Richard,
"Tell him the story, Fred.”
"There isn't much to tell really,” observed Fred. “The voyage was fast and brilliantly executed. We received the normal twelve hour routine transmissions and a few others on the scrambled link, but we have had no communication for six days now….. nothing….. not a sausage.”
“What did the last scrambled transmission say?" asked Clive Twist.
"It merely stated that they had entered the Asteroid belt at the agreed point and were starting their investigations. They promised to report every six hours or sooner if something special happened… but they never did."
Clive gave no reaction.
After a short pause Sir Richard continued, "We are very worried, Clive, and we need to plan our next course of action. Several things could have happened."
Again Clive gave no reaction.
Fred picked up the story again, “Maybe they have had a collision and are disabled, or perhaps the radio has broken down.”
Clive gave a disapproving frown.
“….And maybe they have been captured, or even killed,” added Sir Richard.
Finally Clive exploded, “…….And maybe they have turned into a pumpkin and two ugly sisters.”
“Really Clive, this is no time for jokes which are in bad taste,” retorted Sir Richard hotly. “We really must plan another mission.”
“Perhaps we should inform the Military,” added Fred. "We must do something.”
”When Clive spoke again he had simmered down. "Sir Richard, I do not wish to appear callous, all the things you have said could be true. But I must ask you a question Why did you send Captain Stephens on this mission?”
“He was sent because everybody in this room thought he was the best man for the job," replied Sir Richard quietly.
“That is exactly correct,” agreed Clive. “It is a good job you invited me here today, you are both too involved, you are beginning to let your emotions affect your judgement."
“How do you mean, Clive?" asked Fred.
“We all knew before he left that he was setting himself up as bait. Well it seems to me that this lack of communication means the plan is working and it's the best news you could have.”
Fred studied his feet, Sir Richard gazed at the ceiling. "My God, you're a cold fish at times, Clive but, on reflection, you could be right. What is our next logical step then?”
“Do nothing for at least a month, continue to monitor the radio channels allow Michael to do his job and have a little faith.”
Again there was an awkward silence. Again it was broken by Sir Richard, “Okay Fred, we will carry on as normal, use our most trusted employees on the monitoring post and try to forget what has happened until we all meet here one month today."
"Yes, Sir Richard," replied Fred dutifully.
"However, under the circumstances, we can break one of my rules. You know that I never take a drink before Midday don’t you, Fred?"
"Yes, Sir Richard.”
“Well I could do with a large gin and tonic and so could you, Fred, and I think it is only right...for the sake of our consciences… that Clive pours them, don’t you Fred?"
“Yes. Sir Richard."
Chuckling to himself and ignoring the knot in his stomach, Clive crossed to the bar and poured not two, but three large gin and tonics.